Suddenly it wasn’t just my face that flushed. Every crevice in my body seemed to burst into flames. A very illogical, depraved part of my brain wanted to vault over the bar and straddle him while he licked the rest of the tequila off my chest.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Taking a breathable step backward, I put some space between us and nodded as the pretty woman with long hair smiled and left for the night. “Well, does that selectivity finally include your name?” I asked with a smirk. “I mean, if you’re going protect my honor and all, shouldn’t I thank you properly?”
I’d just broken my cardinal rule of not asking names for the second time with the same man. This guy worked some serious voodoo magic on me.
He glanced around the empty bar, studying me a moment before extending a bronzed arm and answering. “Val.”
Fine. So, I knew his name. That didn’t mean he had to know mine.
“Cherry,” I replied, shaking his hand.
Fuck.
In an unexpected move, he tugged my hand closer and kissed the tips of my knuckles. “Ah, Cereza. Perfect. El color del fuego y pasión.”
I had no clue what the hell that meant, but my panties were begging to find out.
I must’ve looked confused because he chuckled again. “Your name, Cereza. It’s the color of fire and passion. It suits you.”
“Long time, no speak, big tipper.” I kept my gaze lowered, busying myself with mindless side work. Fear refused to allow direct eye contact. I’d fought for almost a year to regain the upper hand when it came to men. I’d be damned if I’d give it up now.
“You really don’t forget anything, do you?” he mused, folding his hands together on the bar.
My mouth opened to tell him he could find out for himself after my shift ended when the chime on the door jingled, and my stomach dropped to my toes. Snatching my hand from his hold, I smoothed it over my pinned hair and cursed the plain cut off jean shorts and black tank uniform. The look screamed anything but refined. It screamed ‘chip slinging bar bitch.’
“We’re closing in twenty minutes, Davis.” I kept my voice calm and civil, even though every instinct implored me to slam a wine glass against the bar and hold the jagged edge against his mouse dick.
“The sign still says open, Edie, and you always did make a mean margarita.” Giggling ensued beside him, and I gripped the edge of the bar to keep my hands away from the glasses. “Chelsea had a craving for one after the movie and just wouldn’t settle down until I gave in.”
Chelsea craved a lot of shit you had no business giving her, you cheating fuckwad.
Val’s face hardened as I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Excuse me, I need to deal with some unfinished business.” I gave him a weak smile, and his chin dipped in acknowledgement. It was the only sign he gave that he’d heard me as his focus returned to his tequila.
So much for a night of casual sex and dirty Spanish.
Turning to face Davis, his annoying All-American hero good looks focused on my ex-best friend, and I wanted to throw up the chips I’d eaten. Chelsea had obviously been killing what brain cells were left in that vapid hole inside her skull by frying her skin into shoe leather at her mother’s tanning salon. She sported a nice shade of Oompa Loompa from her peroxide blond hair down to her aerobicized ass. By the way her clothes hung, I’d wager a guess she’d been eating a steady diet of chia seeds and air lately. Of course, being with Davis, that was a given. Davis had a strict no chub policy. During our three years together, I chewed diet pills like they were Pez.
“One drink, you guys. Then I have to close up.” The day couldn’t possibly end any worse.
“I’ll have a Bud Light in the bottle, not a glass,” Davis instructed, as if I couldn’t recite his order by heart. “And what kind of margarita do you want, baby?”
Chelsea giggled again, flipping her bleached hair over her shoulder. “Edie, can you make a sugar-free, skinny margarita made with just lime juice, no sweet and sour and no salt?”
I blinked at her. “Sure.”
“Oh, goodie.” She clapped wildly.
Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.
Turning my back to them, I filled a shaker full of ice, tequila, triple sec, and a shit-ton of sweet and sour mix. Then, because the knife wound between my shoulder blades still hadn’t healed, I dumped a good shot and a half of simple syrup in and shook the hell out of it. Grinning like an idiot, I poured it in the glass, sifted in half a handful of salt and served it up.
“Skinny margarita, enjoy.”
I’d never enjoyed watching another person drink alcohol so much in my life. I’d heard people use the word ‘giddy’ before, but I’d never experienced its full effect until Chelsea slurped down every drop of that nine-hundred calorie concoction with a smile on her face.
Was it retribution for sucking my husband’s cock? Hell, no, but it was a start. Besides, I knew Davis just brought her in here to be an ass. He was still peeved over finding out about my fling with his fraternity brother and took great pleasure in being a jerk-off whenever possible.
As long as I bled his ass dry in court, he could parade his whore around as much as he wanted. Our divorce was final, but by the time my lawyer was done with him, all their dates would be at the drive-thru.
Sometime during my pissing match with Davis, Val slipped out. It was just as well. I needed to show more restraint with the men I took back to my apartment. Considering all the murder-suicides going on lately, a girl couldn’t be too careful.
I meandered to the sideboard and lined freshly washed chip baskets with wax paper, stacking them for tomorrow’s lunch crowd. I’d just gathered the lot in my arms when the house phone rang. Shifting the baskets to one elbow, I picked up the cordless receiver.
“Caliente Cantina, how can I help you?”
“Eden, leave the alarm off tonight.”
“Emilio? Where are you?” My boss never called right before closing, and he never left the alarm off. Too many hoods in the neighborhood would see it as an open invitation.
“Don’t worry about that, doll. I have a cleaning crew coming in first thing in the morning, and I won’t be around to turn the alarm off. It’ll be fine tonight.”
I shrugged, as if he could see me. “It’s your bar, boss.”
“How were sales tonight?”
“Not bad,” I answered, turning off the television. “Steady flow. Davis came in with his side-piece.”
“Odio ese pinche hijo de su puta madre pedazo de mierda! Que no mame!” he yelled, his native Spanish coming out in a tirade of insults.
I giggled into the receiver. “I don’t know what you said, but I’m assuming it had something to do with him being a piece of shit.”
Emilio’s low chuckle vibrated in my ear. “You’re one of a kind, Eden O’Dell. If I wasn’t married…” He trailed off, and I cringed at his use of my married name. It had been on my driver’s license when I’d applied for the job, and it’d just been easier never to correct him.
I’d have to fix that soon.
“Yeah, yeah…you’re too old for me, Emilio. You’d break a hip in the first two minutes.”
He snorted with a chuckle. “Hasta mañana, Eden.”