Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(29)

“We don’t open for another two hours, but you’re welcome to hang out, as long as Red doesn’t mind.”

“Red?” Kat asked.

“That’d be me.” The redhead Kat remembered from her last trip to the bar walked in, a box hefted in her hands. “Siss, you wanna take this and earn your keep?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Not looking at all concerned her boss had caught her sitting on the job, talking, Stacy walked over to take the box from Red.

“When you put that away, start making calls. Irish called off tonight. Again. That girl sneezes, and suddenly she’s convinced she’s got the plague and can’t work.”

Irish, Kat guessed, was the nickname of another bartender.

Stacy rolled her eyes at Kat but said, “Sure thing. Anyone you want me to start with?”

Red studied Kat for a solid half minute without speaking, to the point that Kat began to shift in her seat.

Stacy hefted the box into a better grip. “Red? Hello? Should I just go down the list?”

“Wait on that for a minute.” Red ignored her employee, who just rolled her eyes and walked out with the box. “You working anywhere, honey?”

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, just not here in town. I’m taking a short break. A sort of self-imposed off-season.”

“Off-season.” Red took Stacy’s seat and leaned back against the concrete wall. Her jeans and tank top molded to an unbelievably curvy body, making Kat think of pinups from the forties. Sex appeal in a Betty Boop sort of way. “Athlete?”

“Tennis.”

“Can’t say I recognize you.”

Kat bit back a sigh. “People rarely do.” Not for the right reasons anyway.

“I know about those two Williams sisters.”

“Venus and Serena.”

“Huh?”

“Those are their first names.”

Red lifted a shoulder as if to ask, So? “If I’ve never heard of you, you can’t make much money with the whole tennis thing.”

“Wanna see a tax return?” Kat snapped. She stood, brushing off the butt of her pants in case any dust had found her. “I’m going to get going. Please tell Sta— Sorry, Sissy, that I said bye, and I’ll catch her later.”

“Hold up.” Red stood, evaluating her once more with her eyes. It felt nearly as intrusive as a doctor’s exam. “Ever wait a table?”

“A little,” Kat said slowly. “Not recently.”

“It’s like a bicycle. Ever dealt with rowdy crowds?”

“Only every tournament.” Except they often weren’t rowdy for her but for the bigger names. But hey, a crowd was a crowd.

“Need some money?”

Kat opened her mouth, then closed it again. She was getting light in the bank accounts, she could admit it. Losing the sponsorships had meant she lost more than half her income. “I… wouldn’t say no to extra cash.”

“Good. You can start tonight. You can take Irish’s shift.” With that, Red dusted her hands off and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Siss! Your friend here’s starting tonight. Get her started, would ya?”

Kat heard Stacy’s loud “Yes!” from down the hall, and she laughed.



“You got a job? What the hell do you mean you got a job?” Michael thundered.

“I mean, I work here now.” Kat looked around her at the patrons that were beginning to pour in and grinned.

“You went for a walk and became employed.” She was the most baffling person he’d ever met.

“It’s gonna be fun.”

“You’re a tennis player,” he said on a growl. “You don’t work in a bar.”

“I am an adult who needs money,” she corrected him, holding the bar door open for another server to walk through, carrying an empty tray. “I have expenses and a life to pay for, same as you. Except you,” she added as she walked down the bar, forcing him to trail after her, “get paid whether you win or lose.”

That much was true. He couldn’t argue there. And as he had no clue what the state of her finances were—and wouldn’t ask, not his business—he couldn’t really argue getting a job to supplement. It was better than going into debt. But still…

“I could help you find a job. Like, an office job. Or something.”

“I like working with people. Customer service isn’t bad. And I won’t lose my mind like I would sitting at a desk all day.” She held up a finger and turned her back to him, listening to whatever the server behind her had started to say. “Yeah, okay. Manny,” she said, turning back to him.

“Don’t call me that,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got a shift to work, and I’m still learning, so we’ll have to cut this short. If you don’t want to come back and get me after my shift, I’ll Uber home.”

“You think I’m leaving now?” He stared at her, jaw slack. She really didn’t get it. “I’m not leaving. The second you’re out of my eyesight, you get into trouble.”

“I hardly call getting a job ‘trouble.’” She propped her hands on her hips, which drew attention to the small inch of skin exposed between the pants she’d worn to the meeting hours ago and the bar’s polo shirt she’d slipped on since the last time he saw her. What the hell was with those shirts, were they designed to do that automatically? And why did he find that single inch of bare skin more erotic than if she’d flashed him?