All the Right Moves(22)

He focused on her face, using her chin as his boundary. Anything below was off-limits. No looking, even though he could make a case for studying Schrödinger’s cat. But that would make it too easy to lose himself in the memory of how soft she’d felt against him. “The older man in the wheelchair...”

“Gordon?”

“I don’t know...the one who said you don’t date customers.”

Cassie blinked, then looked past John. “Yep, that was Gordon.”

“Is it true?”

She pulled her elbows off the back counter and stood straighter. “Absolutely, one hundred percent true.”

“Ah.” He’d already figured as much. “Because you own the place?”

“I don’t. My brother does.” She leaned over the bar to see into the back room. “Not that you’d know it. He’s playing darts with his friends instead of working up here like he’s supposed to.”

He glanced down at the view of her backside, but quickly raised his gaze before he was caught. “Why won’t you date customers?”

“For one thing, I’m too busy. And secondly, eww.”

He frowned. “I’m not real clear on that last point.”

“Everybody practically knows everybody in here, and if things went south and it got messy...” She rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to think about that for another second. “People would choose sides, and who needs that aggravation?”

John had to laugh. She was probably right. “So dating a regular is the problem, not someone who’s only shown up a couple times.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Hypothetically, if I were to ask you out, would I get shot down?”

She seemed startled, but he’d surprised himself, as well. He’d never been one to test the water before jumping in. He’d been lucky when it came to women. But he couldn’t read Cassie. He had a feeling his luck might have run out.

“Hypothetically, huh?” Her lips started to curve, but then something caught her eye, because she turned abruptly toward the back.

Without a word she moved to the other end of the bar, where she filled orders. A guy with a limp was coming from the back room and met her there. Her brother? Yeah, John could see some resemblance despite the man’s scowl. Cassie wasn’t looking too happy herself.

They talked for a minute, voices low, her shooting annoyed looks at the clock behind the bar. When Lisa moved in to unload empty glasses off her tray, the man left to talk to the guys sitting in the corner. He didn’t seem eager to take over for Cassie, and selfishly, John hoped she stayed behind the bar for a while longer.

As soon as Lisa hefted her tray of fresh drinks, Cassie walked over with a slip of paper in her hand. John knew it was his tab, and that she was leaving. Damn it. Obviously she had someplace to go. He wouldn’t hold her up.

“You can pay up now,” she said, her eyes level with his, as if trying to communicate something she hesitated to say outright. “But you don’t have to. I’m leaving for the night. If Tommy ignores you, Lisa will bring you refills.”

Her brother was laughing with Gordon’s group. “Why would he ignore me?”

“Tommy’s—” Sighing, she shook her head. “Well, he’s not a total ass, but he can be moody.” With a resigned expression, she met John’s eyes, opened her mouth to say something else, but reconsidered. Her gaze drifted toward Tommy, and she laid down the slip of paper.

John dug out his wallet.

“Really, you don’t have to settle up this minute.”

“I’m heading out, too.” He peeled off two tens. “Sitting here won’t be much fun without you.”

“Right. Because I’ve been a barrel of laughs.” She stared down at the money he set in front of her. “I’ll be back with your change.”

“Nope. Keep it.”

“You’re horrible at math, you know that?”

John ignored the disapproval in her voice and slipped his wallet into his back pocket. His military ID had been in plain view until he remembered and did a quick shuffle. He hoped she hadn’t seen it. Probably not. She seemed preoccupied. He glanced down at his tab again and noticed some writing on the bottom. Her full name. An address. A time. And the word tomorrow with a question mark.

He looked up at her.

She was blushing again, not nearly as much as she had when she’d lost. But she also was looking at him with serious eyes. “This is not a date,” she said. “Let me repeat. Not. A. Date. But it is dinner. As a thank-you. You were great tonight, and I appreciate it.”