Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(19)
“Not since yesterday,” Davis says into the phone, his voice firm. A pause, then a stern “Because it’s my job to know.”
I fidget, knowing I’m interrupting his work. He’s responsible for handling the hard-earned cash of wealthy folks, which sounds big and important. The worst damage I can do on any given night is make a bar patron wait a minute too long for a beverage they don’t need.
“That sounds like bullshit,” he says into the phone as he paces over to me. His harsh tone is at odds with the gentle fingers twirling a lock of my hair and the tenderness in his gaze as he looks me in the eyes.
I mouth the words “I can go” and point behind me with one thumb, but Davis shakes his head. He turns, punches a few keys on his computer keyboard with flair, and then says to the caller, “Done. You can thank me later.”
He ends the call and tosses the cell onto his desk.
“I could have come later if now’s a bad time.” I twist my fingers nervously as he stalks over and plunges his fingers into my hair.
“I just made a million dollars,” he rasps, his eyes locked on mine.
I blink as I digest this news. “What? Are you serious?”
“Not even a little.” His lips tip in mirth.
I start to laugh, but my laugh ends in a hum when Davis’s full mouth hits mine. The kiss is like the kisses from two days ago—the ones that led to my stripping naked and having sex with him on the couch. And then on the bed. And then in the morning on the bed…
It was supposed to be the one time to satisfy our curiosity—or prove a point. Neither of us said so, but it was implied. With Davis’s fingertips cradling the back of my head and his tongue sliding sensually over mine, it’s becoming clear we’re not fizzling out like we’re supposed to.
His phone rings and he drops his forehead on mine. “Shit.”
He turns me loose and backs away.
“Davis,” he answers. “I don’t care how long you’ve been—. Listen. Hang on for two seconds,” he tells the caller gruffly. Back to me, his voice softens. “Your keys are in the bowl by the front door. I’ll see you tonight.” He gives me a wink before going back to his terse conversation, and I hustle out of his office to grant him privacy.
The bowl by the front door holds the keys I left behind. I palm them and let myself out, wondering the whole way to McGreevy’s why he didn’t just hand them to me without taking me upstairs. Then I remember the potent kiss and I know exactly why.
Davis likes me.
Maybe as much as I like him.
—
I’ll see you tonight.
Davis implied he’d come into the bar tonight. He’ll come in. He comes in here almost every one of my shifts. I take a break from stocking beer bottles in the fridge to sneak a look over my shoulder for the umpteenth time.
Davis’s seat is empty.
I’ve never watched for him before. Usually I’m aware it’s about time for him to show, but I don’t watch. I’m frowning as I stock more rattling bottles when a baritone, resonant voice startles me.
“Have you seen Margo?”
I legit jolt and turn to find Dax hovering over me. Dax owns McGreevy’s, but he’s been absent most of the summer. He has two managers in place and communicates with us via the occasional email. The assistant manager, Margo, and I have only worked together a handful of times.
“I hardly ever see Margo,” I answer, standing with the empty beer box. She works mostly opposite shifts, considering we’re each other’s relief.
“Huh.” Dax frowns, a common sight. When he hired me, I noticed he was frowning, and when I’d been working here for a week and a half and he praised me for doing a great job, he was still frowning. He continued frowning when he gave me a raise. He was a frowner; that’s all there was to it. Don’t get me wrong—it doesn’t make him any less attractive.
To be honest, I didn’t even know he was back from…wherever he was this summer. I’m not sure he’d tell me if I asked. Maybe he leads a double life as a bounty hunter or something. He’s sure as hell built like one.
That or a Chippendales dancer. Dax’s chest is wide and thick and pressing against the confines of a dark blue T-shirt with a faded motor oil logo on the front. His jeans have holes—but unlike mine, the holes were worn through. Black leather motorcycle boots poke out from the legs. Above the neck, the situation only becomes more favorable. Dax Vaughn is insanely attractive. Spiky, sandy-colored hair. Silvery-blue eyes with long, thick lashes. Contoured lips that purse temptingly…
Definitely not my type.
I’ve dated a hot, bulky frowner before, and while I’m certain Dax is nowhere near as big an asshole as Miguel, I’m not interested in this prototype any longer.
Anyway, I have Davis.
I mean, I don’t have him. He’s not mine or anything.
Wow.
That was an alarming thought.
“She’ll turn up.” Dax props his hands on his hips and looks around the bar. “Dead tonight.”
“It’s early. We’ll pick up later.”
The bell over the door rings and in walks the man occupying my every other thought. My heart lodges in my throat at the sight of him, making me dizzy, given that I can’t breathe around the pulsing lump.
“Davis! Hi!” I chirp, and then clear my throat when I realize Dax is regarding me with curiosity. I am as much a chirper as I am a giggler.