On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(13)
My mouth sort of just falls open, stunned that he would jump from professional business talk to some steamy flirting. It takes me a moment to compose myself.
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “So… I really have the job? That’s set in stone, right?”
He looks at me curiously. “Right.”
“Good. Then let me tell you. . . stop the flirting, jackass. I’m not interested.”
Surprise spreads wide over Hunter’s face, and then he throws his head back and starts laughing. When he tilts his eyes back on mine, he says, “Good one, Gabs. You keep saying that if it makes you feel better.”
Before I can even respond, he’s out the door and shutting it softly behind him.
“I just opened up the last case of Jack Daniels, and you’re running low on Grey Goose,” Brody says as I push the pitcher of draft beer I just poured across the bar to a customer. He hands me a ten-dollar bill and tells me to keep the change.
Thanks, *… the pitcher is ten bucks!
I turn around to the cash register and ring up the sale, sliding the money in the drawer. Turning to Brody, I nod. “I’ve got it ordered. Should be delivered on Monday.”
“Hopefully what we have will last through the weekend. It’s been busy the last few nights.”
I smile, because yeah… business is better than I thought it would be and I’m starting to feel more comfortable about the expansions, particularly with the summer season just around the corner. It’s been a learning curve to say the least, trying to figure out how long my stock will last and ordering appropriately from the distributors, who only do deliveries in our area once a week.
“If we get too low, I can run over to the ABC store and buy a couple of bottles.”
Brody doesn’t even bother to respond and moves to the other end of the bar to take the orders from two girls that approach. They look young… maybe too young to be served, but I watch as Brody cards them. They flirt and giggle, but he doesn’t even spare them a glance as he hands the IDs back and turns to make their drinks.
Sighing, I reach over to the flat of pint glasses that were just washed in the kitchen and start stacking them in the cooler to chill. Brody is still just as withdrawn as he was the day he walked out of prison, but he seems to be handling himself okay. I mean, he’s not exactly effervescent with the customers, but he doesn’t seem to piss them off, and he does his job well. He’s just so damn quiet that I want to shake him sometimes and tell him, “Get over it. You’re back in the real world. Enjoy it.”
But I immediately feel like shit for even thinking such things, because I can’t even begin to imagine how tough it has been for him. I had a nightmare the other night about Brody in jail, getting beaten up by a gang. They held him down, kicking and punching him. I woke up, thankful the nightmare had been interrupted, and terrified of what else I might have seen had I let the dream go on. Brody has never talked about what life was like behind bars, and I haven’t asked him. I’m not sure I really want to know.
I look up and down the bar. Everyone seems to have full drinks, so I take a moment and lean back against the counter, pulling my iPhone out. I check my emails, but there is nothing new since I last checked only about an hour ago.
It’s pathetic of me, but I’m hoping to get an email from Gabby. She was supposed to meet with me the day after I went to her apartment to give her the job, but I woke up that morning to find an email from her. It basically said there was no need to meet, that if I would just tell her what day I wanted her to start, and what hours she could have access to the building, then she would handle getting everything coordinated. This started an email exchange between us, ironing out the details and setting the start date for next Monday. My last email to her yesterday had asked when she could come by and get a key to the building, but I haven’t heard back from her.
Yes, I want to see her badly after that morning in her apartment, but she’s effectively cut me off at the knees. The image of her standing there in that tight tank with her nipples poking through and her barely there panties was burned solidly into my brain. I can hardly close my eyes without seeing her like that, and I’m having a hard time shaking it.
Over the years, I had seen Gabby in her bathing suit more times than I can remember, and while, as she got older, I had a vague appreciation for the beauty of her body, I never obsessed about it like this.
And now?
I really want to see what’s underneath, which has me groaning at myself over the absurdity of it.
It can’t happen, and let me tell you why.
First, there’s the fact that she’s Casey’s childhood friend and someone who I viewed as a little sister for many years.
But you don’t view her like that now, my subconscious pipes up.
Shut the f*ck up, I tell my subconscious.
Second, Gabby is clearly so angry with me that she’d never entertain the thought of… of…
Well, hell… I’m not even sure what I’m entertaining. Do I just want to sleep with her, or do I want something more? Because if it’s something more, am I even ready for that?
It’s all moot anyway. I can’t seem to make it past my first concern, so there… no need to even to think about it further. She’s like a little sister, so she’s off limits. It’s done. I’m putting her out of my mind, and I vow to myself that I won’t even think about her the rest of the night.