Page 2 of Stranger to Love

I looked up, ready to glare at the offender, and saw the blonde from earlier. She was leaning on the bar, smirking, clearly pleased that she had made me jump and ruin perfectly good beer. I raised an eyebrow at her, saying nothing, as I quickly finished the half-decent pint for the guy waiting. My eyes flickered back to her; she stood there with that effortless air of confident ownership that I loved about older women, waiting for me to speak.

I passed the drink over, nodded at the customer after he tapped his card, and finally turned my full attention to the blonde. Wiping my hands on a sodden towel, I tilted my head. “Yes?”

Her smirk widened. “Someone’s a bit salty.”

“It’s Saturday night, and I’m on the wrong side of the bar,” I quipped back, relishing the steady eye contact she maintained. “What can I get you?”

She shook her head. “How much is just a large white?”

I narrowed my eyes at the question. "£9.20." Was she seriously going to insist on paying for the drink I comped earlier?

She nodded slowly, opened her small clutch bag, and pulled out a crisp ten-pound note. Instead of ordering, she dropped it into the tip box with a deliberate wink.

Oh. Fair. That was game.

I bit my lip, looking around the bar. It was thankfully starting to thin out; checking my watch, it was just gone midnight and we closed at one. Most of the remaining bodies would migrate to Amor down the street—they didn’t close until four, and I thanked my lucky stars daily that I didn’t work there.

My till was clear, so I leaned forward, bracing my hand on the towel to avoid the sticky splash of beer her interruption caused. I offered a slow, teasing smile. “Where are your friends?”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding toward the booths. “They are currently debating whether the character of Shylock in Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice is a tragic figure or a villain.”

Okay, Shakespeare. Got it.

Her voice was low enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck, yet soft enough to suggest she wasn’t entirely imposing—though she was certainly trying to be. I held her gaze, tilting my head, and watched her eyes flicker down for just a split second. She tracked the open buttons of my black work shirt, her gaze lingering on the curve of my waist where it tucked into my trousers, before snapping back up to meet my eyes.

Mia beckoned the next customer over to her till, saving me from breaking our moment.

I lifted an eyebrow at the blonde. “Sounds exactly like the type of stimulating conversation I usually have on a Saturday night.”

She let out a short chuckle. “Really? It’s not exactly stimulating me.”

Oh, she walked straight into that one.

I smirked and leaned in even closer. “So, what does stimulate you?”

Her eyes widened a fraction, like she was internally debating whether to keep playing this specific game. Hey, she tapped my shoulder—she clearly wanted something.

She met my eyes and simply ordered, “Large white.”

I nodded, the smirk still fixed. She wasn’t fleeing, which meant she was either only slightly panicked by my obvious flirtation or she was trying a subtle new power dynamic. Either way, it was entertaining. I poured a large glass of the Sauvignon and passed it over. Our fingers brushed slightly as she took it, and her eyes flashed momentarily.

“What time do you close?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper over the music.

I grinned. “One.”

She nodded, taking a slow sip of the wine, then glanced pointedly at the card machine. Are you going to charge me? I simply winked at her and turned to serve the next customer.

Well. I was certainly going to be entertained for the next hour.

The blonde lingered for a moment, sipping her wine. She watched me serve the next customer—a guy who was not-so-subtly staring at my chest as I poured a row of shots. I sent him a sharp look that promised a broken wrist if he tried anything, but he was definitely too drunk to notice. The blonde, however, caught it, and I saw her glare at him. Cute.

Because I was an arsehole and I hated being leered at, I charged him for one shot too many. He was far too wasted to check the receipt. Mia saw my till screen and laughed silently, her eyes flickering from the blonde, who was now texting on her phone, back to me. She sent me a conspiratorial smirk. I just shrugged, as if to say, Eh, why not?

Mia pursed her lips, glanced around the nearly empty bar, and checked the time on her phone. She leaned in close, whispering just loud enough for me to hear over the receding music, “Ben and I can handle this if you want to take a break.”

I smirked instantly. Nobody took a break when the place closed in less than an hour. What she was really saying was: If you want to make a move, I’ll cover for you.

I looked back at the blonde. Yeah. Okay. It had been way too long since I had some fun, and I definitely needed that stress relief before the weekend was completely over. I grabbed a fresh towel, washed my hands quickly under the cold tap, and offered Mia an overly sweet smile, saying loud enough for the blonde to hear, “Yeah, you know what? I think I do need a break.”