Page 130 of Whirlwind

She just kept thinking about that kiss. It was hardly a real kiss, just a touch of closed lips. The sort of kiss that you’d give to your granny.

Yet she found her hand sneaking up to her cheek again and again throughout the night.

Carla had kissed her. Carla wanted her.

Nina had been right, which was both terrifying and exciting.

She just wished she had more time to think about it. She wasn’t sure whether she needed to talk herself into it or talk herself out of it, though.

It didn’t help that Nina had apparently told everyone, that traitor.

During a lull in the orders, the other bartender sidled up next to her. “Hey Charlie, have you figured out what you’re wearing tonight?” He was fabulously, gorgeously gay, with mascara dramatically highlighting his eyes and a t-shirt so tiny it was barely there. He probably would have cut it shorter, but she’d told him that the WHIRLWIND logo on the back needed to stay.

She glared at him. “My clothes.” She gestured downward. Black cargo pants and a black Whirlwind shirt. When she got off duty, she’d exchange the black apron for a warm flannel.

The bartender tsked. “Oh, no, honey. You have to dress to impress. Nice, crisp collar with a tie, at least.”

She grumbled at him. “I hate ties.”

“You like Carla’s ties, right?”

She wasn’t going to fall for that one. Of course Carla’s ties were sexy and adorable. It didn’t mean that she wanted to wear one herself. Or admit how nervously excited she was for this… dinner.

She filled two pitchers of beer, stacked up glasses, and escaped to deliver them.

She got claps and whistles when she reached the table.

“Hey Charlie!” That was Parker, leaning back dangerously on one of his chairs. “I heard you’re getting lucky tonight!”

“I’m not getting lucky,” she hissed. “And I am going to kill Nina.”

Taylor shook his head. The lumbering giant was the quiet one of the bunch. “Nina didn’t tell us. Or at least Nina didn’t tell us first. Carla’s been posting these pictures of everything he’s cooking for his date, so we figured he finally wore you down. Nina just confirmed it.”

“He didn’t…” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, the tray tucked under one elbow. She was more amused than annoyed, though she tried not to show it. “Why do I have no privacy anymore?”

Eric gave her a skeptical look as he drew Micah to his side. He was the mature one, though his eyes sparkled with humor. “I think a better question is why you thought you ever had any privacy to begin with. You and Carla are the nightly drama that we all come in to see.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been betting on this, haven’t you?”

Heads nodded, their expressions ranging from sheepish to mischievous. Parker and Dakota gave each other a high five, presumably because they’d won something.

“You know,” Dakota added conspiratorially, “just because Carla’s a Dom doesn’t mean he only likes to top.”

That was… really intriguing information. “I can’t believe you just said that.” She gave Dakota a stern look, though nothing that came out of their mouth surprised her anymore. “Please tell me you’re not betting on what we do in bed.”

“All I’m saying,” they leaned in closer, “is that a nice strap-on could make him a very happy queer.”

The whole group broke out in laughter and Charlie groaned. When had this become her life?

It was nice, though. This crew was a tight-knit group and it felt good to be included in that. She kind of thought of herself as part of the bar, like the glasses and bar stools. She provided a service. She sat back and watched while everyone else found their happily ever after.

This teasing, as raunchy and ridiculous as it was, meant that she was part of something, too. She knew that she cared about all of them, and it was nice to know that they cared about her in return.

Even if it was as embarrassing as all hell.

Angel put a hand on her arm. “Just ignore them. You do what’s right for you. You give so much to this community and everyone just wants you to be happy.”

“Um, thanks,” she finally said.

Could she see herself being happy with Carla? Maybe. If Carla still wanted her.

She took herself back to the bar to fill the next order. Maybe if she concentrated enough on filling orders, she wouldn’t have to think about seven o’clock creeping closer and closer.