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1
Laura
The one skill I hadn’t anticipated acquiring as a bartender was lip reading. But by my second week at Luxor, I could decipher a beer from a Baileys order from the stretch of their lips when a customer asked for the latter. I poured a shot of the creamy coffee liqueur into a tumbler and slid it toward the woman in front of me.
“Thanks, hon,” she said over the blaring music and left a dollar bill on the stainless-steel bar. Scooping up the tip, I stuffed it into the pocket of my short black leather skirt. I’d have to start shoving bills into my thigh-high boots soon since the night promised to be a good one. It was Saturday night, which meant the bar turned into a dance club after eleven.
“You know, you would collect more than one-dollar tips if you joined us later,” said Sam, leaning into me as she jabbed a plastic scoop into the crushed ice beneath the bar. “We have another private party tonight. You can double what you make here in less than an hour.”
“I can’t dance and I’m not interested in anything else those guys are offering,” I said, stepping back to give her more space.
As I waited, my gaze scanned the room. To the right of the bar, bodies swayed and pressed close to one another on the dance floor while the tables to the left were filled with those watching or perhaps assessing their next move.
There was one gaze that wasn’t trained on the dance floor. He was staring at me. His lips turned up in a grin. He wore a white buttoned shirt beneath a full suit. I recognized him instantly. Most people in town knew him and his brothers. My cheeks heated as he continued to stare. So much for thinking I was above their charm. I inhaled sharply and forced myself to look away.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, fine. Just distracted for a second.”
“Can you grab some more napkins? We’re running low.”
I bent down and grasped a handful of cocktail napkins from under the sink and passed them to Sam.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Don’t mention it.”
When I returned to the bar to help the next customer, my gaze crashed into a pair of hunter-green eyes framed by black sooty lashes. I blinked slowly as a ripple of awareness passed through my body.
Oh, gawd. It’s him.
Ryan Crawford.
The man I’d locked eyes with a moment ago.
He looked even better in person than he did on my phone whenever I scrolled past the local celebrity gossip pages. Along with his brothers, he owned most of the properties in this upstate New York town, and judging by the way his lips curled into a smile when he noticed my reaction, he knew how his striking black hair and chiseled jaw affected me. Ugh. That cocky grin cooled my body about as quickly as a bucket of ice poured over my head.
“What can I get you?” I asked, placing my hand on my hip.
“Scotch, neat,” he said evenly. He didn’t even try to raise his voice, but I still heard him. His deep baritone carried above the music and the shouts of customers surrounding him. Then his eyes roamed over my fitted black top, down my waist, and all the way to the top of my boots before he licked his lips and said, “And a glass of whatever you’d prefer to drink.”
I shook my head, turning down his offer and tossing aside the lingering effects of his assessment. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“Your phone number then, so I can call you when you’re off work.”
My lips turned up involuntarily, but I shut him down quickly. I knew his type, and I wasn’t interested. “Sorry, my number’s off the menu.”
I poured his scotch and pushed the glass toward him. He brushed his fingers over mine as he took the drink. He stared at my mouth. I didn’t have to read his lips to hear him say, “We’ll see.” Then he smiled and walked away.
“Holy shit, is that a hundred bucks?” Sam cried beside me. I looked down at the bar and stared at the bill Ryan had left behind. I wanted to chase after him and give it back. But realized this was probably the equivalent of a one-dollar tip to him but a week’s worth of groceries to me. So, I shoved the money into my boot and turned to serve the next customer.
“Just think of the tips that pretty mouth of yours would get at the party tonight,” said Sam, laughing and nudging me with her hip.
“Not interested.”
Sam shook her head, swinging her tight blonde curls from side to side.
Ryan retreated to his table where four other guys sat nursing their drinks. There was a bottle of champagne on the round table and several full glasses strewn around. A table like that would definitely have bottle service. Strange that he walked to the bar to get himself a drink.
