“Surely that would go to you,” Noah said, keeping his tone casual. “Being his brother and all.”
“I’ve got my own business to run now with the mixology classes and helping Libby out with the vodka line. We’re doing a big social media push and it’s bloody time-consuming.” He raked a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “I’m running at full capacity.”
Noah found his eyes drifting across the room to Paige. She threw her head back and laughed at something that Libby was saying, the sound so deep and genuine he couldn’t help but smile in response. The girl didn’t seem to have a filter to her—not like some of the women he’d dated in the past who were all about the head games and dating psychology.
Fuck. That. Noise.
“So, how is it working out with the new hire? What’s her name, Paige?” Paul asked, smirking. The question was innocent enough. His friend’s facial expression, on the other hand, was anything but.
“Yeah, Paige. She’s doing well after her first week. Seems to be fitting in.” He hadn’t told Paul that her employment status was temporary on account of her not wanting to be a barista forever because she had a “real” career to chase. No sense in giving the other folks at First any reason to treat her differently than one of their own. “The customers are happy, which is the main thing.”
“No comment on the fact that you’ve been looking at her like she’s your last meal, then?”
Noah rolled his eyes. “You should go into politics. Bullshit comes so naturally to you.”
“Here, take this.” Paul handed him a wad of napkins as Libby called for the group to get back into their pairs. “In case you start drooling again.”
Paul walked away with a smug expression on his face, and Noah swore under his breath. Obviously he wasn’t being as subtle as he’d thought. Probably because he wasn’t used to hiding his attraction to another person—and he had a good track record.
It wasn’t until after the gloss had worn off that the rejections started rolling in, when the women found out that he wasn’t built for long term. That at the first sign of conflict, he’d cut and run like a bat out of hell, desperate to get his freedom back. Desperate to be the one doing the leaving rather than being left behind.
That’s why being a player was easy—hard to disappoint people if you never made any promises, right?
“Ready to get back into it?” Paige asked, plucking one of the napkins he had forgotten he’d been holding. She dabbed at her mouth. “I need to keep this momentum up, otherwise I’m going to fall in a heap.”
Her voice had taken on a bubbly quality, like a giggle was right there on the tip of her tongue. Waiting to burst forth. A pink flush broke through her freckles and light tan, the effect of a good night of drinking and warm weather. Her skin looked glowy, slightly damp.
It was starting to heat up in the upstairs function room. Someone had cracked a window but the Australian summer was unrelenting, even at night. Noah reached behind him to grab a can of Coke that was sitting in a tub of ice.
“Here.” He handed it to her. “Looks like you’re getting overheated.”
She pressed the cold can to the side of her neck and let out a little sigh. “Oh my God, I didn’t even know I needed that.”
Condensation ran in droplets along the can’s smooth surface, dripping onto her chest. God, he wanted to run his tongue along her skin. “Glad to help,” he said, tightly.
The sharp clap of Libby’s hands from the front of the room shook him out of his lust-induced fog. Christ, he really needed to get his act together. For some reason this country girl had gotten him all tangled up and flipped inside out.
“All right, everyone, are we ready for one last cocktail?” Libby’s question was met with a raucous cheer from the group. “We’re going to be making frozen watermelon and mint margaritas. It’s a great summer drink and one we’ll be including on the specials board for the next few weeks. You’ll notice I’ve added a few extra tools to your work stations…”
The tables had been repositioned close to the walls so that each pair had a blender that was plugged into a power outlet. There was a container of cubed watermelon, some sprigs of mint, tequila, limes, a juicer, Cointreau, sugar, and salt.
“What’s this one called?” one of the participants asked.
All the cocktails had been given terrible pun-inspired names, like Wanna Get Lei’d? for their take on a Blue Hawaiian. There was no way Des would add them to the regular menu, but for the purpose of the mixology classes the crowd seemed to be enjoying the silliness.
“Resting Beach Face.” Libby grinned and Paul shook his head, but his lips twitched as though holding a laugh back. “And this is going to be a timed activity. You’ve got the instructions in front of you and we’ll put a timer on. First pair who finishes wins a prize.”
“How about you start measuring out the liquids and I’ll juice the lime,” Noah said, trying to keep his focus on the task at hand rather than the eye-catching freckles dusting the smooth curve of Paige’s shoulders.
“Planning to win?” she grinned. “I knew you had a competitive streak! I’ll take that five dollars, thank you very much.”
“You said I’d be competitive by the time we made the first cocktail.” He nudged her with his elbow. “And this is the last cocktail. Looks like you owe me.”
“You’re sneaky, Noah. I’ll remember that.” She reached for the tequila and cringed. “Tequila is not my first choice, let me tell you.”
“Bad experience?” he asked as he sliced a lime in half.
“It seemed to be the drink of choice when I was at university.” She uncapped the bottle and held it away from her, nose wrinkled. “One night I came home to the share house I lived in so drunk I’d decided to strip down in the bathroom and walk naked into my bedroom. Only…it wasn’t my bedroom. My best friend and her boyfriend were in there. Apparently I screamed like a banshee, did a pirouette, and ran through the house for a good five minutes before I figured out which room was mine.”
Noah snorted. “Has she ever let you live it down?”
“Hell no. I’m just grateful iPhones were crazy expensive back in those days so no one had a camera at close range.” She shook her head, one hand pressed to her temple. “The Naked Pirouette incident lives on like an urban legend.”
“You’re famous.”
“For all the wrong reasons.” She dumped the tequila into the blender. “Story of my life.”
“I can’t imagine you being anything but Little Miss Perfect.” Noah squeezed the lime juice into the blender, his arm brushing against Paige’s as he leaned forward. “You seem like such a responsible young lady.”
“Yeah, well, the tequila rebellion didn’t last long. After a few months of partying I got my first round of assignments back and I got a pass on one of them.” She shuddered.
“I thought a pass was a good thing.”
“A pass is terrible. It’s like…” She waved her hands around. “Fifty to sixty percent.”
“But it’s not a fail?”
“No, a fail is less than fifty percent.”
Noah raised a brow. In his books, fifty percent had been a reason to celebrate, but then again he hadn’t finished high school so Paige’s educational experience had obviously been different from his. He never understood how to thrive in a system that seemed to benefit those who could sit still. Each day had been a battle against the urge to jump out of a classroom window.
He reached for the mint sprigs and started plucking the leaves off. “You’re one of those people who has to be the best at everything, aren’t you?”
“Gee, what makes you say that?” She grinned and reached for the container filled with watermelon. “Yeah, I’m one of those people. What were you? Class clown? High school hunk?”
Lone Wolf. Even after making friends with Paul in the third grade—and later, Des—Noah had always kept to himself. It wasn’t until after he’d dropped out of school and left that stifling environment that he found hi
s feet. But he wasn’t about to heap that depressing shit all over Paige and her sparkly disposition.
“Your mind went to high school hunk, huh?” He nudged her with his elbow. “I’m flattered.”
“It went to clown first,” she corrected.
“Did you call your new boss a clown?” He raised a brow, stifling a laugh when her eyes suddenly went wide.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Cool your jets, country girl. I’m yanking your chain.” He shredded the mint leaves and dumped them into the blender. “But I think it’s cute that you’ve got a crush on me.”
She sucked in a breath. “I do not.”
“Those cheeks don’t lie.” That time he couldn’t stop the laughter from bursting out. Paige’s face was about as pink as the watermelon she was carefully dropping into the blender.
“It’s hot in here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just…hot.”
Yes, you are.
“Hurry up,” he said. “We’ve got a prize to win.”
…
Paige swiped the back of her hand across her cheek and kept her eyes firmly on the blender and away from Noah, concentrating on getting the ingredients into it as quickly as possible. A hot, prickly sensation had spread all the way down her neck and onto her chest, no doubt making her look like some kind of human-tomato hybrid. If she got any hotter she might spontaneously combust.
“Pass the sugar,” she said, primly. “We need two teaspoons.”
Instructions were good. Safe. They’d keep her mind off his holy hotness standing right next to her. Damn it. Did he have to smell so good? The fresh mint had mixed with his aftershave, and the hint of tequila still lingering in the air reminded her of all the times she’d cut loose and enjoyed herself in her early university days.
Cutting loose is not your style. You work hard, you succeed, and you do it respectably.
Her university friends had ribbed her mercilessly for freaking out over getting a pass, especially since all her other subjects had been graded as distinctions or high distinctions. Not exactly the results of an academic failure. For some people, the bare minimum might be good enough. But not for her. She’d moved away from her family to pursue her dream of getting an education, so she hadn’t wanted to squander it on parties.
Or worse, throwing her future away like her brother had.
Besides, it hadn’t just been about the marks. The Naked Pirouette incident had come off the back of giving up her virginity and getting dumped-slash-cheated on all within twenty-four hours. She hadn’t known how to deal with it—so there’d been a brief period of acting out until she’d refocused on her grades. Because that was something she could control…and Paige liked control.
“Okay, we still need to measure out the Cointreau, as well as add a pinch of salt and the ice.” She sucked in a breath and tried to think professional thoughts. “Quick. They’ve already got their blender going.”
Unfortunately for her, professionalism seemed to vanish like a magician’s trick every time she looked at him. Today, his blond hair had the right amount of rumpling. Like he knew exactly how many times to run his hands through it so it looked perfectly messy and sexy.
“Why don’t you do the ice?” His voice was casual, but his cheeky expression sent a rush of excitement through her. “You look like you need to cool down.”
Paige opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Clearly all the blood in her body was powering her lady parts rather than her brain. Shaking her head, she scooped out the required number of ice cubes and dumped them into the blender.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so eager to try out all the vodkas and other cocktails they’d made over the course of the evening. Alcohol was a known ingredient in bad decisions. She’d help Noah with this cocktail but abstain from the taste test.
“I’ll let you finish us off.” He gestured to the blender.
“How gentlemanly of you.” She tried to sound lighthearted and breezy, but Noah’s expression said he wasn’t buying it. She slapped the lid on. “Let’s do this.”
Paige turned the dial, and the ingredients rattled against the blades. The ice wasn’t reducing enough, so she gave it a little shake like she used to do with the blender back home. But her fingers were slippery, and she hit the high-speed mode. Pink liquid shot up and sprayed out through the opening between the lid and the glass, splashing against her and Noah.
Paige squealed as they both reached for the blender at the same time, their hands colliding as the damn thing continued to spit at them.
“Turn it off!” she shouted as she tried to get her palm down over the lid.
A second later the sound of spinning blades died down and Paige took in the damage. Chunky pink liquid coated her and Noah as well as their workstation and the floor.
“You didn’t think to check the lid before you turned it on?” he asked, shaking his hands free of the cocktail. Part of a jagged mint leaf clung to his hair.
“I was trying to go fast so we could catch up.”
“Sure you were.”
“Oh yeah, I totally did that on purpose because I wanted to smell like something a drunk teenage girl vomited up.” Her tank now looked like something out of a Dexter episode. She was pretty sure she had watermelon in her ear, too. “It’s so sexy.”
To her utter shock, Noah leaned in and inhaled. “Smells pretty darn good to me.”
Her stomach roiled, although this time she wasn’t sure it was from the tequila or how close he’d gotten. “You’ve got bad taste.”
“I prefer the term ‘questionable.’” He grinned. “That I can argue against.”
It was hard to take him seriously when he looked like he had a vegetable garden growing out of his head. She reached up and plucked the pieces of shredded mint leaf. “Tell me you’ve got a secret shower in this place. This stuff is starting to dry and I feel like I’m about to get mummified.”
“Nope. But I do have some promo T-shirts downstairs so at least you can change.”
“I’ll take it.”
Libby rushed over, a roll of paper towel in her hands. “Oh no! Are you both okay?”
“Just a little juice, nothing we can’t handle.” Noah reached for the paper towel and tore a few sheets off, first for Paige and then for himself. “We’re going to go change out of these sticky clothes and then I’ll get this station cleaned up. I don’t want to interrupt the class any further, Lib.”
Paige pressed a wad of paper towel to her chest and shoulders, trying to get the biggest bits of watermelon off her skin. Paul kept the class going from the front of the room while Libby carefully unplugged the blender, her dress bunched in one hand to stop it from brushing against the floor.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Noah said.
“I think you might be dirtier than me.” Paige followed him as they ducked behind the rest of the room and made their way to the stairs. “Although I must say, pink looks good on you.”
He also wore a white T-shirt that now had a distinct watermelon tint to it. “I look good in everything,” he said, tossing a wink over his shoulder.
I bet you look good in nothing.
Paige followed him down the stairs, her eyes locked on to the easy movement of his hips and butt. His jeans were fitted but not tight, a little worn but not sloppy. Just like everything else about him, it hit the Goldilocks segment on the perfection scale.
First was in full swing on the main floor. The bartenders moved back and forth, smiling and appearing to enjoy their work. Paige had loved the vibe of First from day one. She’d been worried about sticking out like a sore thumb in the city bars since her wardrobe didn’t consist of fancy dresses and designer heels. But the clientele here was more relaxed—her kind of people.
“Lucky we ended up with a bunch of leftover T-shirts from a promo that we had a few months back,” Noah said as they slipped behind the bar and into the back office. “I should have something in your size.”
; He located a box and tipped the contents out onto the desk. The T-shirts were black and had my blood type is coffee #MelbCoffeeWeek printed in bold white font. She dug through the pile, looking for one in her size.
“It would have been luckier for me to put the blender lid on properly,” she said, reaching for another T-shirt. “Sorry about that. I…”
The words died on her tongue when she looked up in time to catch Noah pulling his dirty T-shirt over his head. His muscles flexed and rippled with the movement. Holy smokes, he wasn’t just Goldilocks level of perfect. The man was a freaking god.
“You…?” He raised a brow and tossed the damp T-shirt into the corner.
A silver nipple ring glinted in the light. It was the bar type with two little baubles, one at each end. Paige had never seen one in the flesh before—all the guys she’d dated were conservative. Good, wholesome boys.
Was Noah a bad boy? Because the word “good” certainly didn’t spring to mind. Her breath stuck in her throat as she tried to tear her gaze away from the piercing and all that hard, honed muscle. Lord, he even had one of those vee things going on that she’d previously thought was achievable only by Photoshop.
“I…” Her brain whirred. “Thanks for the T-shirt.”
She had one gripped in her hand so tight that her knuckles ached. It probably wasn’t even the right size. The second she’d seen all that bare skin…poof! Her brain had done a disappearing act.
“You going to put it on or stand there squeezing it to death?” He leaned forward to grab a T-shirt for himself.
“I’m waiting for a little privacy.” She made sure to look anywhere but at his naked torso. “Could you turn around?”
“Sorry ’bout that.” His lip twitched, but he turned away. “How rude of me.”
Paige didn’t immediately look away, too taken by the tattoo that stretched out across his back. The image showed an angel, with great big feathery wings and a sword, running down the length of his spine. Three names were written on a scroll that hung from one of the angel’s hands. Could be his sisters’ names. But what if one was a girlfriend…or fiancée?
Betting the Bad Boy (Behind the Bar) Page 5