by Alexa J. Day
She went back out to the bar with Heather, intending to make a quick walk-through to check on her customers before heading to her office to keep up with paperwork and the planning for Heather's party. The appletini girls were huddled over a menu. A waitress brought a pitcher of beer to the booth of regulars and scooped up the empty pitcher as she chatted with them.
Noah leaned against the back bar, just outside the swinging kitchen door. He seemed oblivious to the commotion around him, which was nothing new. She'd seen him focus on filling the ice bins as if the fate of the world depended on it. Now his attention was directed at the end of the bar, and the old man she'd observed there earlier.
The last time he'd stared at a customer like that was a few weeks ago, just before the douchebag had started raising hell with his ex-girlfriend. Throwing people out was Gigi's least favorite part of the job, right up there with cutting people off. Still, she'd stepped in to handle the problem, the way she'd handled it too many times before. When the asshole wouldn't leave under his own power, Noah had picked him up by the scruff of the neck and one belt loop, and carried him, cursing and struggling, out the front door.
There hadn't been any trouble after that, unless he saw something now that she didn't.
Gigi had been filling a pint glass with ice when Noah appeared next to her.
"Boss?"
God. Hearing that word in his low voice, meant for her attention only, made desire creep through her like molasses, thick and sticky-sweet.
Easy. "Yeah, Monroe?"
"You see that guy over there?"
She didn't have to look up to know who he meant. "I see him. I don't think he's going to—"
"Would you buy him the next beer?"
She glanced up at Noah to see if he was serious, not that this seemed like his kind of humor. "You know him?"
He shook his head.
"He just looks like another beer would do him good?"
He nodded. "That's right, boss."
She looked up at the old man, still gazing at nothing as his nearly empty glass grew warm beside him. She would probably have refused anyone else; she often had to rein in summer employees fascinated with the idea that the bar's budget allowed them to buy someone the occasional drink. But Noah wasn't given to bullshit like that. Besides, after the bathrooms, she was inclined to be generous. Someone ought to have a free beer after all that work.
"Tell you what, Monroe. How about you buy him the beer? I'll take it out of your pour tab."
"Thanks, boss." He peered over into the ice well behind her and turned to head back to the freezer. "I owe you one."
Gigi tapped the screen on the point of sale system until she found the older guy's tab. Once she figured out what he was drinking, she pulled a second beer and took it to him. He finally looked up when she swapped out his glass for the fresh one.
"Oh," he said. His features softened into an expression that seemed careworn and lost, as if he were embarrassed to be caught staring into space. "But I didn't—"
"Don't worry, brother," she said. "It's taken care of."
He blinked at the beer before speaking. "Oh. Um, thank you."
"Yeah, you bet."
She watched the old man from the corner of her eye as she poured herself a glass of water from the soda gun. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he regarded his new drink, but his smile was wilted and broken. He certainly didn't seem much happier, but she'd only given away one beer. Maybe he'd stay for dinner now.
Time would tell. She took her glass of water back to the office.
She hadn't gone downstairs to the cool storage room to complete a full inventory. She liked to save that chore for Sunday nights. She'd just come to check on the bubblegum vodka. Two of the summer bartenders had suggested picking it up for younger customers. The incredibly sweet liquor was great for what they called girly drinks.
She'd gone into the storage to see how many of the three bottles were still on the shelf.
She'd gone in to count to three. Actually, the highest number she would have had to count was three.
And she couldn't do that. Because of him.
She had been half-listening to him out there, talking to the old man as he hauled the last of the clean glasses to the back bar and wiped down the sinks. She couldn't make out the words, but his voice had taken on a warmth that evoked a similar softness from his new friend. At one point, they shared a joke. They both sounded like men who didn't laugh often enough.
Somehow, Monroe had gotten this guy to open up enough to order dinner, and he'd lingered at the bar all evening, until now the two of them were closing the place.
Much as Noah's kindness intrigued her, though, Gigi was distracted by his other attributes.
She imagined his body moving, so graceful despite his size. In her mind, she could see his big hands around the pint glasses, his powerful legs taking him easily from one end of the bar to the other. He'd be out there now, mopping the floor with long, sweeping movements like a dance.
Time went slow. The storage room's familiar perfume, cardboard mixed with the sweet spicy smell of spirits, wrapped itself around her.
She knew he'd come in eventually. He'd ask if she needed anything else. That was his question for her every night.
You need anything else, boss?
This time, she'd put the iPad down and turn to face him. She'd crook her finger silently, beckoning him. Not smiling, not coy. A summons, a command.
And he'd come to her, slowly filling the room with each step until he was right in front of her, as close as these bottles of vodka she couldn't count because of him.
Then she'd point down at the floor, and his long legs would fold in silent reverence as he knelt before her.
He would know what came next. He would know how to unfasten the button and zipper of her jeans, how to slide them down and down. He would know that he must kiss each thigh before he proceeded. He must present the warm pressure of his mouth, the fine sandpaper of his chin, for her approval.
He would know that when she nodded, he must pull down her panties. Moving them aside would not be enough. She must feel his face, his breath, against her bare skin. Tonight, however, the fabric might give in those strong hands. These panties were worn and flimsy things anyway, defenseless against the lust he must try to control, and she would forgive the destructive impulse because it aroused her so immensely.
She would widen her stance to make room for him. Those big hands would cup her naked ass. His breath would be hot and urgent on her swollen mound.
And then his tongue would slide between her pussy lips, with the slow confidence that was part of him. His mouth would settle on her aching flesh, and he'd devour her, his firm lips coaxing hot nectar from her, his tongue plunging deep into her. She would rock her hips against his face, and his fingers would dig in, partly to hold her still and partly as a response to his tremendous hunger for her.
She would stroke his hair first. Yes, he was so good. Yes, it was just as she wished. Then she would pull it, bringing him up and into her, and he would know she wanted more of this.
He was so strong and tireless, made for her, and he would prove it with his service. The wet sound of him feasting on her, the slow sway of her hips toward his face and then back into his hands. The subtle rasp of his chin on her slick folds would be loud in the storage room's stillness. He would go on like this as long as she wanted, as long as she could bear it.
And when she tapped the crown of his head, he would divert his attention to her clit, flicking it with his tongue, pressing it between his lips until she flew apart under his ministrations. He would hold her as she shuddered, her back against the shelves, making the bottles ring against each other.
He would hold her steady until she came back to earth.
He would lick her juices from his mouth.
Then he'd ask her favorite question. "You need anything else?"
She snapped back to reality with a sigh. Dammit. This was twice in one day. She'd come d
own here to count three bottles. If she wasn't careful, she'd be here all night.
Gigi was not doing inventory. She'd told Noah that was what she was doing, and she was standing in the storage room with her iPad in her hand. She looked the part all right.
But Gigi hadn't moved for at least sixty seconds. Noah knew that because he'd been standing about six feet behind her, staring at her ass, for that long.
He blessed the day he'd found this place and come in to ask Heather about the barback job. He hadn't even known what a barback was. He just knew he needed a way to make some cash before he went to Florida to meet up with Lamont, and lots of people had told him that working at a bar meant good money, a good time, and no commitment. Perfect. He wouldn't be here long. No need to get involved with other people's lives.
Then he'd met the woman who would be his boss.
Jesus.
Built like a goddess. Almost as tall as he was and strong, too, but gifted with curves that were just right for his hands.
He wanted to lick that perfect brown skin. He wanted to plunge his hands into that dense mass of curls, too abundant to be imprisoned in a ponytail, and he wanted to tug and tease them, to watch them glow a deep red-brown in the light. He wanted just once to see her in a bikini. Something bright. Something that exposed those long legs.
The other day, he'd caught her checking him out. At least, he thought he had. She hadn't dropped her gaze when he faced her. In fact, she'd given him something else to do. But for that instant, she had been looking at him.
That would have been enough if he didn't work for her. If he wasn't the employee, he'd have found out by now whether she'd been inspecting his technique or sizing him up for something else.
But he liked this job too much to risk it. It did pay well, and he went home exhausted. He hadn't slept so peacefully in forever.
When Gigi had interviewed him so long ago, she'd been so worried that the job would be beneath him. With his experience, she had asked, wouldn't he want something that used his skills? But he'd had a good look at the place, and what he saw made him smile. She needed a lot done in there. He reassured her that he'd be using his skills.
Not that the place was filthy. He'd been in his share of filthy bars, staffed by lots of lazy-ass people standing around drinking like they were customers. Gigi's handful of bartenders and wait staff stayed busy all shift long. Keeping up with business would be hard enough without slowing down to figure out why the lights on the patio upstairs didn't work.
He was needed here. He’d joined a tight-knit, fun-loving, hard-working bunch, and they needed him. He hadn’t wanted to be involved, but the Inn Too Deep had other plans. He couldn’t fuck that up.
So he settled for perfect moments like this, when he could stare at his boss's ass with impunity while she pretended she was doing inventory.
What was distracting her?
Was she thinking about him?
Her spine straightened an instant before she glanced over her shoulder. She jumped just a little when she saw him. She pressed her palm to her chest and exhaled through perfect, rounded lips. "Jesus, Monroe."
"Sorry," he said.
"It's all right." She chuckled and rubbed her eyes. "It's so late I can't count to three down here."
For a moment, he dared to imagine that she'd been thinking of him. Maybe thinking of digging those short nails into his shoulders. He tried to keep the thirst off his face. "I finished everything up front. I just came to see if you needed anything else."
"You let that guy out?"
He smiled, remembering the old man's firm handshake and the tiny tremor in his features that said he wanted a hug instead.
"Yeah, I sent him home."
She was quiet for a second, and a tiny furrow appeared between her brows, but she didn't ask whatever question was on her mind. Instead, she set the iPad on a box of Stoli and looked up at him. "You know, Heather and I were talking about you today."
Oh, really? "You were?"
"Yeah. She's really impressed with your work here." She put her hands in her back pockets, right where Noah wanted his own.
"That's great," he said. "Thanks."
"I'm impressed, too." Her rosy lips curved into a smile.
His skin grew warm, and he hoped the light was too dim for her to see him blushing. "Even better."
"She wanted me… she asked me to ask you to stay on. After Labor Day." She lifted one hand to ward off his response. "I told her you and I had already talked about this."
He'd been upfront at the interview when he said he could only stay for the summer. His stated reason at the time was that Lamont was expecting him to join the crew of his fishing boat in Florida. He'd also secretly wondered how long he could stay interested in the job.
Now he just had to deal with Lamont.
"Yeah, I'm flattered." He nodded. "I mean, I really would stay if it weren't for this other job."
"I know." She shrugged. "I told her. But I also told her I would ask you. Again."
Now she was blushing. Her face went the color of sunset, a warm rose color unlike anything else God created, and he could all but hear her body seeking his touch.
His skin tingled as the fine hairs on his bare arms slowly rose. The air thickened between them, its weight so heavy he could barely expand his chest. Something like electricity slowly wrapped around his spine, down to his balls.
A feeling he knew all too well—the sense that something was about to happen. The tingling hyper-awareness, the first icy slivers of sweat, the short, shallow breath. He'd felt it dozens, maybe hundreds of times in the roaring heat of the desert half a world away. He'd felt it as a teenager on summer vacations, just before an explosion of a different kind.
He'd never experienced it in this way, connected to something he needed like he needed the rush of blood in his veins.
He could kiss her. He could close the scant distance between them and slide his tongue along the seam of her plump lips.
But she rocked back on her heels and touched her tongue to her upper lip. Cool air swept into the space between them, enough for him to regain himself by breathing deeply of the storage room's booze-fragrant air.
"Okay," she sighed. "I'll tell her tomorrow. That you said no. Again."
"Okay." He rubbed the back of his neck, the friction restoring him to reality. "I mean, nothing personal. I just have to be in Florida."
She swept one hand over the other. "That's what I told her. She's just not big on taking no for an answer."
"I get it." He eased away from her and toward the door, moving like a magnet being pulled off steel. "You sure you don't need anything else?"
She took the iPad off the box of Stoli. "I'm good. See you tomorrow?"
"You bet."
He was almost to the stairs when she spoke again. "Noah."
She rarely used his first name. Hearing it in that low, musical voice almost undid him.
"Yeah, boss?"
"What was up with that guy tonight?"
He turned to face her. "Fellow vet. Vietnam." He shrugged. "He just needed to talk."
A quizzical expression pursed her lips. "How could you tell?"
Noah regarded her with a smile. "Just a feeling, boss."
She didn't need to hear the truth, didn't need to know how he recognized the distant, unfocused expression on his new friend's face. Noah's landlady stared off into nothingness like that sometimes, sitting on her porch and thinking of the son who had never come home. Many long summers ago, his favorite uncle had gazed into the carpet between his chair and the television, the center of a bubble that threatened to pop with deafening force.
The silence between them began to build again. If he didn't go now, they'd eventually turn a corner to things that couldn't be undone.
"So you don't need anything else, boss?"
She shook her head. "I just came to count one thing. I'm going out right behind you."
"Okay," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Chapter 2
Long after the boat parade and the annual displays of fireworks, long after the holiday revelers had shuffled out to their cars, and a few hours after the Fourth of July became July 5th, Gigi savored the quiet of her empty bar. This time last summer, her crew of bartenders had turned the herculean task of cleaning up into another party of sorts. Last year's crop of summer staff took forever to close down for the night, partly because of the larger than average crowd, and partly because they hadn't been cleaning as they went, while they were working. Gigi blamed herself for the delay, although she didn't begrudge the younger employees their happiness. She believed in hiring energetic people who loved the job, but sometimes her staffing decisions led to raucous, playful inefficiency.
These days, her bartenders were a more established bunch, with families waiting at home or places to go once their shifts were over. They lived by the old bartender saying—time to lean is time to clean—and used their rare moments of downtime to keep the bar and their stations tidy. Under bright and unflattering lights, they still sang along with the music but moved briskly while they reveled. They made short work of closing out after last call and went their separate ways for the night.
Now, seated in her favorite spot at the far corner of the bar, Gigi pushed aside the remnants of a very late dinner. A glass of water stood neglected and sweating in the center of a sodden cocktail napkin, and she finished matching the figures from a long, curling band of paper to the spreadsheet on her iPad.
From the kitchen, distant clinking sounds announced the end of another dishwasher cycle. Noah would be pulling a tray of dishes and glasses out of there now and preparing for what would likely be the last cycle for the night. Something about hearing him move back there, tucking the kitchen in for the night, comforted Gigi. He'd spent the last two months proving that he could take excellent care of her business. Ignoring Gigi's advice not to get attached to him, Heather had created a "Noah-do" list that would take him far longer than the summer to complete. Against her better judgment, Gigi had stopped discouraging her. Together, they played it off as a challenge—let's see how much of this he manages to get done before he has to leave.