"Yeah, that's a good idea. I hope it's not glass or something," she said as she walked toward Rodrigo, filling up the trays of dirty glasses he was looking for.
"Can get a flashlight," Rodrigo offered, buying the story without hesitation.
She looked over her shoulder at Danny who sent her a small, sexy little wink before he went back to capping the bottles.
It was right about then that she knew she was in for a helluva lot of trouble with him.
The sooner she could get him on his own shift and off hers, the better.
Or, at least, that was what she was trying to convince herself.
FIVE
Faith
Friday and Saturday night were busy. And she was incredibly grateful for that fact. Because by the time she went home Thursday night, she had herself into knots.
Most women weren't overly comfortable walking several blocks to their apartment after three in the morning in a while not wholly awful, but not great neighborhood. Faith wasn't most women. She had training. She had a knife. And she was ready and willing to use either should she so need them.
But she needed the walk. She needed it to focus, to think things through, to calm her overactive and underutilized sex drive.
Because that had almost been bad. It had almost taken the reputation she had built, the respect she had needed to fight tooth and nail for and thrown it in the trash.
Her apartment building was nothing special. Very few of them were unless you were some stock broker or CEO or something like that. Faith was lucky enough to make good money, but she thought paying more than she needed to in rent was unnecessary. She wasn't stupid. She knew that bartending, especially for a woman, wasn't a career you could do forever. Sure, you could still see old men behind bars in just about any town in the country. But when was the last time anyone walked in and saw an old woman?
Exactly.
Never.
So she needed to be smart with her money, sock as much of it away as possible, and use it to fund a new life outside of the City some day.
But not anytime soon.
She wasn't done with the City yet.
She walked up the stairs to the top floor despite there being an elevator. But the thing was ancient and she was pretty sure there had never been anyone in to tune it up or anything since she moved in six years before. Her apartment was at the end of the hall across from the stairs that went both to the ground floor and roof. It was also one with a fire escape that led both up and down.
You could never be too careful.
She let herself in and flicked on the light to the studio apartment she used to hate but had since gotten used to. It was small, no more than maybe five-hundred square feet plus the tiny bathroom that it was literally hard to turn around inside. Originally, she had no plans on settling in, in making it homey. But after the first two years passed and she didn't have a reason to pick up and run, she settled.
So her queen bed that used to just have plain white sheets, was butted up against the wall to the left, facing into the living space where she had one papasan chair and a small end table in front of the TV that was just inside the door. To the right inside, was a small kitchen against the wall that lined the bathroom, everything petite and apartment sized. She had painted the walls a deep purple that almost had a grayish hue to it because, well, she lived there and she didn't give a good goddamn what man stopped over and didn't like her girly paint. The bed had a huge, fluffy white comforter and purple sheets beneath. The carpet on the floor in the living space was a small rectangle of white, purple, and a swirl of gray.
It was not what you would expect from a woman like Faith. Most people who met her figured she lived in some bare-walled old warehouse and slept on a bed of nails. But, prickly demeanor aside, she was a girl and she liked girly things from her nail polish to her sheets and everything in between.
Besides, some of said prickly-ness was bluster. Granted she could and she would put any man down who messed with her, but all the snark and bitchiness... that was just to keep people from trying to get too close.
"Still alive, huh?" she asked as she walked to the kitchen, looking into the two-gallon modern-looking square tank with the LED light where her betta fish, Rhoda, lived. It was actually a parting gift from an asshole ex who gave it to her with the hopes that it would teach her how to 'nourish someone else'.
The bastard.
The joke was on him though because it was never that Faith couldn't nourish anyone, it was that she had absolutely no fucking plan to nourish a grown ass man whose mother obviously didn't cut the apron strings soon enough.
In fact, just about two minutes after he walked out of her then-apartment, she had ran down to the pet store and loaded up on a tank, filter, live plants, food, and a quirky Easter Island big head statue.
Then she went home, named the bright red thing Rhoda after Rhoda Morgenstern from The Mary Tyler Moore Show and nurtured the fuck out of that fish. Which was why he (apparently Rhoda was male) was still living almost seven years later when they generally didn't live beyond five.
She fed Rhoda and moved off toward the bathroom to shower, something she always did after a shift. Though she had long-since become accustomed to the booze and fruit and mixer smells on her skin and didn't notice it anymore, she knew it was there and she didn't want that all over her sheets.
The fact that as she undressed, what popped into her mind was a set of very dark, very hypnotizing brown eyes and a set of lips she had really wanted to taste, yeah, she pretended that meant nothing. Which lasted maybe five minutes before her hand had to slide down her body and take care of the clawing need before it drove her half-crazy.
Changed into an oversize tee and panties, she walked back into the living room and put on water for tea as she checked her landline. She had a cell, but sometimes there were people and places you didn't want to give that number out to.
"Ms. Costa, this is Marion from Clearview. We need you to come in to fill out some new forms for your mother. She is getting moved to the new wing on Monday and we need the transfer papers signed. If you could give me a call at..."
Faith sighed, rolling her neck.
Why she was putting off the inevitable was beyond her. She was maybe just tired of that place, of all the memories in it. She went as often as her schedule would allow and, with a new trainee, that meant for the next month or so she wouldn't be there more than a time or two.
Not that her mother would notice.
But that was beside the point really.
Even if she didn't notice, she owed it to her to show her face and make sure she was being properly taken care of.
But getting her transferred meant Faith would have to talk to Vin and she really didn't want to.
Though, he was in no position to turn down her request for a bigger check every month.
She'd struck her deal with him the day she turned eighteen and there was no going back. For either of them.
She made her way back to bed, knowing she would only get a couple hours now that she had to stop by Clearview before hitting the Y to teach her usual Krav Maga class.
Then she had to do a busy Friday on barely any sleep side-by-side with Danny.
But, it turned out to go relatively smoothly. She gave a large amount of credit to the extra large coffee with three shots of espresso that Milo, the dessert guy, made her when she came in for her shift and started snapping at people for no good reason. With all that caffeine in her system, she felt like she could do anything.
And she did.
And nothing happened.
Not all night Friday or all night Saturday.
They worked and cleaned side-by-side and Danny kept his hands to himself more often and she made an effort to not be a bitch because that would only lead to more confrontations with him and confrontations with him, she was beginning to see, seemed to lead to open displays of their mutual sexual attraction.
But Sunday was slow.
This was largely
due to the fact that Vin refused to put TVs in his bar. He thought it was tacky and encouraged patrons to be anti-social. So anyone who liked sports, which was the biggest chunk of the male population, hiked it to literally any other bar in the city. And where the hot guys went, so did the girls.
That left Lam all but empty save for the regulars and Vin's usual Sunday night meeting in the back of the bar at his normal table- sitting right in front of the door to the panic room. His party was big that night, leading her to worry again about that odd feeling she was having about something being off.
But all seemed par for the course. They all settled in, had a round, ordered a late dinner, and were bullshitting. Well, they looked like they were bullshitting. She knew from experience that a lot of it had to do with work.
Which was part of the reason she was tense.
The other part was it was quiet and she had absolutely no excuse to not talk to Danny.
"So what's your story, Faith?" he asked, looking comically like a bartender as he dried a shaker with a towel, leaning back against the wall of liquor bottles.
"My story?"
"Let's start with how you came to work here," he offered.
Faith tried to not stiffen and was pretty sure she accomplished the task. "I was eighteen and I needed a job. Having no work history kind of leaves you working at a store or in the hospitality business. I can't deal with people in stores so I opted for hospitality. Even if I do have all the charm of a honey badger," she added with a smirk that he smiled in response too, warm, making the skin next to his eyes crinkle in a far too appealing way.
"And Vin hired you with no experience?"
He didn't really have a choice. But she wasn't telling him that.
"Even at eighteen, I had these tits," she said instead, trying to keep things light. She was always tossing around flippant comments about her boobs, used to the bar clientele who did so as well. But it was always light and teasing. The second she said it to him, though, his eyes dipped to her chest and she felt a familiar swelling of her breasts, a telltale sign of arousal.
"And you liked it enough to stay for ten years?" he asked, surprising her when his gaze lifted much faster than most mens' would.
"I found I'm good at it. I don't frazzle easily. Once you learn the drinks, this is a pretty stress-free career to be in. And the tips are good. What about your story?"
Danny shrugged, looking up as the door opened and people moved in, making him stiffen. She figured it was Anthony that made him tense, seeing as the two had that little altercation his first night on the job. The guy he was with she didn't recognize. And, well, she would have remembered a man like him.
He was a giant and a solid wall of muscle with some indeterminate heritage that she thought was at least in part Puerto Rican given his perfect skin tone and warm brown eyes, several shades lighter than Danny's. He, like was expected in Vin's business partners, was dressed in a suit- deep gray, expensive, perfectly tailored.
Oh, yeah. She'd have remembered him alright.
Apparently there was a new player in town.
Maybe that was all there was to the weird feeling she had been having. Maybe Vin and the others were stressed about some new deal with the hot Puerto Rican guy in the nice suit. It could have really been that simple.
Somehow even just thinking it had her shoulders relaxing slightly.
So it managed to escape her that where she had relaxed, Danny had tensed up.
"Hey, baby-doll," a deep, gravely, hot as all get out masculine voice asked, making her turn to face the bar and find the sexy stranger standing there, giving her a charming perfect-toothed smile that made a dimple press into his cheek. A dimple. Of all the ridiculous but somehow perfect things on a man as impressive as him.
"Hey there," she said, giving him a smile. "What can I get you?"
"Since it would be cheesy to say your number, I'll take Balvenie 40."
Faith's brow lifted at that. Being in the business as long as she had been, she had come to accept one universal truth: you could tell a lot about a man by the way he ordered a drink.
That awkward 'what do you suggest' said he was long overdue for a lay and mistakingly thought he was charming.
The guys who ordered well-level mixed drinks were your average joes.
The ones who ordered drinks straight: scotch, whiskey, vodka, etc., but didn't specify a brand were heavy drinkers who didn't care about quality.
Men who trippingly ordered good brands were usually just trying to impress you, their date, or their work buddies.
But the men who cooly and confidently ordered something like Balvenie 40, a single malt that cost upward of three-grand per bottle, oh yeah, they were something special.
"That is some discerning taste you have there," she said, turning away and reaching for the bottle on the top shelf.
"Ever have it?" he asked as she poured him three fingers, as Vin preferred his guests be given.
"I have," she said with a nod as she turned to put it back on the shelf. Vin insisted she taste test every bottle that they chose to have on their shelves. It was a somewhat wastefully expensive idea on his part and she had refused to train any of the other bartenders that way.
"And?" he asked, reaching for his glass as she pushed it toward him, making their hands overlap and in her peripheral, she saw Danny move closer.
"And it's great, but I'm more of a Grants 18 kind of girl."
"Well, as long as you didn't say Johnnie, I can't complain. You have a good night baby-doll," he said, giving her a smile full of promise before walking away. "I'm Max by the way," he called, not even turning to her to do so.
"Was that some bar foreplay?" Danny asked, catching her attention. But his attention was on the retreating man.
"What?"
"The Balvenie 40 and Grant 18 shit. Was that some kind of foreplay?"
"That's a weird question," she said back, turning to watch the guy, Max, take a seat, his profile visible to them. Only then did Danny's attention turn back to her.
"But a valid one. Baby, your tongue was on the bar."
"Oh please," she snorted, shaking her head, taking the rag out of his hand and cleaning up a spill someone left on the bar before leaving. And only dropping a two dollar tip when they had been parked for three hours. The assholes. "Look, you're new so you don't know this about me. But I don't fuck around at work. Work is for working. Play happens outside those doors and outside those doors only. And that means I don't screw around with coworkers, bosses, or associates of my bosses."
"So, what your saying is, you want me to walk you home tonight."
He said it so easily, so deadpan, without even a hint of hesitation that she was taken aback for a second, sure she misheard him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You don't screw around with anyone inside these doors. I heard you loud and clear," he said, devilish little smirk in place.
"That did not mean that once we walk outside that we can screw around."
"Really? Because it kind of sounded that way to me."
"Then you're just hearing what you want to hear, slick," she said, distracting herself by picking up all the bottles in the speed rack and praying one of them was empty so she could have an excuse to go fill one and get away from him.
She had no such luck.
"Do I want to hear that I have permission to put my hands on parts of you that wouldn't be appropriate in public," he started, coming up behind her so that when he spoke, his breath tickled her ear. "Fuck yeah, I do," he said and she could feel the edge of his lips at the top of her ear, making her insides do a small, entirely too delicious shiver.
"It doesn't work that..."
"And, what's more," he cut her objection off, both of their eyes meeting in the mirror behind the bar, both of them looking heavy-lidded, eyes heated. "You want that too."
Faith shook her head, swallowing hard before she could manage a pathetic, "No, I don't."
"So, when I do this," he said, his finger running across
the sliver of skin between her jeans and tank top, making her body do a hard shiver, this time not only internally, "and you do that... that's you not wanting it?"
Lord, how she wanted it.
She was pretty sure in that moment that she hadn't wanted anything like she wanted that in years. Or, at the very least, in ten long, dry months.
"Baby," he called, his voice prompting a response.
"Yeah?"
"Those panties," he said, leaning close so that his lips were against her earlobe. When he spoke, she could feel the graze of his teeth on her earlobe, "bet you they're close to puddle status right now." With that, he dropped his hand and moved back and it took every bit of strength she had to not slam her hands down on the counter to keep upright on her suddenly wobbly legs. "In case you were wondering, Faith, that was my game."
"You..." she started, whipping around, anger a welcome replacement for desire, though for her, the two often went hand in hand. Nothing got her hotter than a good argument.
"Another thing maybe you should know about me. When I play, I play to win."
She pressed her lips together, fighting back the urge to say something heated, choosing instead to go for cool. "Get used to disappointment, Danny."
"Right about now, sweetheart, I bet disappointment is coursing through your system, not mine."
"Get over yourself."
"Faith, being your charming self as per usual," another voice said behind her.
See, when it came to Vin's offspring, he was two for three. Anthony was the young, spoiled, arrogant, misguided, violent asshole scumbag from hell.
Giovani, or Gio as he preferred to be called by friends, was the middle one and, as it usually went, he made up for his middle status by being charmingly loud and funny. And while he was genuinely intelligent and had a good business sense, he hid it under a general laziness that was allowed because of the aforementioned charm and humor.
Salvatore was the oldest and did not, in case you were wondering, like being called Salvy or Tory. That was a fact Faith learned the night of her twenty-first birthday when she was legally drunk off her ass in the bar three doors down from Lam and Salvatore just so happened to come in, pay her tab, grab her discarded items, and personally drive her home while she blabbered endlessly and tried about six different pet names for him because she insisted that Salvatore was way too stern sounding.
Dark Secrets Page 5