The Bar Scene

by Ginny Frost

  Terese cleared her throat, stealing a peek at Drew. A man she’d only known for four days. She liked him, but enough to share her life plans? Her financial issues? Maybe. Maybe not. She chewed her lip for a split second, then tapped into her professional reserves.

  “Honestly, working at the Tavern is great with Alan behind me, backing up my decisions, overseeing the big stuff. But I never planned to be a bar wench—knee-deep in beer and vomit—for the rest of my life.” Images of the IRS goons loomed in her mind, freezing her gut. “A new challenge might be nice.”

  He hunched over his plate. “Like a career or a new place to hang your hat?” She blinked in surprise. “Are you a long-term gal or do you go with the flow?” For some reason, the question seemed intimate and important. An odd feeling settled over her.

  Her chest tightened as if all the air in the room disappeared. Before she recovered, the waiter dashed in with the wine. He went through the whole ritual of presenting the cork, having her taste the wine, then pouring, chatting through each hour-long step. Every time she tried to butt into his spiel, the waiter cut her off with another fun fact about the wine. By the time he finally departed from the table, Terese was ready to rip her hair out. Usually, she loved the ceremony, the formality, the class. Tonight, she wanted to kick the guy for his rotten timing.

  When the waiter finally left, she studied Drew again. How would he answer that question? How would she? The reality of her empty checking account reared its ugly head. “I’m heading toward long-term,” she said flatly. The words dropped slowly from her lips as she considered each syllable. Her gaze locked on him, waiting for his reaction. With luck, his answer might give her a clue to his prospects and his age.

  He settled back in his chair, sipping his wine. “That’s a good thing. You’re never too young to start planning a career.” She caught her jaw before it fell in her lap. A warm, fuzzy feeling raced up her spine.

  Recovering, she asked, “What about you?” Might as well put it all out there. She tasted her wine, eyeing him over the top. Unfortunately, the wine tasted superb, and she closed her eyes to savor the taste.

  “The wine is really good,” he said. Her lids fluttered open. Drew held up the glass and inspecting the contents. “I didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

  “I’m not. Not really. I know a good thing when I taste it,” she said. His eyebrow shot up as a smug grin spread across his lips. “Well, Drew. Aren’t we full of ourselves?” Lifting her own glass, she rolled with it. “Too bad these tablecloths are so short.” He sputtered, almost spitting out his drink. Terese awarded herself a mental point.

  Choking, laughing, Drew stuttered, “I…I don’t know where your mind is, Miss Brock, but I was merely pointing out the wine is excellent.”

  She leaned in, struggling to keep a straight face. “No, you weren’t.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  They gazed at each other across the table. The air thickened. Terese gasped to catch her breath. Drew opened his mouth when the stupid waiter plunked their food down. Items from both plates spilled onto the table, and the waiter snatched them up barehanded. He hid them behind his back, a trickle of sweat rolling down his cheek. Terese stared at her plate, then up at the young server. His nervous expression caused her eye to twitch.

  “Is there something wrong, miss?” He quickly deposited the spilled food on the tray behind him and snatched up a spare napkin. Twisting it in his hands, he searched over the elaborate presentation of food. Finally, his gaze came back to Terese. His brow furrowed. Her jaw tightened as heat rose up her neck. Bad food was one thing, but at these prices, bad service was unforgivable.

  “Thank you. No,” she said shortly. And he disappeared. She motioned to Joey who slid over quietly.

  “Something the matter, mademoiselle?” he asked, his French accent thick. Then conspiratorially, he added, “What’d you think of Bob?”

  “Joey, train him some more.” The maître d’s eyebrows shot up as Terese explained all of Bob’s errors and clumsiness. Finally, she paused, hating to share every little detail, but Joey relied on her. “He spilled food on the table too.” She twisted the napkin on her lap, self-conscious in front of Drew. But she expected a certain level of professionalism in such an establishment.

  Joey genuflected. His voice lowered, and the accent disappeared again. “I thought maybe he was ready. You’re an intimidating client, my dear. I think the other guys spooked him when they saw you sitting here.” He winked. Standing, his voice resumed the accent. “Enjoy your meal, mademoiselle.” He nodded tersely and left.

  Chewing her lip, Terese struggled to meet Drew’s gaze. God, he’d think her a snob. She swirled her wine. Finally, she glanced up to apologize or something. A brilliant smile beamed on his lips. His eyes shone with pride, respect, and a little bit of lust. He nodded and they continued with dinner.

  ****

  Drew wasn’t a foodie. Indifferent to the finer things, he usually macked on take-out meals and pre-made grocery store offerings.

  Tonight was different. With Terese, dining transcended into an event. She handled the waiter with aplomb, and the food—fantastic, every bite ambrosia. He never believed it before, but the wine actually enhanced the food’s flavors. The whole thing epitomized class itself. More dinners like that would be a great change of pace.

  As they ate, the conversation settled into benign topics. A thousand questions bubbled in his mind, mostly about her ambitions. With that level of dedication, she must love her job. She was so invested in the Oakwood Tavern, running the whole show, managing the bar, restaurant, and the club upstairs.

  The convention center and the hours of endless interviews with unqualified people rose in his mind. Specifically, the gobs of mindless, yuppie women who thought they could manage events, conferences, and conventions on a grand scale because they ran their kids’ Brownie troops.

  The convention center needed a woman like Terese. Someone who’d take the bull by the horns and ensure the place succeeded from the start. But if he suggested a job there, would it reveal who he was? She’d land the concierge or event planner job easily. But he couldn’t hand it to her. That wasn’t who she was.

  After dinner, they hit four bars in quick succession. By the time they sat down at the last one, Drew believed with his whole heart she was the exact person they needed for the convention center. At each place, she pointed out what worked and what didn’t. She actively recruited the bar staff for the tavern. A few times, she produced a thin notebook from her purse to jot down names or ideas.

  By scouting, analyzing, and observing these other places, she made Alan’s bar better. Her dedication tonight proved she was more than a talented manager. A surge of admiration washed over him. She was the perfect woman for him, dedicated to her work but still having fun as she did it.

  At their last stop, a quiet little pub one block off the main drag, they sat at table al fresco, enjoying the night air. They sipped whiskey sours and people-watched, their own conversation at a lull. A nice, comfortable silence, the kind established couples kept. Watching her sit, with an air of ease and style, Drew wanted to take her home now more than ever.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she said, breaking his reverie. He hadn’t realized how hard he was staring, probably with “I want you now” eyes too. He smiled into his drink.

  “Yeah. You can probably guess.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re probably thinking about how amazing I am.” Her words purred out with complete confidence and sophistication.

  “That was exactly what I was thinking.” A blush rose on her cheeks. “What an eye-opening evening.” He raised his glass to her, and she scowled at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m humbled by your level of devotion.” He bowed from his chair. “I’m awed by your awesomeness.” Her blush deepened.

  She tried to shrug his compliments off. “I wanted to show you what I do, I guess.”

  “Color me im
pressed. I hadn’t been to most of the places before tonight. You have excellent taste. I should’ve known from the way you dress.”

  “What about the way I dress?” She fished for praise, and he could do nothing but oblige.

  “I love the way you dress. You are always so…” He waved his hand, unsure of the words to describe her properly.

  “I have a problem, I know. Fashion is my demon.” She drained her drink. “Thankfully, tips are good, or I’d be out living in my car with a trunkful of fantastic shoes.” They both laughed, but hers died behind her hand, her brows deeply furrowed.

  Drew rummaged for a game-saving comment. “But you’d look good.”

  “Damn, right, I’d look good.” She raised her empty glass to him, and he clinked it.

  “So…” He wanted to press, to ask her about finding a better job with more money, say one with The Center. His stomach churned over the idea of finally telling her the truth. But hell, it’d been only four days. She might not freak when she found out he was Spencer Drake’s son.

  She stared at him expectantly, and he continued. “Didn’t we talk earlier about long-term plans? I mean your job won’t support you forever if you have a serious shoe fetish.”

  Her expression darkened. Maybe he should’ve let sleeping dogs lie. She toyed with her glass, glancing down at the bottom of it. She seemed to avoid meeting his eye. He zipped his lip.

  Finally, she said, “I love working at the tavern. It’s a good place for me. I have the freedom to do what I want when I want. I hire. I fire. I choose the schedule, the menu, and even the music. Where will I ever find a place like that?” Her voice held a note of sorrow.

  “Great.” He hoped his words didn’t sound as dry and strangled as they felt. Guess she wasn’t interested in moving up after all. He misjudged her ambition. It was probably for the best in the end. Working together might be weird or suffocating…or maybe be the best thing ever.

  Reaching over, he grasped her hand. Rubbed his thumb along her fingers and down her wrist, he asked, “So…” His gaze lingered on her lips, then slid back up to her eyes. He drew little circles on her palm. “Ready to call it a night?”

  He watched her carefully, hoping she’d comply. But Terese was no dummy, rather a worldly woman who made her own choices.

  “You’re not too tired? Out so late on a weeknight?” she asked, turning the tides and running her fingers under the cuff of his sleeve. “Some people can’t handle my schedule, the odd hours.” She licked her lips, sending chills up his spine.

  Sleep was for the weak.

  He wrapped his fingers around her hand tighter, edging her toward him. “Don’t worry, Terese. I can handle it.” He kissed her, slowly and sweetly, lingering over her lips. She kissed back with a deep passion. Heat surged through him, right down to his toes, setting his blood on fire. His caveman wanted to drag her off by her hair, but somehow, he didn’t think Terese would approve.

  Chapter Eleven

  Terese laid spread eagle on the bed, her body covered with a fine sheen of sweat. All the teasing about abandoning her on Monday made Drew generous, overly generous. Like multiple orgasms followed by breakfast in bed generous. She rolled onto her side, watching him dress.

  “Leaving so soon?” She cuddled closer as he pulled on his shoes—his blond hair a tangled mess, his face tinged pink with the afterglow. Tracing her fingers along his back, she tugged at the waistband of his pants. He wiggled as she dipped her hand in.

  “I really do have to work in the morning,” he said, taking her hand away and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. She pouted.

  “But if you stay, I’ll send you to work with a smile.” She tucked in further, curling her body around his, almost pinning him to the bed.

  His dark eyes sparkled as he brushed her hair away from her face. A light smile danced across his lips. “I want to stay. You know that. But if I do, neither of us will sleep.” He flipped her hand over and kissed her palm. A flutter ran through her, desire pooling low in her stomach. She wanted him.

  Again.

  “Come over after work.” Sitting up, she draped herself across his shoulders. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispered, blowing in his ear for good measure. He shivered.

  “Terese,” he said, gathering up both her hands and pushing her back down on the bed. He pinned her hands over her head, and every nerve in her body screamed, “Yes!”

  He loomed over her. “I have to go.”

  Still holding her hands, he kissed her, slowly, softly. She moaned beneath him, trying to press every inch of her naked body against his. Why did he have to put his pants on anyway?

  “I have to work.” He trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. When he hit the top of her collarbone, desire pulsed madly between her legs. Her hips thrust at him and her hands jerked, trying to touch him.

  “I don’t want to go.” He continued, sliding down her body, finding her hard nipples. He mouthed them between words. Her body hummed with each lick, each nibble. No way she’d let him leave now.

  “Stay with me,” she purred, her voice low and sultry. “You know you want to.”

  He groaned, seemingly transfixed by her wantonness. He changed the grip on her hands, freeing one of his. His fingers danced down her body to between her legs. She twitched at his touch, bucking and pressing herself against his exploring hand.

  “Terese…” Her name fell like a prayer from his lips, and she moaned again. “You are so ready.” His fingers twisted, and a flash of lightning burst through her. “So wet, so…” He pulled back. “I…” She stared at him hard, projecting every ounce of heat her body generated. And the words died on his lips.

  “Finish what you started.”

  He stared down at her, his gaze lustful, his nostrils flaring. “Be careful what you wish for.” He waited a beat, then his fingers traced over her again, his hand and mouth teasing her into a fevered state. When he finally released her hands, she plunged her fingers into his hair, holding on for the ride. She screamed his name as the orgasm shot through her.

  Drew, that bastard, only allowed her a moment to recover before he came at her again. She tugged at his jeans, but he seemed too busy to care. She loved the motion of his hands, but she needed him inside her now.

  “Take off your fucking pants!”

  He lifted his eyes and gazed at her down the length of her body. God, she almost came again. “You want me to stop?”

  “I want you to shag me good.”

  “I told you, be careful what you ask for,” he said and winked.

  Before she demanded anything else, he flipped her over on her stomach. He pushed at the back of her legs, compelling her up onto her knees and elbows. She heard a condom wrapper rip, and then he was inside her. In one quick smooth motion, he thrust in to the hilt. She came in a wild frenzy.

  “Oh, no.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re not getting away that easy.” Terese moaned louder as he pounded into her. He came hard, thrusting into her deeply, pushing her down into the mattress. She reveled in it. His sweet and accommodating mannerisms disappearing under the guise of lust. She liked a bit of aggression.

  She liked it a lot.

  ****

  Grabbing his shoes and shirt, Drew cursed for succumbing to Terese’s charms. Not that it wasn’t amazing, but his taskmaster brain buzzed with alarm about work. Hating himself and his dad—a little bit—for being a work-a-holic, he glanced back at the sex goddess one more time.

  Terese still lay in bed, but not sprawled in a tempting, impossibly sexy position as before. Curled up on her pillow, she slept soundly, not noticing his escape. No, not escape, departure. He wanted nothing more than to join her and spend the next few weeks in her bed. But duty called.

  Shrugging on his shirt as he left the apartment, he scrubbed his curls. Guilt lingered in the air. Another day and he hadn’t told her. Another day and he still kept his last name a secret. It was plain stupid at this point. She wouldn’t care who he was in the en
d. They liked each other. They connected. Hell, look at what just happened.

  Jogging down the steps and out to the street, he tried not to think about the hot and heavy sex. Too much thinking and he’d be right back upstairs and into the doghouse with his dad and George. But man, Terese followed his wild hunch. He wasn’t usually Mr. Super-Aggressive, tie the girl down, but it worked and she liked it.

  Slipping into the car, he paused. Had he really held her down? Or was that just the role he played with his new style?

  Don’t go there. Not now.

  He’d have to deal with a stressed George and the Drake-wannabes in about an hour. His body craved sleep, his mind some time to process, not to mention, a real plan to tell Terese everything.

  There was no reason not to tell her. She obviously liked the sex and enjoyed his company, during the ten or so minutes when they took a breather. He chuckled as he unlocked his apartment door. Maybe he was blinding her with it, blinding himself, but most relationships started with the hot and steamy. Later, they cooled down into the “learning about each other” part. He was fine. He wasn’t hiding. They’d been too busy to have those deep meaningful conversations. No harm in not telling her everything.

  Rationalize much?

  ****

  Wednesday night, Terese stood at the bar, chewing on her fire-engine red thumbnail. Eric leaned across the bar to put his hands over hers.

  “You need to stop that,” he said.

  Blinking, she glanced up at him, then down at her ravaged nail. “Oh, oops. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” Heat rose in her cheeks as she bowed her head. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  Eric shrugged. “I didn’t want to listen to you bitch about ruining your manicure.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him, then ducked behind the bar to help. Wednesday nights were typically slow, and tonight was no exception. It left her too much time to think about Drew and her financial problems. He’d been such useful distraction from her money woes. In his arms, the impending disaster of the bar closing seemed far away. Grabbing a rag, she polished the bar, her eyes unfocused.