The London Sisters: The Complete Series: Bonus Content Edition

by Abby Brooks

  Probably. Ask me if I care.

  Do you care?

  A little. Gotta pay rent, you know? Oh wait. You don’t. You don’t pay rent.

  I barely know the woman, but sitting here in my room, one of hundreds I’ve been in this year alone, I can hear the twist of wit in her sweet like candy voice. See the little toss of her head, the one that lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. The one that inevitably makes my eyes drop to her full breasts. And then to the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips.

  Freedom is sublime, I respond.

  I tuck my phone in my pocket, only feeling a little bad about not letting her know I’ll be at the bar tonight. Of course I’ll show up. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. But she doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. Besides, a little anticipation never hurt anyone.

  Chapter Six

  Every time the door opens, I lose track of what I’m thinking or doing. I can’t hold one single conversation tonight because that damn door interrupts me every time.

  See?

  There.

  It did it again.

  I’m going to have to ask this yahoo with the fish eyes and weird hair to repeat his drink order and I really don’t want to because he seems to think everything I say or do is actually me flirting with him.

  It’s not, for the record. I’ve even stopped smiling at him but that hasn’t deterred him yet. He’s going to end up grabbing me before the night’s out. He’s just got that look about him.

  Just one of the charming occupational hazards of working behind the bar.

  Damn.

  And there’s the door again.

  Why are we so popular tonight?

  Not that I’m complaining. The tips will be nice. And the energy is good, if I could get my focus back on what I’m doing and off Dominic’s potential arrival. I lick my lips and can’t stop the smile that lights up my face when I think about him. Of course, wouldn’t you know it, I’m still staring right into the eyes of the fish-faced weirdo without a clue.

  A sick smile contorts his face. “Did I make you forget again, cupcake?” His voice is snake oil. He might as well have a little forked tongue slipping between his lips. “Because I can do that to a woman. Make her forget everything.”

  I’m sure he’s trying to go for slick. Probably thinks he’s on his A-game. Wooing me with his weird sexual innuendos and oddly misshapen hair.

  “Sorry man,” I say, eyes darting towards the door again. “But I’m not into being rufied or anything to do with chloroform.” It’s a little harsh and is sure to piss him off, but I need him to get the message sooner rather than later. Because, umm, I’m really not in the mood to be knocked out and tied up and spilled into his trunk or something equally devious and terrifying.

  He laughs and runs a hand through his hair while the guy two seats down from him snorts laughter into his glass. “We’ll see about that,” says The Fish, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin, his eyes lingering just a little too long on my chest.

  I’m pretty sure he’s still flirting and hasn’t moved on to actual threats, but I decide to give this guy a wide berth for the rest of the evening. I take his order and make his drink more than a little light on the actual alcohol. The door opens and closes exactly five and a half times while I’m pouring. Yep. That’s right. Half a time. Some jerk is in the process of leaving and is just standing there with the door in his hand, just about making sure that my attention is on two things at once as I try to peer around him and see who just walked in.

  There are butterflies in my stomach. Or, at least when I got to work they were butterflies, kind of like the first time I kissed Bobby McGee in high school—sitting on a bridge above the Ohio River, our legs dangling and swinging in the open space below. Right now I think it feels more like a kangaroo in a trampoline in there. What once was excitement has moved right on to nerves and I kind of think that if Dominic Kane doesn’t walk through that door in the next five minutes, I might lose my mind. Which makes me mad. Because I don’t like having my emotions run amuck. Not at all.

  Maybe he thought he was being suave, finishing his messages with something as vague as freedom is sublime. No follow up. No ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ Nothing to give me any clue whatsoever as to whether or not he plans on showing up. Well, at this point, if he walks through that door, he will get a very different Dakota than he thinks he’s getting, that’s for sure. I don’t like to wait. And I don’t like to be played with. And I don’t like…

  There’s the door again. And I can’t see who’s coming through because the jerk who can’t figure out if he wants to leave or not is still standing there, having a conversation with someone in the bar, totally blocking my view.

  You know what? Fuck it. Dominic can show up if he wants to, but I’m tired of wasting my energy wondering if and when he will. I fly around the bar, checking in on my customers and finally giving them the kind of attention they deserve. Judging by their less than friendly responses to my questions, I have not been a rock star tonight. I hope I can salvage the evening or my tips are going to suck.

  The door opens and of course I look because I have the willpower of a wet noodle. I look up in time to see a smiling Dominic Kane walking in, all wild dark hair and perfect cheekbones. I meet his eyes and smile widely, the kangaroo on the trampoline celebrating wildly with a backflip or seven. He doesn’t smile. I swear, his eyes just smolder into mine with an intensity that does amazing things to my heart rate. I squeeze my thighs together against the little pulse of pleasure blooming between them.

  Damn it.

  There’s no way I can pull off irritated and angry when I’m busy lighting up from the inside out the moment I see him. I school my face into something I hope looks cool and detached and eye him as he makes his way towards the bar.

  Of course he smiles as he sits down and my own smile rebels against my embargo on outward displays of happiness.

  “What? No camera?” I ask. There’s no way I’m going home with pocket full of tips tonight. Not with Dominic here. The moment he sat down I gave absolutely zero fucks about the rest of my customers.

  “Is that all I am to you? A man with a camera?” He leans back, draping an arm over the flimsy back of the chair. Of course, this means he widens his legs a little, thrusting his hips forward. A natural movement without any meaning at all, but I can’t help but bite my bottom lip because hot damn!

  “Well, right now, you’re just a man,” I say, totally preoccupied by not trying to look at his crotch.

  “Exactly.” He arches an eyebrow. Lets his eyes wander over me like he has every right to look at me like I belong to him. And just like that I forgive him for making me wait. Forgive him for turning the sweet butterflies into back flipping kangaroos. Now that he’s here? The wait is totally worth it.

  “So.” Dominic leans forward and I step towards him, ever so aware of the wooden bar separating us. “Are you gonna take my order or do I just get to sit here and stare at you all night?”

  Beside him, The Fish turns and glares. “Good luck,” he mutters underneath his breath.

  “Is that all I am to you?” I ask, ignoring The Fish. “A woman with a drink?”

  The Fish makes an exasperated sound, but I only barely notice because Dominic puts his forearms on the bar and gets even closer to me.

  “Right now? You’re just a woman.”

  Imagine the hottest guy you can think of. Movie star. Singer. Athlete. Whatever gets you going. Now imagine him staring at you like you’re the only thing in the whole room that matters to him, like he’s starving and you’re a buffet, like he’s drowning and you’re dry land. And then in a voice as low and personal as he can possibly imagine, he points out that you’re a woman right after you point out that he’s a man and somehow makes it sound dirty. Like the most twisted and delicious bit of innuendo you’ve ever heard.

  Now multiply that feeling by a million.

  And you’re still not able to understand just how crazy I’
m feeling right now.

  “What can I get you?” I ask. Me. Ask for me and I’m all yours, I think and hope it’s not written all over my face. “Whiskey, neat?”

  Dominic nods and I pour his drink, aware that The Fish is busy eyeing me and that the rest of my customers probably need refills. I set his drink down in front of him without a word and take off to check in on everyone else, flirting shamelessly as I go because I know Dominic’s watching. Serves him right for making me wait and worry.

  “Did you see that you’re officially an internet celebrity?” he asks when I make my way back to him.

  I crinkle my nose and shake my head while he pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes it open.

  “Check Instagram.” Dominic opens up the app on his phone while I slide mine out of my back pocket. The picture he took of me yesterday, the one Maya said was the first picture to ever capture my personality, has over three thousand likes and a shit ton of comments.

  “Whoa.” I look at my own account and have so many new followers I don’t even know what to do with myself. “I’ve got a bunch of messages,” I say, mostly to myself.

  “I wouldn’t open all of those, DoLo,” Dominic replies, using my Instagram user name. “I can bet you’re gonna find a bunch of—”

  “Oh my God!” I shriek, almost dropping my phone.

  Dominic laughed. “You opened one, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I put my phone back in my pocket and look at him, hoping I don’t look as scarred as I feel. “Who would send that kind of stuff to a stranger?”

  “The male psyche is strange indeed.” Dominic swirls the last of his drink around the bottom of his glass and shoots it back.

  Without asking, I swipe it up and grab the flair bottle that I may have just happened to fill with a bit of high end whiskey when I showed up to work today. Making sure I have Dominic’s attention, I do just the simplest of trick pours, tossing the bottle up so it flips in the air once before I catch it upside down and so it pours into his glass.

  “Nicely done,” he says, sitting back and giving me a little golf clap while a handful of people chuckle appreciatively.

  “Why thank you.” I put the drink down in front of him and dip my head in thanks.

  “You know any more tricks?”

  “Hell yeah, I know some more.” There is way more confidence in my voice than I’m feeling right now. I’ve been learning the ins and outs of flair bartending by watching videos on YouTube and practicing at home. I’m getting pretty good, but that simple flip pour was the first actual trick I’ve whipped out in front of actual people.

  Dominic is already fiddling with his phone. “Awesome,” he says, excitement lighting up his face. “Get prepared to get a little more internet famous.”

  Before I know what’s going on, he has The Fish holding his phone while Dominic gets the rest of the customers gathered around the bar. Apparently, I’m going to be the topic for his next video on his YouTube channel.

  What.

  The actual.

  Fuck.

  The back-flipping kangaroos on trampolines are now also hula hooping flaming circles of death around their waist. I am so not ready for this. But, Dominic has the crowd whipped into a frenzy and The Fish has the phone pointed at me and before I know it, I’m throwing my hands up over my head and loosing a howling ‘woo’ of excitement. I grab the bottle and pretend I’m in my apartment and go through the routine I’ve been teaching myself. It’s not much. This isn’t Coyote Ugly and I’m not Tom Cruise in Bartender, but apparently it’s enough for this crowd because they’re cheering me on like this is the most fun they’ve had in a long time.

  I finish without dropping anything—thank God—and everyone cheers while Dominic motions for The Fish to keep recording.

  “So, DoLo,” he says, still using my Instagram name. “What other tricks do you know?”

  Totally aware of the camera in my face, I meet Dominic’s gaze. “A few.” I shrug coyly and bat my eyelashes, flirting mercilessly. What can I say? I love the spotlight.

  “Alright. Wow me.”

  I know more than my fair share of bar tricks, but I go with the first one that comes to mind. “I need an empty beer bottle,” I call out, hoping that someone is willing to play along.

  Before I know it, guys are chugging beer all around me and handing me their bottle. I grab the first one I find and make a big deal of needing to clean it out, but put just the tiniest bit of Spirytus—a fucking deadly Polish vodka that’s almost one hundred percent alcohol and therefore highly flammable—inside while my back is turned to the spectators. I then cut a straw so it’s only a few inches long and push a toothpick through the top, making a tiny cross. After putting the straw in the bottle so the toothpick is resting on the rim of the bottle I ask people to try to get the straw out.

  “But,” I say, with a theatrical wave of my hands. “You can’t touch the bottle, the straw, or the toothpick. No knocking the bottle over in any way, shape or form.” Then I sit back and watch while people swarm the bottle, calling out possible solutions. Even The Fish looks like he’s having fun, zooming the camera from person to person. The only person not trying to solve the puzzle is Dominic. His eyes are locked on mine and I swear he’s mentally undressing me. I don’t know if I should cross my arms over my chest or stick my boobs out to help his imagination out a little.

  “Give up?” I call out. When everyone agrees that there’s no way to get the cross out of the bottle, I pull a book of matches out from behind the bar, light one and drop it in. Of course, it ignites the Spirytus which shoots the straw out of the bottle in a burst of flames. There’s a chorus of shock and awe from the people gathered around.

  “Okay,” says Dominic, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. “How about this? I set up a trick and if you can’t solve it, you have to kiss me.”

  Excuse me, what? I’m sure my jaw has dropped to the floor and the sounds of shock and awe from the crowd mutate into testosterone fueled enthusiasm. They might as well be beating their chests as they egg Dominic on.

  “Fine,” I say, sitting back on my heel and putting my hands on my hips. “But don’t get your hopes up because I know all the tricks.” I have to raise my voice to be heard over all the commotion coming from the peanut gallery.

  Dominic smiles and takes his time setting up a trick, asking for the supplies he needs. He’s so in control of the situation, pausing to make jokes to both the camera and the people gathered around him. The bar has gone completely quiet. He’s got each and every patron in The Bad Apple in his hand.

  I realize the instant he starts asking for the things he needs that I know how to solve this trick. It’s an obscure one, I’ll give him that. But come on. I’m the kind of girl who looks up bartending tricks and practices in her living room. Of course I’m going to know how to solve this one. What I don’t know is if I’ll admit it. For one thing, there’s so much expectation in the room right now, I almost hate to ruin the spell he’s cast. What kind of a letdown will it be after this huge setup when I just solve the problem without flinching? I almost hate to mess with his mojo.

  But the other thing is, I sure wouldn’t mind a good reason to kiss him. I mean, he’s hot. He’s charming. He’s talented. He might be as close to famous as I’ll ever get and he’s not going to be here very long. It might be the one cool thing I do in my whole life.

  I wander out from around the bar, studying the trick he set up, pretending like I need to see it at a different angle while I decide if I’m going to solve it or pretend like I don’t have a clue. The crowds part for me, but not much. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this small or this powerful in all my life, surrounded by people much bigger than me, all waiting to see what I’ll do next.

  I take one look at Dominic and bite my lip and in that moment I know what I’m going to do. I’m not the kind of girl who needs to look dumb in order to get people to like me. I light a match and solve his trick while the bar erupts in a cacophony of surpr
ise. The Fish looks a little too delighted in the outcome while Dominic shakes his head.

  Just as regret settles hard and heavy on my heart—what was I thinking? I could totally be kissing him right now?—Dominic stands up. The bar goes quiet. His eyes are on my lips. He takes my face gently in his hands and pulls me close as he brings his mouth to mine.

  There’s a moment where I’m shocked. Just standing there with my arms slack at my sides, aware of the hoots and hollers shattering the silence around me. But then I taste him, his tongue darting out to caress my bottom lip. I take a deep breath in through my nose, my lungs filling and pressing my breasts into his torso. My hands act without my permission, winding their way up his back, balling his t-shirt into my fists.

  Dominic pulls away, his eyes still holding mine hostage. “Sorry,” he says, loud enough for people to hear. “I’m a sore loser.”

  Struck by inspiration, my mouth operates before I have time to think, taking orders from my body instead of my head. “That’s okay. But now you know you have to take me out tomorrow night to earn that kiss you just stole from me.”

  I wait a few breathless seconds while the bar goes silent again. The Fish zooms in like he knows what the hell he’s doing with a camera, right in for a close-up of Dominic’s reply.

  “Sure, DoLo,” he says in a slow drawl. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Seven

  I’m on the phone with Chelsea and she is not pleased. “Come on, Dakota. Maya’s clammed up on me. She won’t even look at me when I say your name. Something’s going on, she knows about it, and it’s not good.”

  Damn Maya and her utter inability to lie. Hell, I didn’t even need her to lie. I just needed her to not say anything. I should have known better than to talk to her about Dominic. The fact that I’ve got Chelsea going all bossy big sister at me over the phone while I try to get ready for my date is my own fault, really.