Though my feet were starting to ache from the five-inch heels I’d decided to torture myself with tonight, I was grateful for the distraction. It was easy to forget how much I genuinely loved owning Andromeda when I was often hidden behind a mountain of paperwork in the back.
Giving the serving tray to Dylan, I spun to grab another, adding a martini glass and a few shot glasses to it to prep another table.
From my peripheral, I saw a man slide onto a barstool directly across from where Indy and I stood on the other side. He was handsome enough, looked to be in his mid to late thirties, and wore a black button down and jeans. Tattoos peeked up from his collar, but didn’t continue onto his neck. He struck me as a biker, but I knew he wasn’t a Sinner.
It was unusual for clubs from neighboring towns to venture into Ridgewood, and though it did happen from time to time, they typically arrived in a small group—not just one guy.
He sat quietly, taking his time to look around at the crowded tables and dance floor behind him. His eyes lingered a little too long on a few of the women, and I noted they also lingered a little too long on some of the more menacing looking men.
I glanced at Indy at the as same time she looked at me. Our eyes met, and an unspoken agreement passed between us.
We didn’t like this guy.
Maybe he was just a passerby taking in his surroundings. A traveler making a short pit stop on his way to the next destination.
But I doubted it.
I couldn’t explain what it was, but his presence had me on high alert. It was likely that I was being paranoid, but still, I trusted my gut and it hadn’t led me wrong so far.
“What can I get ya?” I asked him with a fake smile as I continued to pour the drinks I was working on.
His attention bounced between me and Indy before he focused solely on me. “How about a date?”
Wow, alright, let's just get right to it then. “Someone’s feeling ballsy tonight.”
“I’m a man who appreciates a beautiful woman, and I’d love to take you out so I can appreciate you further.”
“Has that line actually worked for you before?”
The man laughed and nodded playfully. “Depends. Is it working now?” He crossed his arms over the bar and leaned forward a little, as though some invisible magnet was drawing him toward me.
No fucking thank you.
“Sorry, my guy, not working. I’m tied down.”
“I don’t see a ring on that pretty finger of yours.”
A wave of disgust washed through me at how forward he was being. It wasn’t like I’d never been hit on by customers, but there was just something about him I couldn’t pinpoint…
“Many people don’t wear rings,” I snarled, hoping my attitude would be enough to stop him in his tracks. “Now, can I get you a drink?”
“How about I buy you a drink?” he countered.
An irritated sigh burst from my lips, and I picked up my Coke from in front of me and shook it lightly. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Oh, c’mon. One drink never hurt anybody. Even if you do have a man, I don’t see him. How about a shot?”
One thing I learned very early on as a new business owner, particularly a bar owner, was when to stop engaging with difficult customers.
This was that point.
Picking up the tray of drinks, I offered him a tight smile and rounded the bar to deliver them to the waiting table myself.
Weaving through the high-tops, I stopped at the group of women eagerly waiting for their drinks, coming up from behind them, so I could keep a full view of the bar. From my vantage point, I watched as guy-who-couldn’t-take-a-hint retracted his hand, sliding it from over the bar, and placed it into his lap. His head subtly tilted left to right, looking to see if anyone had seen.
Fortunately for me, it didn’t appear anyone had, as mass chaos hadn’t erupted. Unfortunately forhim, I saw enough to know exactly what he’d done. I knew what was sitting directly beneath where his hand had just slid from.
My soda.
