I cared less about paying the girls off—to hell with them. They were expendable and no great loss, as far as I was concerned. In fact, every bartender in Houston failed the simplest task of a drink order. That alone could be how I’d ended up here.
Maybe I’d come here to see if his new hire was as useless as the others.
Shouting diverted my attention to wild, animated hand gestures coming from an obviously not twenty-one-year old male trying to order beer. The new bartender demanded identification, having none of his shit.
Good girl.
Even while he cursed at her and flipped his middle finger, she never wavered. Not one flicker of emotion clouded her face as she cocked an eyebrow, calmly held up her palm, pointed to him, and nodded toward the door. Cursing at her again, the punk shoved the drink menu across the bar and motioned for his buddies to leave with him.
An amused smile tugged at my mouth, stunning me. People rarely entertained me. Most often they annoyed me to the point of solitude. I needed a closer look at this girl; but first, I needed to show this asshole some manners.
He passed me on his way to the door looking like an over privileged frat boy who knew nothing of the real world. His face was red with anger as he tugged on his overgrown, shaggy, brown hair.
“Bitch took my ID.” He turned to his friend as he reached for the door. “Maybe she just needs to get fucked really good. Maybe I should wait for her outside and help her get rid of that shitty attitude.”
I brushed his shoulder with enough force to make my displeasure known, locking eyes with him in a way that made grown men piss themselves. “And maybe I should wait outside for you and help you get rid of your shitty attitude.”
Flushing, he opened his mouth to argue. When his eyes landed on my waist, he choked on his own cockiness. “I…uh, no, dude. I’m just joking. It’s a joke. No harm.”
No one would call me a huge man by any stretch of the imagination, but I had enough muscle on me to kick his ass before he had a chance to fight back. It didn’t matter, though. I didn’t have to lift a finger. I knew where his eyes were and what made him want to disappear into himself.
I didn’t go anywhere without my pistol. To make my point, I pulled my jacket back to make sure he knew I wasn’t fucking around. “If I ever see your face in this cantina again, I’ll have dick fajitas on the menu so fast your fucking head will spin. Are we clear?”
He couldn’t speak. I got a quick nod as he grabbed his friend and ran.
God, I love power.
Returning my attention to the bar, I strained to hear her conversation with the random drunks gawking at her. Loud Mariachi music blaring in the background and annoying yells of over exuberant patrons made eavesdropping almost impossible. Trying to act bored as hell, I slipped into a seat at the end of the bar and leaned forward.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” She tilted her chin in my direction while keeping her focus on the sugary frozen concoction she created. Puckering her red lips, she blew a piece of hair out of her face that escaped the sloppy bun on top of her head.
A sloppy, candy-red bun to match candy-red lips.
The kind of lips that could tell a man any lie they wanted and he’d gladly buy any shit they sold for just a taste.
My dick twitched, reminding me it’d been a few days since I’d gotten laid. It didn’t help matters Emilio found it amusing to dress the bartenders in the tiniest denim shorts he could find, with black tank tops drawn across their chests so tight that the Caliente logo disappeared under their arms.
Well played, Emilio.
I’d never been one to chase women. I didn’t have to. They fell at my feet, crawled in my bed, and blew my phone up with calls and texts I never returned. But I found myself intrigued and unable to turn away as I watched Emilio’s new bartender flip through her texts, frown, and bite her lip, smearing the bright red lipstick that still had my pants in an uproar.
I watched her eyes glaze over as she muttered something under her breath and stared at the liquor bottles in front of her. With a long, drawn out sigh, she snuck a sweeping glance around the bar. Immediately, I dropped my eyes down to my phone, suddenly engrossed in a blank screen.
Do it. Be bad.
Satisfied no one watched, she bent down and pretended to tie her shoe, taking a bottle of vodka with her to the floor. Tucked safely underneath the sink, I shifted over the bar to get a better view of the show as she reached up with a slim, milky white arm and snagged a glass. Pouring two large shots, she downed them successively, grimacing at the eighty-proof burn.
Well, damn. She just became much more interesting to me.
I arched an eyebrow and fought a smile. “Bad day?”
“Bad life,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes and licking the remaining cheap vodka off her lips. Screwing the cap back on, she pushed off her heels and slipped the bottle back onto the counter.
“I would’ve gone for the Grey Goose myself. Drinking that shit is just asking for the day to get worse.” I should’ve stopped talking. I considered small talk to be a waste of time.
She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
“Can I get a gin and tonic, please?” A man two seats down from me wore a pissed off impatient look I didn’t care for and waved a credit card in her face. My jaw ticked, but before I could put him in his place, pale blue eyes that could start a war pinned him to his seat.
