Slay (Storm MC 4)

“Boss!”

I spun around to find Jess staring expectantly at me. “What?” I asked as I wiped my hands on my jeans. The wetness of the alcohol came off but the stickiness remained. Didn’t bother me, though. I was used to working with sticky hands after nearly ten years of bar work.

She jerked her head in the direction of the jukebox in the corner. “Can you deal with that asshole?”

I narrowed my eyes on the guy she referred to. Seemed he had taken issue with the jukebox. When he kicked it, I turned back to Jess. “With pleasure,” I replied, already heading towards him.

“Got a problem with my jukebox, buddy?” I asked as I approached him. He had that stoned look to him. Probably was stoned. Fucking junkies frequented the bar, but, unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped: the bar was in The Valley and we bred them like mice here.

Glassy eyes focused on me. He scowled before answering. “It took my fucking money.”

“No need to kick it.”

“No need to give me shit,” he spat back.

“How about you leave before this gets out of hand?” Fuck, two assholes in the space of an hour. Shit luck tonight.

He moved towards me, his bulky frame hunching up in a threatening manner. “How about you give me my fucking money back?”

I assessed the situation. He looked to have some strength on him which could be a problem with my tiny frame. There were other ways around this, though. My plan came together in my mind, however, as I went to execute it, a voice questioned from behind, “What’s the problem, asshole?”

Turning my head, I found the guy I served scotch to most nights. He was one of the best-looking men I’d ever met. Also the guy I’d vote most likely to scare the fuck out of me in a dark alley. He’d been coming here for just over a year, yet we’d hardly ever spoken. He kept to himself, and it was clear to everyone he wanted to be left alone. Tonight, the scary vibes rolled off him.

“We’re all good, thanks,” I replied. I’d been handling my own shit for nine years now. I didn’t need his help.

The thud of his heavy boot as he stepped closer to me rang out a warning. Jerking his chin to the jukebox dude, he asked, “You about to leave?”

Pretty sure it wasn’t a question.

The guy squared his shoulders. I could swear, though, I saw fear flash in his eyes.

Oh dear god, he wanted to take on Scary Dude. As if, asshole.

A frightening energy filled the space and I knew I needed to end this before it got out of hand. As the scary dude came closer, I raised my hand to his chest to halt him. I hit rock-hard muscle. Fuck me, built much? My core clenched. Shit, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about how much I wanted to see what his shirt hid.

He frowned at my hand on his chest. Only for a moment and then his glare returned to the asshole.

“Not till I get my money,” jukebox dude answered him.

The scary dude pushed forward, easily ignoring my hand on his chest. He stepped around me, moved into the other guy’s space and spoke quietly to him. I couldn’t hear what he said. It must have been something significant, though, because the asshole’s eyes widened, he nodded and with one last dirty look at me, he took off.

Scary Dude turned back to me. Our bodies almost touched, and the energy surrounding us turned from frightening to something else. A shiver spread down my spine and my heart rate sped up. Surely he wouldn’t mind if I placed my hand on his chest again. I just needed one more touch.

“You okay?” he asked, interrupting my sexy thoughts.

I wished he would take a step away from me so I could get my brain going again. “Yeah, there’s always one of them to deal with most nights.”

He nodded and finally took that step back, giving me space to move and think. “I doubt he’ll be back. Ever.”

I didn’t even want to know where his certainty came from. “Thanks.”

We stood silently watching each other. His face hid his emotions well; I couldn’t make out a damn thing. After a few moments in which we both sized each other up, he murmured, “Good.”

Shit, a man of few words. That was too hard for me. I liked a man I could read and one I could talk to. “

You want a scotch?” I asked.

He gave me a nod. “Yeah, thanks.”