“All right, I guess.”
“And what about people?”
“What do you mean?” I frown, and his eyes drop to my mouth for a moment before he meets my gaze once again.
“How are you with people? Do you get along with people?”
“Sure,” I lie again, knowing I’m not very good at making friends. But really, how friendly do you need to be to work at a biker bar? Sure, you need to be able to take drink orders and whatnot, but I can’t imagine bikers being big on small talk, so I shouldn’t have a problem.
“When can you start?”
So caught off by his question, I stutter out, “I… uh…. Tomorrow?”
“Pay on days is shit, but mom says those are the hours you’re looking for. Can I ask you why?”
“I don’t like my grandma being home alone at night,” I answer.
Twice since I’ve been here, she’s fallen in the middle of the night, which worries me. Plus, when I mentioned getting someone to help out during the day if I got a job, Nina assured me that she’s okay with keeping an eye on her like she has been. I don’t want to keep her from her husband or life any more than she already has been, and if I worked nights, it would definitely do that to her.
“She’s lucky to have you,” he says, and my stomach warms at the soft tone of his voice and the look in his eyes.
“I’m the lucky one,” I admit. I’m lucky to have the opportunity to get to know the grandmother I thought I lost, even if she’s not the woman I remember.
“Normally my mom or I open the bar at ten, clean up, and do restock. The doors open at noon, and it’s normally slow until around four unless it’s summer; then you never know what will happen. Things can get out of hand every once in a while when we get out-of-towners, but for the most part, it’s locals who spend their time here, and they tend to be low-key.”
“Okay,” I reply, taking the folder from him when he hands it to me.
“That has the application for the job in it. I’m going to need you to fill that out then bring it back in with you tomorrow when you show up.”
“Sure,” I agree, leaning over and tucking it into my bag on the floor.
As I sit back, I notice he’s leaned forward once more with his elbows to his knees. This close, I can smell his scent of leather and musk and see his eyes aren’t just the dark brown I thought they were. They are brown with a warm golden color woven through.
“So what do you do during your free time?”
“I like knitting,” I say without thinking, and he leans back, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Knitting,” he repeats, making it sound almost dirty, and an image of him tying me up with soft yarn and having his way with me clouds my vision, making my cheeks heat.
“My grandma taught me. It’s relaxing,” I defend myself.
“Okay, Gia.” He continues to smile as he stands. “It was nice meeting you.”
Picking up my bag, I stand as well then scoot past him out the door, making sure to suck in as I go so I don’t accidently rub up against him.
“Nice meeting you too.” I look at him over my shoulder then squeak when the heel of my boot gets caught in the mat behind the bar. Reaching out for anything to save myself from doing a face-plant, I catch hold of something, only that something is one of the levers for the beer that is kept on tap. Pulling it down with me, beer goes everywhere, including all over me. “Oh, God,” I sputter out, trying to shut off the tap that now seems to be stuck.
“Christ,” Colton growls while picking me up by the waist and swinging me around to stand behind him. Shaking out my hands, I watch him as he shuts off the keg.
“I…” I close my eyes, wondering what the hell I can say to save myself from the embarrassment of this moment. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you okay?”
Opening my eyes, I find him just as wet as I am. “If by okay you mean wanting to fall into a dark hole and die, sure, I’m okay,” I reply, and he looks at me, then at the mess I’ve created.
Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair. “You really are clumsy.”
“I know,” I agree, pulling my beer-soaked top away from my body. “Do you have a mop so I can clean this up?” I ask, and he laughs. It’s a great laugh—a deep laugh that does weird things to my insides.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “But first, let’s see about getting you dry.” He takes my elbow and pulls me along with him back into the office. Releasing me, he goes to a big cardboard box in the corner of the room where he digs out a T-shirt and hands it to me. “There’s a bathroom through that door.” He points at a door I didn’t notice before. “Go on.” He lifts his chin toward it.