The next few hours go by as per usual. Alcohol flows freely, intoxicating the patrons as much as the music. Every now and again, I look down at the other end of the bar and watch Peyton. Inconspicuously stare at her as her eyes glitter under the lights. As she bites her lower lip and half smiles. As she throws her arms in the air and dances behind the bar and several people wolf whistle.
During those hours, my dick strains against my zipper. Aches for an ounce of her attention. To have those glittery eyes shift their focus my way. Her plump lips around my cock. Her curves bouncing above me in a dark room on cool sheets.
But that will never happen.
The blonde from the dance floor wiggles her way between people at the bar. After serving a drink, I saunter her way and she smiles at my approach. I catch Peyton in my periphery and note her not-so-subtle staring at our interaction.
Good.
“Should be done soon. Still good with waiting?”
She licks her lips and I hear Peyton groan. “Yeah. Got nowhere else to be.”
And just to irritate Peyton further, I pinch the blonde’s chin between my thumb and finger, then crush my lips to hers. The kiss quick and angry and meaningless and all for show. I give two fucks about this woman. Actually, only one fuck.
“Hey, Micky,” Peyton shouts. Her nickname for me makes my blood pressure rise. She says it just to piss me off. And I let it, but don’t flaunt that fact.
“Yeah, bar wench,” I throw back with a cocked brow.
She bristles and my insides sing. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, managing something.” Her words meant to be a stab. To throw my own words in my face when I tell her to quit flirting.
But unlike her, I take her bait and roll with it.
I point to the blonde. “That’s what I’m doing.” Peyton furrows her brows. “Managing my hookup.” Her eyes go wide at my bluntness. The fact that I own my manwhore status shocks her. “Should try it sometime.”
She glances at the blonde, then back at me. Bass rattles the air around us while I wait for her comeback. Our banter turns me on and fuels the hungry beast inside.
“Nah,” she shrugs and taps her chest. “Not one-night stand material.” She turns her eyes on the blonde. “I have standards when it comes to who lies in my bed.” Her eyes shift back to mine. “Sluts aren’t my thing.”
Internally, I laugh. But I mask it and come to the blonde’s defense—kind of—who shoots daggers at Peyton.
“But sluts are so much fun,” I tease. The blonde turns her attention to me. Her jaw drops, but closes when I suck my lower lip in my mouth. “Don’t like fun, wench?”
God, I’m hard as fuck right now.
“Oh, I love fun.” Peyton saunters closer, but keeps a good five feet between us. “Never been a fan of venereal diseases, though.”
I don’t hold back my laughter this time. In fact, I double over and release the sexual tension between us. She may not recognize it as such, but what the hell else would it be?
The blonde mutters, “Bitch.”
Peyton faces the blonde, leans on the bar and cocks a brow. She shakes her head with light laughter. “I’m the bitch?” Peyton pushes off the bar and takes a step back. “Maybe I am.” She shrugs. “But I’d rather be a bitch than spread my legs for every guy who gives me attention.”
Heat crawls up the blonde’s neck and blooms on her cheeks. I should be worried, but this whole situation amuses me too much to care.
The blonde shifts her attention from Peyton to me. “I’ll wait at a table.” She points in a general direction behind her.
“Be done soon.” I pinch her chin again and crush her lips. “Don’t worry about her.”
The blonde melts in my hand. “She’s just jealous.” Then she turns and wanders to an empty table.
Peyton and I return to our typical uncomfortable, disgruntled silence. I pour a few more drinks before last call gets announced. The crowd thins and the first set of overhead lights kicks on. I grab and clean drained glasses. Then wipe down the empty sections of bar top.
When the next set of lights flicker on, ninety percent of the club is vacant.
I toss my towel in the bleach mix. Closing out the registers, I take the tills and tip jars to the office. Once the tills are reset and the cash balances, I stash the cash in the safe and lock up the office.
In the club, the blonde scrolls over her phone screen while Peyton throws her a murderous glare. Peyton has yet to see me walk out, so I hang back a moment and observe. How she washes glasses with aggression. How she wipes down the bar like she needs to remove the varnish.
Interesting.Is she actually jealous? Her actions indicate a flare of jealousy.
So, I use this to my advantage.
I step out from the hall and pass the end of the bar. Peyton locks on to me as I stroll over to the blonde. Her eyes burn my skin—not with hatred, though. They burn with bitterness and maybe a hint of lust. The fire trails over my skin and I stow it away.
I will need it in an hour.
“Ready?” I ask, approaching the blonde.
She peers up from her phone and smiles. In the light, she still flaunts pretty features. Not take my breath away gorgeous, but pretty enough to look at while I fuck her brains out. And when I flip her on her hands and knees, I will picture a different blonde.
“Yeah.” She locks her phone and stows it in her back pocket. Her eyes shoot over my shoulder and narrow before coming back. “Let’s get out of here.” She slides off the stool. “Mine or yours?”
“Yours,” I say as I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
No one comes back to my house. Ever.
“Perfect.”
We head for the exit, but I halt us a moment and glance over my shoulder. “Peyton,” I bark out and she glances up from the bar with a bored expression. “Bar better not look like shit in the morning.”
Her jaw muscles tighten and shift. Scarlet pricks her cheeks. “Has it ever?” she bites.
I don’t answer her question and opt to bark another order. “Don’t leave until everything’s spotless.”
The blonde and I head for the door, but I don’t miss Peyton’s grumbled asshole as we walk out. The ammunition I needed to get through the next couple of hours.