Most bars offer food. Roar does not. But I toss out the idea of offering small options. Food that doesn’t require a kitchen. Either that or connect with local businesses and have them serve or cater food. They pay a fee to set up and split their profits between them, Roar and the charity if we chose to offer bingo.
Of course, drinks would be offered. Maybe special drinks for different nights at a different price point. Again, splitting profit with charity.
When I finish, Ani claps her hands and presses them to her lips. “I love this, Peyton. Thank you. When I’m back at my computer, I’ll mull over what days will work best for each. Make some calls and create a marketing plan.” She reaches forward and takes both my hands in hers. “Still on board with—”
A knock at the door cuts her off and I nod in answer. “Yes,” I say as the door handle clicks, but doesn’t open.
Ani rises from the couch. Her heels clap against the concrete as she nears the door. Lock disengaged, she twists the knob and opens the door. From my seat on the couch, I spot half of Micah past Ani’s petite stature.
Once, twice, thrice, his eyes dart between me and Ani. Brows pinched and eyes narrowed. Countless questions written on the lines of his face. Questions he will surely ask once Ani leaves. Questions I need to avoid answering until Ani gives me the go-ahead.
Hello, awkward party of one. Especially since Micah and I are trying to heal our past.
“Hey, Ani. Just wanted to let Peyton know I did most of her prep, but there’s some left before open.” Dark-blue eyes glimmer at me across the room.
With a shake of her wrist, Ani glances down at her diamond-encrusted rose gold watch that cost more than my monthly rent. “Shit, Peyton. Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you so long.”
I have never been envious or bitter toward Ani and Sean and their obvious wealth. Simple things make me smile. Not to say I haven’t wondered what it would be like to live a lavish lifestyle. Would my purchase habits change? I’d like to believe the change would be subtle. That I would maintain my same style, just purchase better quality items.
I rise from my spot on the couch and walk to the door. I rest a hand on Ani’s shoulder and turn my attention to Micah. “No worries. I’ll head out.”
Squeezing between Ani and Micah, I head down the hall and out to the bar. A moment later, Micah strolls out with Ani on his heels. She looks my way and winks. Micah doesn’t miss the interaction. His brow twitches before he joins Sean and Ani. They chat another minute before Ani shoulders her purse and hooks herself on Sean’s arm.
She guides him over to the bar and they both say goodbye before leaving through the back door.
Micah’s eyes burn my profile, but I don’t spare a glance in his direction. Now is not the time to answer all his questions. Ani and I agreed not to share what’s coming until she and Sean are ready.
I finish prepping the bar. Cut the last of the fruit, fill condiment bins and stash the extras in the fridge beneath the bar. All the while, Micah leans his hip against the counter and watches me like a predator.
Neither of us says a word. A battle of wills. But my will is stronger. And he will cave long before me.
“Whatever,” he grumbles and pushes off the counter. He stomps across the club and checks in with everyone working tonight before unlocking the doors.
The doors open and the masses flood the bar within minutes. Worries of Micah giving me the death stare for the next seven hours vanish. One after another, I focus on the crowd. On pouring shots of whiskey and tequila. Filling mugs from the keg taps. Mixing fruity froufrou drinks and blending daiquiris. Spreading smiles and jokes and laughter.
At some point, I sense Micah behind the bar. I keep my eyes on the task at hand, but catch him out of the corner of my eye. He slings drinks on pace with me. Muscles stretch his black button-down taut while he works. Forearms and biceps flex as he shakes and pours martinis. Jaw more defined by the light layer of stubble and his occasional smile. And every once in a while, he dances to the music while working.
I hate and love how I notice him now.
Before our first night at Teddy’s, I was aware of Micah. Knew where he was—to avoid him. Didn’t seek him out, but stayed attune to his whereabouts. Of when he walked the floor or stepped behind the bar.
Now, I am much more cognizant.
Years ago, I saw Micah with rose-colored glasses. Dreamed of a boy my mind construed as appealing. Soft hair, long muscular legs, strong arms, and stare-at-them-all-day eyes.
Although he still acts immature, Micah is very much a man. A man my eyes refuse to shift away from. A man I notice now more than I care to admit aloud.
The way his slacks hug his long, thick, muscular legs and rest low on his hips. How his broad chest tugs at his shirt when he stretches or reaches certain directions. The flex of his forearms that makes me bite my lower lip. Far too often, my eyes trail up the exposed skin of his neck. From the hollow of his throat, up over his Adam’s apple, to the sharp line of his jaw. From there, his lips garner my attention. Pink and plump and soft looking.
Fingers snap in front of my face. I blink and look to my right.
“Sorry, what?”
Two striking blue irises search my face. “I called your name three times.”
“You did?” Someone needs to slap me from my damn daydreams.
“Yeah.” He steps closer. Close enough for me to smell his sweet, woodsy amber cologne. Close enough for me to identify the gold flecks in his eyes like stars in the night sky. “Everything okay?” His eyes dart between mine, on the hunt for answers.
I don’t trust my voice or my words right now. So, eyes locked on his, I nod. In my periphery, his hand twitches at his side. Balls into a loose fist, then flattens out. Inches forward, then lands back at his side.
He licks, then captures his lower lip before setting it free. “You sure?” He inches closer. So very close. My breasts centimeters from grazing his chest.
Heat slicks my skin. My pulse hammers in my ears as my breath comes in short, shallow bursts. He licks his lips again and my eyes drop to witness the action. I swallow and mentally whimper. My tongue eager to taste him.
“Yep,” I choke out, then clear my throat. “Everything’s fine.” My voice cracks on the last word like a pubescent boy. Great. ’Cause that will convince him.
“If Ani gave you a hard time earlier” —he jerks his thumb toward the office— “I’ll speak with her.”
I shake my head. “Not necessary. We were just catching up.”
His brows pinch. “Catching up?”
“Mmhm. Girl talk.”
Micah steps back and goose bumps prickle my skin. He squints but relaxes his eyes just as quick. Then he throws me a smile. Not the one that makes me want a second helping. But the one painted in hard lines and artifice and bullshit. Before I say another word, he shifts his gaze elsewhere and walks off.
Tempting as it is to rake my eyes over Micah’s broad shoulders and ample ass, now is not the time. Instead, I focus on the actual retreat. On the tension in his shoulders. The hand rubbing at the back of his neck. The rush in his stride and flat expression on his face when I glimpse his profile once more.
He weaves between the tables and heads for the outskirts of the room. At the wall, he glances back to the bar and sees me staring after him. He crosses his arms and widens his stance. His body stiffens. Lips form a flat, tight line. Then he simply shakes his head.
One, two, three breaths. His eyes hold mine captive. My thoughts a prisoner to him. Until he breaks contact, mouths what looks like whatever, and gets lost in the crowd.
Just as things were on the upswing with Micah, I ripped it to shreds. “Whatever,” I mumble to myself. Soon, it all changes anyway. Best to keep things as they have been. With Micah at a distance.