“See you later, Don.” I start walking toward the door that leads to the bar.
“Later, Jojo.”
“I thought I saw that junk car of yours in the cameras,” Uncle Adrian says with a wide smile when I reach the bar.
“Hilarious. You’re all a bunch of grade A comedians here,” I deadpan.
“Aw, come on, Jo. We’re just messing with you.” He pulls me into a quick hug. “You ready to work?”
“Work? I came here to drink. I told you I’d start in two days.”
“Yeah, well, Marissa called out and it’s college night, so I kinda need extra hands.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath.
How bad can it be to serve a bunch of college kids half-priced drinks and ninety-nine cent beers?
Chapter Two
Jo
It’s bad.
They’re rowdy and demanding and keeping up with the orders is proving to be a pain in the ass. There’s a loud slap of hands on the bar in front of me and I glance up to see a guy on the other side. I have to do a double take and in my overwhelmed state it takes me a full minute to realize who he is, and when it hits me, I stop wiping the glass in my now shaky hands and look up at him again. He’s tall, with a natural golden tan, defined muscles, a chiseled jaw, voluminous dark hair, and unforgettable piercing toffee-colored eyes. Memories flood me quickly, and I chase them away twice as fast.
“We asked for a round of tequila shots well over ten minutes ago,” he says, his deep voice hitting me right in the chest.
“I’ll be right over,” I say, glancing around for Patrick, who’s probably the one working their table. “We’re extremely understaffed today.”
“I’ve seen Marissa man this bar by herself, so I wouldn’t say having two people working is being understaffed.” He raises an eyebrow.
I grip the side of the bar and lean in so that I don’t have to yell over the loud music. “I know it’s difficult for a hot shot, spoiled brat like you to sit and wait for a couple of minutes while other patrons who were actually here before you are served, but I’m not Marissa and I’m not going to drop everything I’m doing and fall all over myself just so you and your brothers can get a shot of tequila.” My eyes narrow on his. “Wait your turn.”
“This is bullshit,” he grits out.
“Take it up with management.”
“Right, because management is going to do something about it when you’re their little fucking princess.” He scoffs.
“Go back to your table, Jagger. I’ll have someone out there with your shots momentarily.” I stare at him.
He stares back with just as much annoyance in his eyes before turning around and stomping back over to his table. I take nice long breaths to calm down and go right back to what I was doing. When I look down, I laugh. His ticket was next. If he’d just waited at his table, he would have drunk his stupid shot by now. The ticket doesn’t specify what kind of tequila he wants, so I serve him our most expensive one and take out a tray of six glasses to his table. The Cruz brothers are gorgeous, drop-dead gorgeous, if you’re into hyperboles, except their gorgeousness isn’t an exaggeration.
They truly are the epitome of sexy, with their tanned complexions that has nothing to do with self-tanners or the sun, and everything to do with their dark-skinned father, who happens to be my father’s good friend. One of them got green eyes from his mother, while the other two have brown eyes, but only Jagger’s smoldering toffee-colored eyes can make anyone’s heart flip. Or maybe it’s just that Maverick, the youngest, hasn’t figured out what to do with all that swagger he was blessed with. Despite our parents being friends and us seeing one another a lot growing up, I haven’t seen them in years, with them living in New York and all. I set the tray down on the table, doing my best to ignore Jagger’s glare, because I don’t have to look at him to know he’s definitely glaring. He always is. At me, anyway. He’s perfectly cordial and charming to everyone else.
“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here, Jo,” Maverick says, picking up two shot glasses. “I haven’t seen you in a minute.”
“First day here.” I smile. “You’ve grown up.”
“I have.” He grins and it hits me just how grown up he is.
“Hey, Jo,” Mitchell says, smiling at me. “Is Misty working here too?”
“Nope.”
“I heard about the car accident. I’m glad you’re okay,” Mav adds.
“Thanks.” I give him a tight smile. Leave it to my mother to gossip about her own daughter’s car accident, no doubt she told Mildred Cruz everything.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Mav says. “How long has it been? A year? Two?”