One More Time

He also had his dad's rugged good-looks, which paid off pretty well when he worked behind the bar. Strong jaw, dark hair, and pale gray eyes. He was a man who could make the panties drop with minimal effort. The problem was, he knew it too. The cocky bastard.

“You know, one of these days, after the bar closes, we should – ”

I held up my hand and cut him off right there. I knew what he's going to ask, and the answer was always the same. A resounding no.

“You know I can't,” I said.

“Because you work too damn much.”

“Bills don't pay themselves, Tommy,” I said. “And I don't have a rich daddy to take care of me and pay my way.”

“But if you play your cards right, you could have a sugar daddy,” he said, tipping me a wink.

I snorted with laughter, nearly doubling over from it. Tommy wasn't so impressed, and his face darkened. He wasn't a man who liked to be laughed at. No, he was a man who wanted to be fawned over and adored. He wanted to be held up and admired.

Oh well, life, as they say, is a bitch.

“Sorry, it's just – you're cute and all, but Tommy, you can't be a sugar daddy when you're living off your parents,” I said. “That's not how it works, kid.”

I turned and walked away, still chuckling to myself. I could feel Tommy's gaze on my ass. I gave my hips a little extra swish just to tease him.

“Who you calling 'kid'?” he called after me.

He was r

ight. He wasn't much younger than me, but it felt like we were separated by decades. That's what happened when one person had to live in the real world and the other person got to live and party like he was still in college. Not that I was bitter or anything.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that I was only twenty-three myself. Some days, I felt more like I was forty-three; worrying about a mortgage, making sure my siblings had clothes and food, paying all the bills. It took a toll on me. Tommy might have only been a year younger than I was, but life experience-wise, he had a long, long way to go before he caught up with me.

“Hey, chica,” Raya called out to me, her long, hennaed hair falling down around her bare shoulders. “How was it last night?”

“Boring without you here,” I said, playfully punching her in the arm.

She was off the clock still, sitting at one of the booths. Her feet were up on the seat and she moved them away, motioning for me to sit down. I was still technically off the clock too, for five more minutes, anyway, so I joined her. She was munching on some celery and what looked like some disgusting orange mush, and it smelled strongly of garlic, which was almost a blessing since it covered up the strong patchouli scent wafting off her. Almost.

Neither scent was particularly pleasant. But, that was Raya. Take her or leave her.

“What in the hell is that?” I asked, scrunching up my face.

She pushed the container over to me, and I pushed it right back.

“It's hummus,” she said with a laugh, and when that explanation didn't help, she continued, “Chickpeas with some garlic and tahini.”

I looked at her blankly. She might as well have been speaking Chinese to me. She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“You've seriously never had hummus?” she asked as if I'd just told her I'd never seen a car before.

“Sorry, I'm not familiar with vegan foods,” I said. “I mean, if that actually qualifies as food.”

“It's not just for vegans, silly,” she said, dipping a piece of celery into the mush and holding it in front of me, making pretend airplane sounds like parents do with a toddler. “Try it. You know you want to.”

I shook my head. “No thanks, it's a hard pass,” I said. “I think I'm allergic to chickbeans.”

“Chickpeas, silly. Not chickbeans – oh, whatever, more for me,” she said, munching on the celery loudly, a wide, goofy smile on her face.

“Working in the back again tonight, eh?” I asked.

“How can you tell?”