Chapter 9- The Bar

MIA

It's Tuesday.

That means today he's going to come to the bar. I went to school today but I didn't have any classes with him. No General Studies. No awkward eye contact. No pretending I don't know the exact shape of his body under that expensive suit.

I should be relieved. I'm not.

It's 5:58 PM. I'm wiping down a glass. The bar is quiet. The after-work crowd hasn't trickled in yet. I have nothing to do but think. And thinking is dangerous.

Charlotte walks over. She's wearing her usual uniform, her blonde hair in a messy bun. She leans against the counter next to me.

"Get out of your head," she says. "You look like someone just kicked your dog."

"I'm not in my head."

"Liar." She snorts. "You've been wiping that same glass for five minutes. It's going to disappear soon."

I open my mouth to retort.

The door opens.

My words falter. My hand freezes on the glass.

He walks in.

Alexander Morreti. My professor. The man who rearranged my insides and then pretended I didn't exist. He's wearing a charcoal gray Brioni suit. No tie. The top button of his shirt is undone. His dark hair is perfectly styled. His ice blue eyes sweep the room like he owns it.

He's beautiful. Stupidly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes your mouth go dry and your brain go blank.

Charlotte's eyes follow my line of sight. She grins. "Well, well. Looks like the Greek god is here. Pick your jaw up from the floor, Mia. You're drooling."

"I'm not drooling."

"Your face says otherwise."

I want to retort. I really do. But the words won't come.

Because he's not alone.

Another man walks in behind him. Tall. Brown hair. Warm eyes. He's wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit. His smile is easy. Genuine. He looks like the kind of man who's never met a stranger. Like a ray of sunshine in human form.

He's also gorgeous. In a completely different way. Warm instead of cold. Approachable instead of intimidating.

Charlotte pinches my arm.

"Ow. What the hell?"

"Who is that hotty with the regular?" she whispers. Her eyes are glued to the brown-haired man.

"I don't know."

"Well, find out. Because I need to know his name. His life story. His blood type. Everything."

I jerk my arm away. "Focus, Charlotte."

"I am focused. Very focused."

My eyes follow them as they walk across the bar. They head straight for my section.

Shit.

My section. My table. The corner booth. The one where he always sits. The one I have to serve today.

He's going to my table. With his friend. Right now.

I turn to Charlotte. Panic rising in my chest.

"Charlotte. Take my table."

She blinks. "What? No."

"Please. I can't—"

"No, Mia." She crosses her arms. "Look. I would do anything to get close to the new hottie. But I feel like this isn't something you should run away from. So. No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"I mean no." She grins. "This is your problem. Your mess. Your incredibly hot professor who you had a one-night stand with. You deal with it."

"Charlotte—"

"Here goes nothing." She pats my shoulder. "Good luck."

"Fuck you."

She laughs. Walks away.

I stand there. Frozen. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking. I take a breath. Another. Another.

Here goes nothing.

I grab my tray. Walk toward their table.

They've already settled into the booth. He's in his usual spot. The corner. Facing the room. The other man is across from him, his back to the wall.

I stop at the edge of the table. Force a smile. It feels fake. It probably looks fake.

"Good evening," I say. My voice is steady. Good. "Welcome to The Velvet Rope. What can I get for you tonight?"

He looks up at me.

His ice blue eyes meet mine.

This is awkward as fuck.

— — —

ALEXANDER

I watch her face.

It's stretched the wrong way. Like she's trying to force a smile she's obviously not used to. Her eyes are darting everywhere but at me. Her hands are gripping her tray a little too tightly.

It's almost funny.

I order my usual. "Old Fashioned. Make it a double."

Dean leans forward. His smile is easy. Charming. The kind of smile that makes women forget their own names.

"And for me, beautiful lady," he says, "I'll have the same. But surprise me with something. Surprise me with what you think I'd like."

He winks at her.

I kick him under the table.

He doesn't flinch. Just keeps smiling at her like he didn't just get his shin bruised.

She nods. Walks away. Her hips sway. I don't watch. I don't.

Dean's eyes follow her. He turns to me. Grins.

"So. That beauty was your one-night stand. The bold girl that asked you to fuck her."

"Yes." I pick up my napkin. Fold it. Unfold it. "Shut up."

A pointless endeavor. Dean never shuts up.

He leans back. Crosses his arms. Studies her as she reaches the counter. His voice drops.

"She's very sexy. I mean, look at her. She's got a good, thick ass. Natural. Not like she can afford a BBL. It's nice regardless. But the boobs..." He makes an unsure gesture with his hand. "Eh. It's manageable. I've seen worse. I've also seen better."

What the fuck?

I set the napkin down. "Stop being a pervert for a few seconds."

"Just saying." He shrugs. "And I bet your first instinct was to put her on all fours and fuck her from behind. You've always been an ass guy. Remember that girl from—"

"Dean."

"—college? The one with the—"

"I said stop."

I kick him harder. His shin connects with the table leg. He winces.

"Ow. Fuck. Fine. Fine."

I see her coming back. Our drinks on her tray. I lean forward. My voice is low. Sharp.

"Shut up. Or you'll be the one I hunt at the Jaeger group retreat tomorrow. And I promise you, I won't go easy."

He raises his hands in surrender. His smile is still there. Annoying. Persistent.

"I'm just saying. This is going to be interesting. Watching you try to avoid your own dick."

"Besides," I say, "it's better if you stop sexualizing her. Whatever happened between us will not repeat itself. Given the nature of the contract we're about to offer her."

Dean snorts. "Who can say? It's hard to avoid sex in a forced proximity situation. You'll be living together. Sleeping in the same house. Pretending to be in love. The tension is going to be—"

She reaches the table.

I stop talking.

She sets the drinks down. My Old Fashioned. Dean's surprise—a Negroni. She does it with efficiency. Professional. No eye contact.

Dean picks up his glass. Smiles at her. "Thank you, beautiful. You read me perfectly."

She gives him a tight nod. Then she's gone.

I watch her walk away.

Dean is still smiling. That foolish, idiotic smile.

He takes a sip of his Negroni. "She's got good instincts. I like her."

I take a long drink of my Old Fashioned. The whiskey burns.

This is going to be a disaster.