Down to You (The Bad Boys #1)(10)
Author: M. Leighton

“Let’s just say you can’t be shy in front of a crowd. Are you okay with that?”

Yes, I tend to be a little shy, but it’s in no way debilitating. And frankly, I’m a little miffed that he might be implying that it is.

“Believe me, Nash, I can do what any of the other girls can do, no problem.”

Well, that might not be entirely true. But I’ll be damned if I’ll ever admit it!

“Then you won’t have any problems. With your looks and personality, you’ll kill ‘em.”

His comment pleases me. Even though he’s not supposed to notice what I look like. But I’m so glad he does. It means that he’s not immune to me, which is actually a bad thing, but one that makes me feel not so alone in my attraction. Still, nothing can ever happen. He’s taken.

Dammit.

I hear a muffled beep, like Nash is getting another call.

“Speak of the devil. That’s Cash calling now,” Nash says. Then he mutters almost absently, “Wonder what he’s doing up so early?” I think it’s funny that I wondered the same thing. After a couple seconds, he clears his throat and continues. “Well, anyway, good luck tonight. That’s all I really wanted to say. Go back to bed. Get your beauty rest. Not that you’ll need it.”

I find myself smiling like a loon. I feel like giggling, but I quell the urge. “Thanks, I will.”

“Sleep well, Olivia.”

Even after he hangs up, the skin of my arms and chest is puckered with chills. I love the way he says my name.

How in the world did he get my number? I think randomly.

I lie in my bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Nash. Wondering what it would be like to be staring at his ceiling instead, wherever he’s at, lying in bed beside him. My eyes drift closed as I think of him rolling over to cover my body with his, to feel his hips fit between my thighs.

Those are the thoughts that usher me back into sleep.

********

Dual looks very nearly the same as it did yesterday, only tonight a few more lights are on and there are voices. Two of them and one is raised in undeniable anger.

“So I get stuck training some newbie? This is such bullshit! I have the most seniority here. He should’ve at least asked me.”

I can see who the voice belongs to—a wisp of a girl with long blond dreadlocks and one arm full of tattoos. She’s waving her hands in furious animation, shouting at a young guy who looks about as flustered as a cucumber.

“Slow your roll, psycho,” he says good-naturedly. I can only see the back of his dark head, but I know he’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice. In fact, he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “He said she’s got experience. She probably won’t need that much training.”

“If she’s gonna be working with me, she’ll either be the best or I won’t work with her.”

“You’re such a sweet, agreeable beer wench, you know that, Taryn?”

The girl, Taryn, who had turned away to fill up something behind the bar, whirls on him so fast I can hear her dreads slap his face.

“What did you call me?”

The guy tips his head back and laughs. Hard. I fully expect to see the girl go for his eyes, but instead, she surprises me and grins. And just like that, it’s over.

“Are you gonna try to get off and go to the concert with me?” she asks congenially.

Their voices drop into a more conversational tone that I can’t hear as clearly and feel guilty for listening to. Time to either get the hell out of here or make my presence known. And trust me, it’s no easy decision. Just the thought of working with someone like this girl Taryn gives me heartburn.

Before I can give much consideration to backing out, I reach down for every last ounce of bravado I possess, I clear my throat and I start making my way toward the bar.

Both heads turn to watch me as I approach. As I get closer, I can see that, although obviously in possession of one hellacious temper, the girl is quite beautiful with her wide almond eyes and full ruby lips. And the guy is…wow! He’s quite beautiful, too.

He looks exotic. Maybe Hawaiian or Cuban. He has light caramel skin, jet black hair and eyes to match. And the smile he turns on me? Holy shit.

What is this? The land of misfit models?

I try not to be self-conscious in my outfit. It’s not very revealing, at least not uncomfortably so, but I still feel…nervous. The pants ride low, showing off a decent-sized square of stomach, and the tank top is probably a size smaller than what I’d normally wear, revealing a healthy shot of cle**age. All in all, it’s nothing trashy, but it’ll get me plenty of attention, I’m sure. That’s what makes me nervous.

I don’t fill my shirt out nearly as well as Taryn, whose buoyant boobs are undeniably artificial. She’s skinny everywhere else, though, which makes me kinda proud of my curves. If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s junk in my trunk.

I smile widely and stick out my hand. “Hi. I’m Olivia. You must be Taryn,” I say, addressing the girl first. Evidently, if there’s anyone I can expect to have trouble with, it’ll be her.

“I would say I’ve been expecting you, but I just found out I’ll be training you, so…”

She’s prickly, yes, but not overtly hostile. I take that as a good sign and go in like a linebacker. “I’ll try my best to catch on quick. Luckily, I have plenty of bartending experience, so…” I say, trailing off like she did.

She nods, but her smile is clearly doubtful. “We’ll see.”

“Great!” I say exuberantly. “I look forward to it.” Quickly, I turn to the guy, aiming my hand in his direction. He’s still smiling. “Olivia.”

“Marco,” he says smoothly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Every now and again you meet someone you just know is immediately attracted to you. There is no doubt in my mind that Marco is attracted to me. He’s not even trying to hide it. And why would he? There’s probably not a female on the planet who could resist the charms of someone like him—dark, hot, easy-going, killer smile. “My night just got a whole lot better.”

Oh, he’s gonna be a handful!

“Maybe mine did, too,” I reply with a playful grin. My ability to flirt with him is the biggest indication that nothing will ever happen between us. It’s the guys that tie me in knots, like Nash and Cash, that give me reason to worry.

“Turn that cutsie smile of yours on some clients and maybe you’ll do all right, but you still better be able to sling some drinks,” Taryn says sharply as she walks away.