But tell that to her now-moist panties...
Abby went about her work, making drinks for thirsty patrons. A customer ordered two margaritas on the rocks, with salt. Abby nodded her approval, looking for the ingredients. She picked up a bottle of tequila and grabbed the lime juice. She wet the rims of the glasses with a lime wedge and dunked them in a dish of coarse salt. Abby loved a good margarita and wished that she was on the other side of the bar ordering it, instead of the person making it. She looked at the bottles in front of her and realized one was missing. She went to the backup bottles of liqueur to find another, but found none.
“Trevor, where’s the extra Cointreau?” she called without looking at him.
“Try the cupboard below the glassware,” he suggested.
Abby bent at the waist and checked the shelves. Trevor was right—it was exactly where he’d said it would be. She stood and turned to face him and he quickly looked away, as if she’d caught him checking her out. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
She glanced around the crowded bar. Bartending wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned her career would be after graduation. Thankfully, Trevor had offered her a job at Swerve. But as her feet ached in the heels she insisted on wearing—they make my legs look great with this skirt—she thought about the dozens of applications for marketing positions she’d submitted around the city and hoped that she would hear something promising soon. She had an interview the next morning. Maybe it would be the one that got her out from behind the bar, where Trevor distracted her at every turn with accidental physical contact, the smell of his cologne, his dark chuckle when he laughed...
She paused for a moment and watched Trevor at work, his masterful, strong hands as he made drinks. He tossed a vodka bottle behind his back with one hand and then, with the other, he reached for a cocktail shaker and twirled it, as well, before catching it. The man was good. He was in complete control. He was built for that type of work, and the awards and accolades he’d won were well earned.
Abby’s focus returned to those hands, though—his long fingers, the soft, dark hair covering corded wrists that flexed with every movement, the collage of black ink that snaked up his forearms, starting at his wrists and disappearing under the material of his black shirt that he’d rolled up to his elbows. She imagined him doing other things with those hands. Hot things. Sexy things. To her. Running them up and down her body until she cried out...
Abby blinked out of her fantasy. God, focus. She and Trevor were coworkers and friends. That was it. Whatever could have happened between them romantically, that kiss, was in the past. The moment was over. She glanced up and saw the blonde woman standing with a friend at a nearby table. She waved a perfectly manicured hand at Trevor and Abby saw him smile and wink back at the woman. She sighed and moved on to the next customer, as she remembered her resolve to not fall under the spell of a man. She could do better, live for herself and no one else, not like Screaming Orgasm Lady or even her own mother.
She put all sexy thoughts of Trevor out of her head, and she got back to what he was paying her to do.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Abby pulled into the empty parking lot of Swerve. She was running late, having just come from her job interview. She thought that it went well, and her hopes were high. Still wearing her suit, she crossed the parking lot. Inside the club, Abby started for the ladies’ restroom, so she could change into her miniskirt and official Swerve tank top. But she stopped. The bathroom was located at the other end of the club. She was already late for her shift, and any minute she could spare getting ready would be great. So instead of heading down to the restroom, she ducked into Trevor’s office and shut the door behind her. He wouldn’t mind. Hell, she could go in, change and be out prepping the bar before he even showed up. If he showed up on time.
He probably won’t be if he went home with that blonde tart last night. Maybe she had herself a couple more screaming orgasms, Abby thought with a bitter grimace as she pulled off her blazer. She’d noticed the woman hanging around for the rest of the night, never taking her eyes from Trevor. And when they had walked out, locking up the bar, the blonde had been waiting for him in the parking lot. Not wanting to stick around to see the obvious outcome, Abby gave Trevor a brief, friendly fist bump and then they’d parted ways.
“Okay, that wasn’t fair,” she chastised herself as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Both he and the incredible Screaming Orgasm Lady are adults. Maybe the only things screaming were her pores under all that makeup.” Heh.
“That wasn’t fair, either,” she muttered, trying to convince herself. “They can do whatever they want.” And she wasn’t about to blame a woman who might have Trevor all to herself for a night. Just because Abby had passed up the opportunity to spend what would have been an unbelievable night with him, it didn’t mean that any other sane woman in the world would do the same thing.
* * *
TREVOR PARKED HIS car next to Abby’s in the Swerve parking lot. It was March and the chill of winter still hung in the air. He wished spring would come soon, as he was looking forward to getting his motorcycle back out on the road. His car was nice enough, but driving it paled in comparison to taking a bike out on the open road. He unbuckled his seat belt and yawned, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. He was beat. He’d been at the club until three that morning, and he was even later getting home than usual, after waiting for the cab he’d called to pick up the blonde woman who’d been flirting with him all night. He remembered the weary sigh he’d given when he saw her standing outside the door, looking for him. She had been persistent, but he’d sent her on her way.
Once home, he’d had one hell of a time getting to sleep. After tossing and turning in his bed, he’d considered it useless, poured himself a double scotch and collapsed in front of his television, and it was daylight before he felt his eyes drift closed in surrender. Physically, he was in great shape, but a busy night at the bar now seemed to take more out of him than it used to. When he was in his twenties, he could work all night and still have the energy to party until daylight. But lately the aches in his feet, wrists and joints were more pronounced, as was the weariness of his mind, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to keep up with the pace.
But it wasn’t the hard work or even the blonde woman who had waited for him outside the club that kept his mind racing in the early hours of this morning. It was Abby Shaw. Every time he had closed his eyes she was there, her long legs, short blond hair, bright smile, the feisty glint in her eye and certainly her shapely ass when she bent over to retrieve the liquor bottle—it was as if he had memorized her every feature. Since that night in Vegas when he’d kissed her, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
They hadn’t even spoken of the night, the party at Jamie’s hotel or even the city itself. It all reminded him that it was as telling a sign as any that she wasn’t interested in pursuing any sort of relationship with him. Which was fine with him since he sure wasn’t going to date one of his employees.
And then there was their friendship to consider. He didn’t want to risk losing her. Although she was gorgeous and sexy and a lot of fun to hang out with, he saw what happened when Abby got scared and ran away from her boyfriends. She pushed them aside, usually because a man tried to get close to her. He knew there was something in her past that made her feel that way, but she’d never told him what it was. With how Trevor had been feeling lately, the weariness that accompanied his desire to settle down and act like an adult, he knew that either way, it wasn’t in the cards