Any Time, Any Place
Page 42

“Daydreaming on the job?”
She jerked around at the teasing voice. He grinned down at her with the usual charm, but she wondered what really hid behind his walls. When she’d lost her father, the years afterward were filled with her own personal therapy. Dalton had run to California, but had he ever tamed the need to self-destruct? Wasn’t blocking himself from ever thinking of a long-term relationship a way to punish and get revenge in a different way?
Holy crap, she was becoming a professional therapist. She needed to get it together and stop thinking about him so much.
Raven shook her head hard to clear it. “Just creating my next great cocktail.”
He motioned toward the jar that held an endless array of singles. “I think they like me.”
“Especially the perky blonde.”
He didn’t even deign to glance back. If he had, he would’ve caught the lustful gleam in her eye and the shiny, parted red lips that said I’m yours. “Think if I peeled off my shirt I’d get some fives?”
She had to clamp down on the smile threatening to break out. “Think this is Coyote Ugly, Slick? Not that type of bar.”
He leaned in. “Damn, I’d pay a million to see you dance on the bar.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I may do it for a million.”
“How about my tip jar? The whole thing.”
The connection tightened, crackled. She struggled for breath amid the short-circuiting of her body, which practically wept to experience one more kiss. Why was the forbidden so hard to fight? “Not worth a hundred bucks. Think I’m cheap?”
He gasped in affronted shock. “There’s got to be over two hundred in there!”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it’s all singles and mine are all fivers. Let’s announce last call—it’s later than I’d originally planned.”
“Bet I got some tens,” he muttered, grabbing glasses and refilling drafts. She watched as the perfect amount of head foamed up, and nodded with approval as he pushed them toward the customers. Not bad. “Maybe even a twenty!”
Why did he have to be so damn adorable?
They fell into perfect rhythm, as if they’d worked together before. She hated bumping into another bartender. Despised clumsiness and sloppiness. Not only did he clean up as he worked, he moved with the grace of a dancer, even with his staggering height. The crowds began to thin. His brothers popped over to say good-bye and rib him, which he took with his usual grin, and finally the bar was empty.
Amanda and Sheila came out of the kitchen groaning. “That was hard-core!” Sheila announced.
“But worth the tips,” Amanda chirped. The two women slid onto bar stools, and Raven filled two cups of seltzer with lemon, sliding them over. She never served them alcoholic drinks in her bar, and they’d never bitched about the rules.
Dalton joined them in their familiar circle and groaned. “My feet hurt.”
Sheila snorted. “Ever do catering? Come back to me after that and tell me your feet don’t feel like you danced the ballet at Lincoln Center.”
Raven smiled. “Beer?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Seltzer sounds good to me.”
Her respect for him went up another notch. He knew how to follow and how to lead. A solid combination of skills.
“So Raven and I are having a contest of who got the most tips. Who do you think won?” he asked.
The girls glanced at each other. “Raven,” they said in unison.
He clutched his hands over his heart in mock hurt. “What? I had it going on! You’re going to regret those words.”
Amanda giggled. “Raven is a badass. Besides her drinks, she’s just kinda hot. Girls and guys love her.”
Raven tugged on the waitress’s blond locks. “Thanks, babe.”
Sheila snorted. “Dump the jars and let’s find out.”
Al trudged out of the kitchen, slid onto a stool, and grabbed his seltzer. “Bettin’ on Raven,” he rumbled.
“Don’t dudes stick together?” Dalton challenged.
Al shrugged. “She always kills the tips.”
Amanda squinted and took a long sniff. “I smell smoke, Al. Seriously?”
He gave Dalton a suffering look. “Told ya to stick to my team,” Dalton said.
Raven sighed. “I’m disappointed, Al, but we’re not ruining tonight by sharing details of lung cancer. Did you see the commercial where the guy loses his voice and has to talk through a machine?”
Al turned a bit green. “Cut it out.”
“Sorry. Count ’em up.”
The fun of the night was always totaling the tips, and with her team, distribution was a breeze. There was no fighting or egotism, just a sense of hard work and getting a fair share. “Two hundred and twenty-five dollars,” she announced.
Al whistled. “Nice.”
Amanda clapped her hands. “Hard to beat,” she said merrily.
Dalton gave an annoyed frown that seemed mostly for show. “Thanks to all of you for your belief and support of my bartending abilities. Now stand back and watch me win.”
When he counted past two hundred dollars, Raven was concerned. Even when she’d served at other bars, she’d always raked in double the tips her coworkers did. Many times she’d had to quit because the staff got pissy and thought she was stealing from them. Now she was able to give all her tips to her own crew, but she had a reputation to protect. Crap, two hundred ten? No. Way.
“He’s going to win!” Sheila announced. “History may be made tonight.”
“Not gonna happen,” Al said.
Finally he reached the last dollar.
Two hundred twenty-one dollars and seventy-five cents.
Whew.
“Nice try, Slick. No one has ever gotten close. You’re a good bartender.”
The others agreed, giving him high fives and complimenting him on the restaurant updates. When Dalton gave away all the money, they tried to protest, but he insisted. He also made sure her offered twenty-dollars-per-hour base pay went into the tip jar for them. With bulging pockets and light spirits, they drank seltzer and bullshitted to come down from the energy of the night. Then Sheila, Amanda, and Al took off, leaving her alone with Dalton.
“So.”
She took a casual step away from him. “So. Thanks for helping out tonight.”