I don’t dare glance back but know he’s following me, keeping up with my near sprint back to the safety behind the bar.
“A guy can’t come into a public establishment for a drink?” He quirks a brow innocently.
Grumbling under my breath, I ditch the bottles in the recycle bin and gently drop the glasses into the tub to be cleaned.
“I’m sure there are other bars near your home you can frequent.”
He makes a look as if he’s absorbing this information. “Perhaps, but I like the atmosphere of this one. Plus, it’s Margarita Madness night and I love tequila.”
I snort. “Yes, I do remember that.”
This is in reference to our one-night stand, where Lucas switched from his martini to pounding back shots of top shelf tequila with me before he topped me.
I groan at the memory. Not because it wasn’t hot, but because it only makes me want what neither of us can have.
Grabbing the bottle of Don Julio, I pull out a margarita glass, placing it upside down into the dish, and dip it into the salt, getting the rim nicely garnished. Then I grab the bottle of Triple Sec, pour it in the blender, followed by the tequila, and turn it on until blended before pouring it into the glass along with a slice of lime. I place it out in front of Lucas on the bar, the liquid splashing a bit on my finger.
I pull my hand away and lick the tip, as Lucas’s eyes track from the glass to me, arching a brow.
“Thank you. Where’s yours?”
“I’m working,” I retort, gripping the bottleneck in my hand. “Can’t drink on the job.”
Lucas laughs huskily. “Funny, but I seem to remember quite a bit of drinking the last time I was at this bar.”
I pour a beer from the tap into a tall schooner and head off toward Donnie’s table, feeling Lucas’s eyes on my backside the entire time. When I return, his drink is still untouched.
“Something wrong with the drink?”
“Yeah, I don’t like drinking alone.”
I gesture widely with my hand. “You’re not alone. There’s plenty of others in here. And I’m sure you could find someone without even batting an eyelash.”
Busying myself, I wipe down the bar top where I spilled the drink, caught off guard when Lucas’s hand catches my wrist, halting my movement.
“Kyler. I don’t want to drink with anyone else. It’s your company I need.”
What is a guy supposed to say to that? Especially a horny guy like me?
I wasn’t made to withstand the pleas of a man like Lucas Mathiasson. I’m not strong enough and honestly too stupid to say anything but yes.
“Fine,” I grouse, fixing another drink for myself. “Just one drink and that’s it.”
The audacity of Lucas when he laughs at this statement!
“Where have I heard that before?”
Exactly. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.
15
Lucas
I knew I was fucked the minute my meeting was over and instead of going home, I left campus and my car somehow drove itself to Cactus Pete’s bar.
And now I’m two margaritas in, feeling the delicious effects the booze has on my now loose and buzzed limbs, and I can’t help but laugh at a joke Kyler is telling his co-worker, Roarke, on the other side of the bar from where I’m perched.
“And then the guy drops his pants, puts his head between his legs, quacks loudly and yells, ‘butt quack!’”
I nearly fall off my chair over the absurdity of the joke. Maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s just Kyler, but I can’t help myself at the dizzying effects it’s having on my mood. Not to mention my libido.
“Good one, Kyler. You should’ve been a comedian instead of a bartender and dancer.”
My laughter suddenly dies and my head pops up as my gaze volleys between Roarke and Kyler, who gives his co-worker a stern WTF stare down, clearly telling him to shut up.
“Dancer?” I pry, curious now what he means.
But Roarke suddenly has other things to do and goes off in the direction of some patrons in the corner of the bar, where I hear him holler ‘last call’ as Kyler continues his closing duties.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Kyler looks around for what I assume to be a way out of this and just about gets there until Roarke comes back and says, “Kyler has the moves like Jagger. You should see him sometime. It’s pretty fucking impressive.”
“Oh really? Well, this I have to see.”
I swivel in my barstool and lock gazes with Kyler, who to my surprise looks mortified.
He shakes his head adamantly. “No. No way. Not happening.”
Slipping out my wallet, I pull out a ten and slap it on the bar top. “Ten-bucks to show me your moves.”
I know I’m crossing the line. Now I’m overstepping and shadowing that gray area between professor and student, doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do.
But it’s only a dance, right?
What could it possibly hurt?
Kyler stares at the bill on the counter like a starving man looks at a piece of meat, but then looks away with a shake of his head and a “pfft.” So, I up the ante.
With a fifty on the table on top of the ten, I sit back in my chair and grin smugly.
“Your call. It’s all yours if you just dance one song for me. Any song, your choice. But…” I dig my finger into the bar top, tapping it in quick succession. “It has to be right here, tonight before I leave.”
Kyler looks at the bills and then around the room at the only two tables of people remaining. It makes me curious as to whether he’s uncomfortable dancing in front of others or just me.
As if in resignation, he grabs the bills and shoves them down his front pocket. I may salivate a little as I envision me stuffing them down his pants instead. I realize we’re not talking about him stripping for me, but it sure does turn up the heat of my fantasies to watch Kyler move and sway his hips in front of me wearing only a thong.
I swallow down my remaining gulp of drink to cool my parched tongue.
“You’re unbelievable,” he laments, rolling his eyes, to which I reply with a saucy chuckle.
I raise my hands in protest. “Hey, I wasn’t the one who brought it up. Your friend over there did.”
We both turn to see Roarke smiling with the innocence of a school kid. Kyler growls at him – a cross between a tease and irritated.
“I’ll get you later, my pretty,” Kyler cackles and then walks without hesitation over to the stereo system at the DJ booth.
Roarke returns behind the bar, leaning over with elbows propped on the counter, fingers steepled toward me. “You want something else to drink while you enjoy the show?”
I thoughtfully consider another drink but decline with a shake of my head.
“Nah, how about just a water. I need to sober up.”
He produces my water and I return my attention back to Kyler, who has now selected a song. At first, I don’t recognize it, mostly because I’m not much of a pop music fan. But as the first few slow and sensual beats repeat and pound through the speakers, the musical notes floating on the air, I realize it’s a song made famous by Ginuwine, about riding a Pony.
The lyrics, which are explicit and exploitative, seem to blend into the walls as my entire attention becomes wrapped up in and around the sexy man who begins to move and dance in the middle of the dance floor. The sensuality of his movements, of his body, is like a living piece of art, fluid, and visceral.