With that, she was gone.
Faith took her glass and put it in the rack, knowing she was right. She did need to get laid. She paused for a second, trying to do the math and making a growling sound when she realized it had been almost ten months since she last gave any man the time of day. He had been a guest instructor at the women's shelter where she was teaching a self-defense class for free. Tall, dark, handsome, only temporarily in town? Just her cuppa tea. They'd had a two week thing and then he went back to California and she just drowned her sexual frustration in ever-more-lengthy training sessions.
"Bye guys. See you next week," she called as they all shuffled out.
"I like your friends," Danny said as he cleared their money off the bar and went to run their bill into the system.
"They're good people," she agreed, fighting the urge to say something snippy like 'I can die happy then'. She was beat. It was a long night and being surly all the time was starting to wear on her.
"Always after hours," Vin said, shaking his head in disapproval.
"They paid," Faith said, shrugging, knowing his friends who showed up after hours drank for free. "And seeing as I am training the fifth guy in six months and that means I won't have any free time to see my friends outside of here because you have an itchy trigger finger where the 'f' word is concerned..."
"Alright, alright," Vin said, holding up his hands. "I am heading out. Have a good night, kids."
"Is he always such a pushover?" Danny asked after he walked out the front door, locking it from the outside.
"Don't let him hear you calling him that."
"So just you get to push him around then."
"Pretty much," she agreed, smiling a little.
"You like that power, don't you?"
"Maybe," she allowed, filling a cleaning bucket with hot water and bleach to wipe down the surfaces so they could go home finally.
"Hey," he said, drawing her attention with the unmistakable clink of shot glasses hitting the bar. When she turned, there were two sitting there and Danny had a bottle of vodka in his hands, the good stuff. "Let's have a peace shot, huh? We got off on the wrong foot. Let's put that behind us." Faith turned, shaking her head. "Fucking seriously, sweetheart? What the fuck does it take with you... oh," he trailed off, sheepishly rubbing a hand across the back of his neck when she turned back with a bottle of tequila (also the good stuff) instead.
"Vodka makes me sick," she admitted. "First drink I ever had was a vodka cran. Had way too many, got violently sick, and I have never been able to tolerate it since," she explained as she poured the shots, putting the bottle down on the bar.
They each reached for theirs and lifted them, Faith waiting, knowing he was going to say something.
"New beginnings would be cheesy," he started and she agreed.
"Here's to staying positive and testing negative," she offered, clinking his glass, and throwing back her shot.
"Nice," he said, throwing his back as well.
They both clanked their glasses down at the same time, their fingers brushing.
"So... truce?" he asked, neither of them moving their hands though Faith was putting a lot of focus on making sure her hand did not move in the slightest.
"We haven't been at war," she said, giving him a small smile. "If we were, you would be coughing up blood from a spiked shot right about now."
"If we haven't been at war, why have you been avoiding me?"
"I've been working. You know... making drinks, collecting tips, closing tabs..."
"And all the eye rolls in my direction?"
"I did not..." she started to object, knowing damn well she had.
"Baby, you did."
She felt her belly flutter hard at that as a stab of pure, white hot desire shot between her thighs.
Ever the sucker for pet names, damnit.
"I think you try too hard," she offered, it being mostly true.
"You'd prefer I was a dick to the customers?"
"I'd prefer you were genuine. I don't like people who put on masks because, after a while, the mask starts to look a helluva lot like their face and you can never tell what is true and what isn't."
"And how do you know I'm not a friendly, sociable, nice guy?"
"We already covered the fact that you're not a nice guy."
"Actually, we never did really get to finish that argument."
"It wasn't an argument. You're not a nice guy. Case closed."
"You know what," he said, body twisting toward her, making her automatically twist away which inadvertently put her back against the bar, closed in by his solid frame. And he was close. His hips touched hers and when she angled her head up, if she just went up on her toes, their lips would be lined up.