“Don’t be ridiculous.” He gave her another lingering kiss. “The bar closes around one tonight. If you’re not busy, I’d love to buy you another drink.”
Her heart leaped at the thought. “I’d like that.”
Chapter Eight
Alex slipped in through the back door and picked up the apron he’d discarded earlier. He tied it in place, walked down the hall, and ducked back behind the bar.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Connor looked up from the draft beer he was pouring. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Sure. Why? Did you misplace your phone again?” Normally he wouldn’t have had any problem admitting exactly why he was late. For whatever reason, Alex didn’t feel like discussing what had happened at Emory’s apartment. That was between her and him.
“Quickie, Alex, get a dictionary and look it up.” Connor put the beer on a tray with five more and set them on the bar for Jessa to pick up. “Or next time just bring her here and fuck her behind the bar. You can get laid and work at the same time. That’s what I call efficient.”
The anger was as unexpected as it was fierce. One second Alex was calm, the next he had Connor backed up against the bar with a forearm across his windpipe. The lethal beast behind his friend’s civil exterior roared into action a split second before Connor twisted out of Alex’s grip. They grappled for the advantage, Alex blinded by emotions so complex he couldn’t get a handle on them.
“Connor! Alex! Stop!” The alarm in Jessa’s voice sliced across Alex’s consciousness and he instantly stepped away. Connor did the same.
He felt drained as he watched Jessa fling herself at Connor, her hands brushing over his face and chest. Connor watched him with understanding in his hell-black gaze. It made Alex feel worse. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” Connor soothed Jessa with his hands, rubbing her back. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ll watch what I say next time.”
They’d snagged the attention of several customers. Now wasn’t the time for one of Connor’s deep discussions. Alex slapped a good-natured smile on his face and waved Connor back to his post along the wall. “Later.”
“Don’t think I’ll forget.”
No doubt.
* * *
Emory wished Fox was there to help her pick an outfit. She’d spent the entire afternoon and evening daydreaming about having sex with Alex. A steady trickle of customers had kept her somewhat occupied. By the time she closed up shop, there were fifteen orders due by Monday afternoon. Unfortunately she’d had no luck trying to get them finished. She’d started and abandoned five different arrangements, unable to focus on the task long enough to see what she was trying to create. One was a time-consuming casket piece she really needed to get moving on. What was she doing instead? Standing in front of her closet, trying to find something that would show Alex she could be just as sexy and adventurous as the blonde who’d given him a blowjob the night before.
This is hopeless.
The fundamental problem was that Emory wasn’t sexy and adventurous. She was as inexperienced at being seductive as she was at having sex.
A sudden thought had her looking around for her shoes and wallet. Morgan.
Accessories & More was an ambiguously named store around the corner from her apartment that carried a wide selection of provocative clothing and sex toys. As always, Emory took the back way, which allowed her to go out the rear exit of her shop, cross a public parking area, and duck into Morgan’s store through her back door.
The weather was unusually mild for spring, the night sky clear enough to see the first stars twinkling overhead. Emory felt like a teenager getting ready for her first date. Was this what you were supposed to feel like about the person you were dating?
Except I’m not really dating Alex.
Like Blooming Buds, Morgan’s store was housed in one of the historic downtown buildings. A rear porch overhung the back door, the stairs providing a fire exit from Morgan’s upstairs apartment. Emory ducked beneath a hanging basket of bright pink geraniums and into the store.
“Morgan? I really need your help.” She started to enter the main sales floor from the storage area but stopped when she heard a horribly familiar voice.
“Sign this petition and I’ll use my influence to take some of the pressure off your store.” Donovan MacIntyre was standing beside a rack of rainbow-colored platform heels.
“Is that right?” Morgan propped her hands on her hips and gave him a scathing glare.
Emory wished she could pull off one of Morgan’s wild-girl ensembles. Her friend wore a pleated black and white houndstooth skirt that barely cleared her butt cheeks. The creamy tops of her breasts peeked out of the purple bra visible beneath her black scoop neck top, and she wore a pair of fishnet stockings with her combat boots. With her dyed black hair piled on top of her head and her glittery eye makeup, she looked sexier than the cover models featured on the merchandise.