Serving Trouble(7)
“What do you want, Travis?” she demanded. “And your answer better be beer, wine, or liquor.”
“Shots,” he smirked. “A round of whiskey shots.”
She turned and headed for the bar, counting her steps. One, two, three. . .
Steps four and five happened too fast to count. She slowed her pace, focused on her shoes. She refused to run from the man who’d wrapped his hands around her neck when she’d broken up with him five years ago. She’d dealt with a lot worse than Travis Taylor since then. His presence shouldn’t shake her.
“Can you pour two shots of whiskey? I need to grab something from the back,” she called to Noah as she walked past the bar.
Like my courage. I need a large dose fast if I’m going to serve Travis.
Noah’s brow furrowed. “I’ll get your shots. But don’t take too long. We’ll be slammed soon.”
She nodded and pushed through the door into the peace and quiet of the back room. The door swung closed behind her, blocking out the dull roar of the Thursday crowd—and her scumbag ex. Cases of beer and booze lined the walls. A large metal desk covered in bills and other paperwork filled the far corner of the rectangular room. Another door stood at the back and led to a small rear parking lot. She was tempted to rush through the exit and escape into the night.
No. I can do this. I can go back out there and serve Travis without pouring his whiskey over his head.
She turned to face the door leading to the bar. She would march out there, serve her ex, and move on. Travis would not prevent her from landing this job. She would not let him ruin her trial shift. She refused—
The door swung open. She jumped back a step as her ragged nerves descended into chaos.
Noah peered through the open doorway. “You can come back out now. Travis is gone.”
“You kicked him out?” she said as relief herded her wild nerves back into place. “You didn’t need to—”
“He’s not welcome here.” Noah stepped into the room, allowing the door to close behind him as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It had nothing to do with you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Nothing to do with her? But then it dawned on her. She’d been gone for years. What if Travis had attacked someone else? And Noah had rushed to her rescue too.
“You’re protecting someone—”
“No. I just don’t want him here. My bar. My rules.” He lowered his arms and turned to the door. “But he wasn’t your only customer. There’s a room full of people waiting on drinks out there. Are you ready to work, or did you change your mind about the job?”
“I’m ready.” She followed him into the bar. “I’m not giving up because of Travis.”
“Good.”
And she caught a hint of his rare smile before he slipped back behind the bar.
She scanned the crowd and spotted a group of locals, men and women she recognized from high school, seated at an empty table. Withdrawing her notepad, she forced a smile and headed over. Travis had been right about one thing—word of her homecoming had spread. After she took their orders, politely avoiding their curious questions, she headed back to the bar.
“I bet your other new hires don’t bring in this much business on their first shift,” she said. “You should give me a cut of the profits from tonight.”
Noah snorted. “Overreaching for someone who is auditioning for a full-time job.”
She leaned over the bar, elbows resting on the wood. Her arms pushed her cleavage up and threatened to land her dress squarely in the indecent column. But she was still a long way from Hooters—and, hopefully, The Lost Kitten.
He glanced at her chest and she swore she saw a flash of heat in his eyes before he looked away.
Oh no. If he still wanted her, if that was his reason for pushing her away, for limiting her to a trial shift, and for kicking Travis out the door . . .
She straightened and smoothed her hands over her dress. One look at his supersized muscles and she wished she could explore beneath his shirt. She wanted to know what had changed—aside from his attitude—but she couldn’t go there.
She needed a job and enough cash to break free from the past. Though one look at the gawking locals and she wondered if that was possible. Noah might have kicked Travis out, but it seemed as if the ghosts from Forever were hell-bent on haunting her.
Chapter Three
BY NINE THIRTY, the university students had replaced the old-timers and locals. Noah kept an eye on the crowd as he worked. The bouncers had arrived at eight just before the crowd began to fill in for the DJ. An outside company handled the booking, and his rep there had assured him that the guy spinning tonight would appeal to the barely twenty-one crowd. Noah thought it sounded like the loud, repetitive stuff the guys he’d served with overseas played to pump up before heading out on patrol.