Something she didn’t let happen very often at work as it tended to give the male clientele the wrong idea about what kind of good time she might be interested in having.
But then, tonight of all nights, what did it really matter?
Leaning a hip against the bar, she waited for Mr. Not-So-Harmless-After-All at table twelve’s fresh Scotch.
This was her last night on the job. Her last—she checked her watch and felt a surge of excitement—two hours. And then she was through.
Sheryl Crow echoed through her mind, singing about leaving Las Vegas, and it was all Darcy could do not to put a little swing in her step as she pushed off the bar. Two more hours of tables to turn, drinks to serve, tips to make. And then she’d move on to life’s next adventure.
Though even as she thought it, the word seemed an off fit to the relentlessly conservative way she managed her life.
Adventure implied risks and unknowns. Challenges. Excitement. That wasn’t exactly how Darcy rolled. She couldn’t afford to. Not after the steep price she’d paid to ensure her independence. She knew the suffocating experience of being at the wrong man’s mercy and she’d been willing to sacrifice her education to facilitate that escape. Drop out of high school and get the job that set her free.
She’d sworn never to allow herself to be in a position of dependence again, which meant she took care of herself. She played it safe. Stayed in control. Lived within her means. And if the cost inherent to a life that felt safe was adventure of the tall, watered-down variety? She’d gladly pay it.
Stopping at table twelve, she leveled him with a flat stare. “Your Scotch, sir. Anything else?”
His speculative look had her wondering what this guy’s game was exactly.
And then his focus lowered to her mouth, causing an unfamiliar dip and roll deep in her belly. One she met with a stern frown because oh, no, she was not going to be tempted by this guy. No way.
* * *
“Relax, Darcy. I get it. Not interested. Couldn’t be more clear if you were wearing it on a T-shirt like the table of bridesmaids over there.”
Her gaze shifted to the three women and the corner and her mouth twitched, making something in his gut fire up. Though just as quickly she had the impulse tamped down.
“I’m not hitting on you,” he assured. “This is about filling some hang time. You’re my temporary hobby.”
A slender brow pushed up. “How’s that.”
“I like the smile I saw. And I want one of my own.”
That smooth hip of hers rocked out to one side. “You want a smile? I’ll save you the hassle.” She flashed him a grin barely a step above the flat business she doled out to every Tom, Dick and Harry who rolled through her section and Jeff shook his head, giving in to his own more sincere version.
“Nice try. But you’re not going to put me off with some cheap imitation. I’ve seen the real thing, and now I want one for myself. An honest to goodness, hard-earned, full tilt smile. Bonus for the laugh. And no pity grins, either.”
She opened her mouth to say something—probably another dismissive shutdown, but then pulled her mouth to the side as she studied him.
“So you want to work for it?” she asked.