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Chapter one

Colt

T he worst part about Thursday night at the bar isn’t the crowded turnout, or the loud buzzing of conversation as excited voices fill the trendy space. The part I hate most is being this close to her—and knowing I’m all tied up behind the counter. More than anything, I’d rather steal a few moments together. I can’t help that I’m obsessed with her, or that I’ve followed her home more times than I care to admit. I like making sure she gets there safely. It’s as if I’m programmed to protect her. My only focus, to keep her safe as she walks two blocks to her fancy townhouse in the RiNo district, oblivious to my existence.

My girl doesn’t see the way I devour her from head to toe, fixated on memorizing everything about her. When I catch sight of her every Thursday night, I’m hypnotized. The moment she steps foot into my bar, my eyes remain glued to her. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice the way my gaze roams her every curve, cathartically cataloging the finest details.

Another round prints out of the machine, interrupting my obsessing, and my cousin grabs the ticket.

“You good?” I ask, forcing myself to look over at Kyler.

“I’ve got this one,” she chirps. “I told your brother before he left, I’m ready. Trust me.”

I smile and nod, watching as she pours three shots. This order is for the tequila trio. A quick glance at the scoreboard tells me they’re celebrating moving into first place. I watch as Kyler coats the rim in salt then drizzles the liquid all the way to the top before placing limes in a small bowl.

Another pass on consistency and presentation. Once my brother returns from his vacation, I can step back as intended to plan a second location, and Kyler can transition fully into her new role. I just have to survive this weekend, because my future sister-in- law insisted on a trip to preview their wedding venue. I roll my eyes and look down to hide my smile. In my brother’s defense, there would be no stopping me from taking that vacation, either. I can’t blame him for wanting their destination wedding to be perfect.

Besides, Thursday isn’t usually this busy for us, but with trivia night gaining a lot of attention in the local community, we’ve seen a steady increase in the number of people showing up to play. Between that and the pop-up events we keep booking, the bar is growing in popularity. Tonight’s turnout is more than I expected. We could use an extra pair of hands behind the counter, but we’re still managing to keep things moving at a steady pace. It helps that Kyler comes to us with extensive experience and training. Tonight she’s more than proven her ability to thrive under pressure. Once this night is over, I swear I’m ending her training and throwing her on the permanent schedule.

Another order prints out of the machine, and I snatch it before Kyler even has a chance. It doesn’t matter that we’re slammed. I make the drinks on autopilot, staring at the table across from the bar. My girl is laughing with her friends as they wait for the next question. The blonde-haired woman with her rolls her eyes and tosses her head back, annoyed, as cheers erupt from the tequila trio’s table in celebration.

She doesn’t realize that I’m watching her, that she belongs to me. Or that I’ve been stalking her for months. Week after week, I’ve studied her while she sits in the same spot, with the same friends. The best part is, it gives me the perfect view to stare at her from—one where she hasn’t noticed the way I never take my eyes off her.

Mesmerized, I drink up the way her long black hair sashays past her shoulders and over the soft, deep red lace material covering her arms. The lace teases a peek at the intricate lines and patterns covering her skin. My girl is tatted. She’s curvy—before I can finish my thought, her eyes catch mine, and it’s all I can do to stifle the groan growing in my chest. She shouldn’t be able to see me at all, yet it’s as if she’s staring right into my eyes, daring me to look away—and in doing so, confirming her suspicions.

Only a fool would look away. My pulse races, and for a few brief moments, her eyes snare mine. I study the way the rims of her eyes are filled with specks of stormy green that bleed into a hazel border while returning her burning glare. She has no idea what she’s doing to me, or the electricity it’s creating between us. Her presence is my favorite torture. Maybe that’s why I followed her home the first time—because I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. My greedy gaze holds hers for a few moments longer, then I shoot her a quick wink and a smile. She blinks with a flutter of her fake eyelashes, batting away her attention, returning to the conversation with her friends.

Vases filled with dahlias decorate each of the tabletops. Entranced by her every move, I continue to stare as her fingers trace the petals while she hangs on every word her friend is saying. I wish I could hear their conversation, but then I wouldn’t be able to pretend they’re talking about me.

I smile at my ridiculousness before reluctantly dropping my gaze to garnish a drink.

“Do you have any orange slices?” I holler at Kyler, who’s busy shaking a mojito.

She glances to her prep space, then back to me. “Nope, I’m out too. Do you want me to cut you some?”

I chuckle. She’s funny. Do I want her to cut me some? I can do my own prep. “No worries. I can handle it,” I say with a mischievous grin.

“I’ll race you,” she challenges with a smirk.

I nod my acceptance of her challenge, grabbing a fresh orange for each of us from the mini fridge. I count us down, then carefully work to quickly slice mine into garnish pieces. The juice slides down my fingers, forcing me to fight the tantalizing urge to suck it right off. Fuck, this woman has me in a deadly chokehold. She’s going to be my undoing, I just know it. I shake my head, then return my focus to slicing perfect slivers.

Kyler finishes right after me.

“I’m still the master and you’re still my student,” I taunt.

She rolls her eyes as I refill my prep bowl. I pluck an orange slice and slide it onto the sugared rim of the glass next to a dehydrated slice of lemon. I add a sprig of fresh rosemary dusted in castor sugar to balance the tartness of the drink, then drop a small skewer of fresh cranberries delicately draped into the glass. Perfect—but it has to be. It’s my girl’s favorite drink, and she just ordered this one. I signal the server, and he quickly whisks it off to her as I move on to the next order, ready to battle Kyler all night.

When I’m able, I steal a few looks at her to make sure she’s enjoying the drink. I’m pleasantly surprised to catch her playing with the cranberry skewer, teasing it between her lips as she slowly—oh so tortuously—sucks one of the plump, round berries off. My cock goes rigid when she winks right at me. Fuck, this girl is such a tease. She’s trouble with a capital T. What the hell am I doing playing with fire?

Before I can give it any more thought, hushed whispers erupt, pulling my attention away as the host asks another question. Trivia night is nearing an end, and the tension in the bar is thick with the anticipation of who will be tonight’s winner. Drinks ring through at a steady pace, but we blow right through them until finally, twenty minutes later the trivia host ends the game and declares the winner.

Her table doesn’t take first place, but they finish in third, keeping them on the bragging board until next week. Her team’s been on the board since the first night she showed up: The ‘Feral Squirrels’. I crack another smile. It’s a ridiculous name.

The bar slowly empties, and I watch as she leaves. I won’t be able to follow her tonight. Something I came to terms with when my baby bro scheduled his trip. I sigh, and Kyler looks at me with her brow furrowed.

“Tired, old man?” she taunts.

“Old man,” I scoff. “Who are you calling old man? I’m not even thirty. I still have another eleven months.”

She snickers, not even bothering to hide her delight, knowing she got an old-person joke in. “Yup, only an old man would count down to his birthday like that.”

My cousin is lucky. I taught her everything I know. She’s also lucky Aidan and I paid for her to go to a fancy bartending school. Unfortunately, we promised Uncle Ricky—who doesn’t quite make his money on the up and up—that we’d give both of the twins a job and take care of them when he signed the loan for our startup. The twins and Uncle Ricky’s new investment are the two reasons we’re going to be able to open a second location. To say this has been a great family partnership would be an understatement, but then again, I never thought Aidan and I would get into the family business. In fact, we swore we wouldn’t, but here we are, technically in business with the family.

There are only a handful of tables left finishing their drinks. I give Kyler the nod, and she jumps up on the bar top, sticking her fingers in her mouth with a shrill whistle.

“Closing time,” she shouts.

We close early at ten on Thursdays because it allows everyone to rest up for the busy weekend. This Saturday night will be extra busy. The bar is closed to the public to host a private ticketed event. The ticket sales more than covered the bar minimum for the night, and it only included one drink. Friday night will be too busy to practice, so tonight I’m running through the drink menu one last time.

The marketing director—aka my other cousin—Vivian, was right. It’s the perfect time of year to host a masquerade speed dating event. People are working on New Year’s resolutions, looking for love thanks to Valentine’s Day, and dating more. Wedding season is on the horizon, and no one wants to show up without a date. Especially me. I swear, I will work up the courage to approach the girl of my dreams because I promised my brother I would have a date for the wedding. It’s only a few months away, and I still have yet to do either. Time is running out. Maybe I should have signed up for the masked speed dating night.

With my thoughts swirling over the details of the speed dating event, I zone out, hyper-focusing on making one of each of the featured masquerade drinks before moving on to the closing routine, mentally checking off tasks. While I clean, I think about all the work we still have left to do in order to pull off the actual event on Saturday. This event has been such a pre-sale success we have a second date selected for next month and are finalizing the night’s themed drinks. I guess this time I should slip my name onto the participants’ list. What could possibly go wrong?