Page 48 of Mr. Edwards

“A beer it is then, but I’ll give you a rain check on the kiss.” I give him a cheeky wink as I say it.

I pop the top off the bottle and place it in front of him. “I’ve got to serve the others,” I say, gesturing in their direction with my thumb.

“All good, babe. I’m happy just to sit here and observe.” He picks up his beer and points toward the TV screen behind me with the neck of the bottle. “There’s also a game on. I don’t want to get in your way, I only came here because I wanted to see you.”

His words have me grinning. “Are you hungry? I can get the kitchen to send out some wings, they’re pretty good.”

He nods and brings the bottle to his mouth. My eyes are glued to his throat as he swallows. He even drinks sexy. “That would be great.”

Weeknights aren’t as busy as the weekends, but we do get a bit of a crowd on Thursday evenings when there’s a game on. I’m not a huge fan of football, but what’s not tolove about watching a bunch of guys in tight pants roughing each other up?

I head down to the other end of the bar, and although Grayson said he’d watch the game while I worked, I can feel his eyes on me. I try not to let it distract me from doing my job. I have guys that come in here and ask me out all the time, but I love it here, so I’d never mixed business with pleasure. I may occasionally flirt back because it gets me bigger tips, but that’s as far as I let it go. I don’t need any drama in my workplace.

“Spill,” Mandy says, coming up behind me. “Who is that delicious man?”

“Just a friend,” I reply. I like Mandy, but I don’t get too cozy with the staff either. I manage this place, therefore I’m technically their boss. Lines get blurred once things become personal, and I don’t have time for that bullshit. I just want to do my job well and go home at the end of the day.

“Just a friend? I don’t believe that for a second. I saw the way you two looked at each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bitch, come on,” she says. “Are you tapping that hottie or what?” She leans over the bar and eyes him from head to toe. “Damn, he’s fine.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

She pokes out her tongue as she picks up a cloth and starts to wipe down the counter. “You’re no fun. Does he have any hot friends at least?”

“I’m plenty fun, and no, his friend is a douche. Can you go to the kitchen and put in an order of wings?”

“Fine,” she says, sighing. “Just how douchey is this friend of his?” I give her the stink eye. “What about a brother?”

“Go.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she grumbles, turning away in a huff.

The night goes fast… I head back to Grayson every chance I get. I feel bad that I can’t spend more time with him, but he seems happy enough just sitting there. He occasionally chats with the guy beside him about the game. He doesn’t fit in in a place like this, but I love how friendly and easygoing he is.

“Dude, look at that man. Seriously, look at him,” Mandy says, coming up behind me, again. She’s starting to get on my nerves. “You need to lock this one down, girlfriend; he’s got every woman in this room throwing their vaginas in his direction.” I tilt back my head and laugh. “It’s true.”

My gaze darts around, and I don’t like what I see. Most of the women here tonight are eye-fucking him. Even some with their significant others sitting right beside them. I get it, I really do, that kind of hotness doesn’t come around often, but their ogling still gets under my skin. I’m not usually the jealous type, but I’m suddenly feeling stabby.

“Hey,” Mandy says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let it upset you. They may be gawking, but he hasn’t even noticed. He only has eyes for you. God, I wish someone would look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like he’ll die if he didn’t.”

My attention flicks to Grayson, and Mandy’s right,he’s oblivious to the attention he’s getting because his focus is solely on me. The beautiful smile he gives me when our eyes meet sends warmth coursing throughout my body. I drop my gaze; I’m in a whole heap of trouble with this one and I need to rein myself back in. Things are moving way too fast.

Brad, one of our regulars, approaches the bar, so I head toward him. “Another beer?” I ask.

“The guys and I want to do a round of shots,” he slurs, swaying on his feet.

“You sure about that?” He’s already half-tanked. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Brad places his forearm on the bar, leaning forward. “I’m a big boy, I can handle myself, darlin’.”

“Okay.” I reach for the tequila, lining up four shot glasses. “It’s your funeral.”