I needed to find a needle and some thread for my mouth.
“But we’re going to have to agree to disagree on that, too.” Humor shone through his warm eyes, and as close as we were, I noticed the darker flecks of brown near his pupils.
I tried to step away again, but didn’t get anywhere. My chest rose sharply on a deep inhale. “Why do you care so much about this bar?”
It was his turn to blink. “What do you mean?”
“Why have you put so much effort into it? You could be working at a better place, probably dealing with less stress than running a bar you don’t own.”
Jax stared at me a moment, and then his hands slid off my shoulders, down my upper arms, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake before he dropped them completely. “You know, if you knew me better, you wouldn’t have to ask the question.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Exactly.” He stepped around me and headed back out to the bar, leaving me standing in the hall, more than a little confused.
Of course I didn’t know him. I’d just met him yesterday, so what the hell? It was just a question. I turned, flipping my hair back over my left shoulder. I breathed in. Then I breathed out.
I had a problem.
Well, I had lots of problems, but I also had a new one.
I wanted to get to know Jackson—Jax—James better and I shouldn’t. That should be the last thing I wanted, but it wasn’t.
Bartending was hard.
Because of basically growing up in bars, I’d avoided them once I’d left home and it had been years since I’d really been inside one. Back in the day, I knew how to make most mixed drinks just from seeing them done so many times, but now? I officially sucked at it. Like sucked hard-core. On almost every mixed drink, my eyes were glued to the cocktail menu taped near the serving well.
Luckily, Jax wasn’t a dick about it. When someone came in, which they started to do around three, one after another, and they ordered a drink that sounded like a different language to me, he didn’t make it hard for me. Instead, he stepped back, giving soft corrections if I reached for the wrong mixer or poured too little or too much of a liquor.
Having worked as a waitress, I knew I could smile my way through about every mess-up. With old and rheumy-eyed men, it worked even better.
“Take your time, sweetie,” one older man said when I had to toss his drink since I wasn’t good at free pouring and probably poured enough liquor to kill the dude. “All I got is time.”
“Thank you.” I smiled as I redid the drink, which was a simple gin and tonic. “Better?”
The man took a sip and winked. “Perfect.”
As he stepped away, heading to a table near one of the pool tables, Jax moved in from behind me. “Here. Let me show you how to free pour.” Reaching around me, he grabbed one of the shorter glasses and then picked up the gin. “Paying attention?”
Uh.
He was standing so close to my side I could feel his freaking body heat. He could be talking about how many times Mars circled the sun for all I knew. “Sure,” I murmured.
“We don’t really use jiggers, but it’s pretty simple. Basically, for every count, you’re pouring a quarter ounce. So if you’re pouring one and a half ounces, you’re going to count to six. For a half ounce, you’re going to count to two.”
Sounded easy, but after pouring a couple of them, I still wasn’t pouring the same amount with each count, and all I was doing was wasting liquor.
“It only gets better with practice,” he said, propping his hip against the bar top. “Luckily, most of the people are beer folk, straight-up shots, and a few of the simpler mixed drinks.”
“Yeah, but someone’s going to come in here asking for a Jax special, and I’m going to look like an idiot,” I said as I wiped up the liquor I’d gotten on the bar.
Jax chuckled. “Only I make that, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
I pictured him offering that drink to girls he wanted to lay, and then was immediately disturbed by how much I didn’t like that image. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“You’re doing fine.” Pushing off the bar, he placed his hand on the small of my back as he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear, causing me to stiffen as he spoke, and warm air danced over my skin. “Just keep smiling like you are, and any guy will forgive you.”
My eyes popped wide as he sauntered off to the other end of the bar, leaning down on his folded arms as one of the guys at the bar said something to him.
I think I forgot how to breathe while I stood there, staring at the back of a fuzzy white and balding head of some guy.
There was no doubt in my mind that Jax knew how to bring the flirt. As I pushed away from the bar top, clearing my face of what I hoped wasn’t a stupid grin, I chanced a look down the bar.
Jax was laughing. He had this deep, unfettered laugh, where he’d raise his chin and let loose the deep, rumbling sound like he didn’t have a care in the world. The sound pulled at the corners of my lips. Whoever he was talking to looked about his age, which was a mystery age currently. The guy was also attractive—dark brown hair, a little longer than I’d like, but not as long as Jase’s. From what I could see, he was also broad in the shoulders.
Hot guys always flocked together, and there had to be some kind of scientific evidence supporting this fact.
Roxy arrived at the start of the evening shift, and she was yet another surprise. I wasn’t the tallest girl around, coming in around five and seven inches, but she was a tiny thing. Barely crossing over five feet, she had what looked like a mass of chestnut hair streaked with deep red piled into a bun atop her head. She was rocking Buddy Holly black frames that added to the impish cuteness of her face, and was dressed much like I was, in jeans and a shirt. I decided that I immediately liked her, mainly because she was wearing a Supernatural T-shirt with Dean and Sam on it.
Her wide eyes flickered over me as she crossed the bar, and Jax quickly tagged her, motioning her over to where he was still leaning against the bar. Whatever he said to Roxy caused her to glance in my direction.
I hated being the new person.
When he was finally done with her, he went back to his conversation with the other hot guy. I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath. Meeting people for the first time was . . . hard. Teresa probably never saw that side of me because we quickly bonded over our mutual disinterest in music appreciation, but typically, I wasn’t good at meeting people. As pathetic as it sounded, I always worried if they were busy wondering about the scar on my face, and I knew they would, because I would. It was human nature.
As she came around the bar grinning, I wondered if people could actually see her behind the bar. “Hi,” she said, shoving out a dainty hand. “I’m Roxanne, but everyone calls me Roxy. Please call me Roxy.”
“Calla.” I shook her hand, laughing.
