I was just going to drive.”
“Figures. You cheap bastard.”
Feigning shock, Q pressed a hand over his heart. “I’m offended.”
Jeremy rubbed his index finger and thumb together. “I’ve got the world’s smallest violin playing for you right now.”
Xavier shook his head while he listened to them carry on.
“Excuse me?” a soft voice floated from behind them.
The men spun around.
Xavier experienced a Mike Tyson punch to the gut when his eyes landed on a maple-brown sister with jaw-dropping Jessica Rabbit curves. How he managed to keep his tongue inside his mouth while his gaze roamed over her ripe cantaloupes that were posing as breasts and stretching the hell out of a black T-shirt with a decal that said Got Milk was a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Equally mystifying was how she managed to get her painted-on jeans over a red-beans-and-rice booty that at the right angle looked like an upside-down question mark.
All in all, those were just a few of the questions that he was more than happy to get to the bottom of.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing up her designer shades and flashing a smile that would make a Hollywood starlet green with envy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but is this where I apply for the bartending position that was listed?”
Xavier was struck by the way her voice seemed a little older than she appeared, mainly because it had a sexy huskiness to it and a slight Caribbean lilt. His lips widened. It had been a while since he’d had an island girl.
Jeremy stepped forward first. “Actually—”
Xavier grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Yes. This is the place, but I’m afraid the interviews are tomorrow from four to seven. Not today.”
The woman looked down at the folded newspaper and read the classified ad again. When she saw that she did indeed have the wrong day her shoulders collapsed and she huffed out a frustrated breath. “Just great! I went through all that trouble to arrange a makeup lab test to come here today.” She slapped her forehead with the newspaper and then turned around. “All right, thanks! I guess it’s a sign that it just wasn’t meant to be.”
It was the sight of that thick butt walking away and possibly never returning that sprung Xavier into action. “Whoa! Wait,” he called after her.
She stopped and turned back around. “Yes?”
Again, he felt that punch to the gut, and when he caught his breath he smiled. “Well, since you’re already here, why don’t you let me see that résumé?”
“Great!” She quickly reached into the bag dangling off of her shoulder and handed over a single piece of paper. “I really appreciate this. It’s crazy trying to rearrange my schedule during the day—I’m in school. Med school, actually. Over at Emory, which is why working nights really fits my schedule.”
Xavier bobbed his head while she rambled on nervously.
“Cheryl Shepherd,” he read. “Twenty-seven… You’re clearly a med student like you said…but I don’t see a lot of bartending experience.”
“Well, I usually do a lot of small parties. Plus, I have an uncle who has a bar in Alabama. I used to help out there during the summers when I was in college.” She tossed in. “I probably should’ve added that.”
Xavier smiled, his gaze still caressing her curves. “Maybe we should give you a little audition behind the bar? See if you really know your stuff?”
“All right.” She nodded her head. “I’m down with that.”
He stepped back and extended his arm. “Right this way.”
Cheryl looked in the direction of the bar and strolled ahead of him, giving him a bird’s-eye view of all that her mama blessed her with.
Q leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Any chance we can talk her into putting all that into a thong?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t know if even the three of us together can handle all of that. Humph. Humph. Humph.”
“Speak for yourself,” Q said, moving Jeremy out of the way and straightening his shoulders. But before he could activate his pimp walk, Xavier cut his stride off by stepping in front of him and taking the lead behind Cheryl.
In her immediate wake, Xavier recognized the sweet raspberry nectar and magnolia scent of Givenchy’s Hot Couture and his interest climbed a few more degrees. For some time now, it had been an abstraction of Xavier’s to pair women’s personalities with their choice of fragrance. What popped into his head as he followed her down the club’s new staircase was…sophisticated, sensual and bewitching. Those were his favorite qualities—for now, anyway.
“Wow. This is nice,” Cheryl praised, walking behind the bar and running her hand across the mahogany top. “Paid a lot of money for this baby.”
“And you’re going to be the first to try her out,” Xavier said, settling onto one of the stools. There was so much to marvel about her curvy body that his gaze kept darting around, trying to decide what was his favorite part. It was a three-way tie between her face, breasts and butt.
Jeremy and Quentin caught up and flanked his sides.
“All right, boys,” Cheryl said, flashing her Hollywood smile. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have a Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Bedpost Mexican Doggy Style,” Xavier ordered with a sly smirk. It was pretty much a frat-boy drink, but he wanted to see if this dime diva could handle a curveball.
Cheryl met his twinkling gaze and fired an imaginary gun at him. “You got it!” She immediate reached for the vodka, two different rums, Tequila Gold, Midori and gin, and threw in the appropriate mixers, and in less than a minute she set Xavier’s drink on a cocktail napkin in front of him. “Enjoy your screw.”
It took everything in Xavier’s power not to lower himself into the gutter even more by responding to the pun. Instead, he reached for the drink and took a sip. “Mmm. This is a good screw.” Okay, so he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll have a Voodoo Sunrise,” Jeremy said, seeing if he could stump the hopeful bartender. Her hands flew to the vodka, white rum, grenadine and orange juice, and a few seconds later, she sat his drink down.
“My turn. My turn,” Q announced, and then clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I have to make this one a good one to see if you got the right stuff. I mean…clearly you got the right stuff, I mean, damn. Look at you.”
Xavier reached over and popped Quentin on the back of the head.
“Ow.”
“Just order a damn drink.” Xavier cut him a look that told him to knock it off.
“All right. Damn. There’s no reason for all this black-on-black crime.” He pumped his fist to his chest. “We’re family.”
Xavier rolled his eyes at his
