Chapter 7

E ver since Alex walked in with his brothers, it’s like he’s had a spotlight on him, or a magnet, tractor beam maybe, because something’s made sure that no matter what, I know where he is and what he’s doing.

Which right now, is walking over to me.

It’s super annoying.

Tonight’s busy enough without me being distracted to the point of knocking over drinks or pouring beer until the glass is overflowing, because I haven’t been paying attention. So far tonight, my entire focus is on Alex and his supreme English hotness. I didn’t even know they made them like that in England.

But they do. Alex is proof. His brothers are backup proof. Seriously, they’re all hot.

There must be some genes in that family.

I could be out there, flirting, collecting glasses or whatever, but I may as well be surgically attached to this beer tap for all I’ve moved.

Mike had to choose tonight of all nights to catch the flu (eye roll) and knock himself out when he fell over. Sorry, that sounds unsupportive. But you know …and then Joe had to go with him to the hospital, so we’re down much-needed staff.

Boone and Jocelyn, working at the other end of the bar, haven’t moved either. They’ve spent all night pouring shots and opening bottles of champagne. There are three of us working a six-man bar.

Soon patrons are going to start getting annoyed at how slow the service is. They might seem chill right now, but it turns on a dime when they’re thirsty and left waiting. I’ve seen it happen.

Alex is now ten yards away. Unlike this morning, he’s not wearing a beanie. His thick, brown curls brush along the collar of his shirt, while the rest is swept away from his face in that really annoying boy way that stays put forever, unlike mine, which gets everywhere. I watch him sidestep a couple of girls charging over to the dance floor when the band starts a country version of “Jingle Bells,” and he rolls his eyes.

But as he nears the spot at the bar where I’m standing, he walks straight past. The disappointment sinking in my belly only lasts a couple of seconds when he ducks under the bar hatch.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I shout to him over a particularly loud guitar riff.

“Helping.”

“What?”

“I’m helping you. You need help, right? It’s busy .” His eyes sweep around the bar in case I didn’t realize.

I glance over to Boone and Jocelyn to see what they think, but neither notice we now have an extra pair of hands, so I’m making the executive decision. Plus, this is how I usually find myself working behind the bar, because Joe never seems to hire enough staff per night, and I’m regularly drafted in when I only came for a quiet drink.

“Yeah, we’re busy. Sure…thank you. But…um…do you know what to do?”

He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’s spent any time serving drinks. He looks like the kind of guy who gets served them.

The kind of guy who belongs in Aspen.

The kind of guy who drops four hundred bucks on cinnamon buns. And a thousand on Christmas tree decorations.

“I worked for two summers in The Cupid’s Arrow,” he yells back.

“What?” I don’t know what the hell that means, which he can clearly tell from the way my face is screwed up.

“Never mind. Yes, I know what to do.” He picks up an empty glass and starts pouring perfectly.

I place a full beer on the tray, ready for collection, and shift closer to Alex.

“Okay, this is how it works. One of the floor team will drop their order tab on the bar in front of you, along with a tray. Glasses are behind you. All the beers are on tap, the champagne is in the fridges, the liquor’s on the shelf, organized by color, and the eggnog is in the urn. We’re not fancy in here, we like to keep it simple.”

That grin of his breaks across his face, and when he winks, heat pools in my cheeks and in my core.

“Got it. Nothing fancy. Glasses, beer, shots, fizz.” His blue eyes twinkle mischievously as he leans in closer; it’s enough that the scent of him—delicate musky oak—hits me right between my thighs. “But I’m not going near that eggnog.”

My face splits with a laugh—the perfect release to cut through whatever this thing is building between us—and I slide back into position at my beer tap. My eyes automatically land on the spot near the fire where Alex’s brothers are watching him. There’s no disguising the identical expressions of amusement on all their faces. Even the older one with the thick, dark stubble has cracked a smile. It’s nice. Not as nice as the guy standing to my left opening champagne like a professional, but nice.

Jack, one of the floor team, drops his tray on the bar in front of me.

“Who’s the new guy?”

“A friend, helping out while Mike is sick.”

“Wasn’t he sitting at that table by the fire?”

“Yeah, and now he’s helping because it’s hella busy in here.”

“Cool cool. Got that right,” he shouts behind him, disappearing into the crowds with a full tray of drinks lifted above his head.

At least we’re too busy for anyone to ask too many questions.

One of the kitchen staff brings over a full rack of clean glasses, and before he can start loading them onto the shelf, I grab one and get back to work. This is gonna be a wash, rinse, repeat kind of night.

During the following hour we maneuver around each other like we’re practicing the tango. I’m ducking under his arms to get glasses while he’s grabbing bottles from the shelves. Several times we reach for the ice together, and more than once, our eyes lock for a second, creating so much heat I’m surprised there’s ice left. Twice I feel his hand brush my waist as I shift past him to collect empty trays from the end of the bar, sending a cascade of goose bumps down my spine.

I turn to grab a bottle of tequila from the top shelf. I do what I always do when presented with a vertical challenge—I jump/climb. Yeah, it’s a thing , ask anyone. Wedging the toe of my sneaker into the gap between the fridges, I use the leverage to kind of jump myself up enough where I can almost reach the bottle I need.

But then I’m pinned against the back bar by a solid wall of muscle.

“Can’t have you pulling the whole shelf down, can we?” Alex’s warm breath tickles my ear as he stretches over my head and easily removes the bottle my fingertips barely brushed, dropping it into my open hand.

I slide down to the ground. Or maybe I melt because Alex is still pressed against me and. It’s. Hot.

Not temperature hot. Really fucking sexy, my-entire-body-may-combust hot .

Even with my back to his chest, I can tell he’s basically Thor. He removed his thick sweater when he went to sit down, and now he’s only wearing a very thin, very soft plaid shirt—the type where the buttons slip from the buttonhole because it’s so worn.

And he’s totally ripped.

I lean into him a sliver of a fraction, but it’s enough to tell there’s at least an eight-pack of stacked abs underneath. Maybe ten. Dunno, whatever, it’s a lot.

Stacked abs, rock-hard pecs, and thick biceps.

His head is dipped, his lips are centimeters away from my ear, but before I can move, his chest expands with a deep breath.

He’s smelling me. Smelling me.

Oh my gawwwd.

It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Even though it’s a thousand degrees in here, and I know I’m gross, and sweaty, and my hair is stuck to my face, and beads of sweat are rolling down between my shoulder blades. It’s so fucking sexy.

If I turn around, there’s a good chance I’ll rip his clothes off and ride him until I have to be hoisted off as my legs no longer function. And I can’t do that, because have I mentioned we’re far too busy tonight?

Instead, I manage to mutter, “Thanks,” and slink to the side so I don’t have to look at him. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see my tongue hanging from my mouth.

“You’re welcome.” He chuckles and moves back to his section of the bar.

We soon reach the point in the night when the floor is sticky enough that our shoes squeak with every step, but on the plus side it’s definitely getting quieter—customer wise, not from the band, which is still blasting out Christmas country classics.

I turn to Alex as he lets out a roar of laughter. “What’s so funny?”

He nods over to where he’d been sitting. “My brothers.”

I realize I haven’t been paying as much attention to them since Alex has been next to me, and glancing over, I can see their table seems to have merged with a table of girls…maybe a bachelorette. Whoever they are, they outnumber the boys two to one. One of the twins has a girl on his knee and it looks like they’re playing poker, or he’s teaching her how to play poker…and she’s laughing right along with him nestled into his chest with a coy little smile on her face.

A weird curling sensation twists in my belly.

I can’t quite figure it out—whether I’m jealous that these girls get to have fun and live their life, or that I hate they slot right in with Alex and his brothers in a way I never will.

I’m twenty-five and I’ve spent every waking moment of my adult life paying off debts. I don’t get to be carefree and party, because I have to be up every morning to work. I’ve never resented my pops for what he did, but right now I kind of do. I’m working in this bar because I need the tips.

I turn to Alex, who’s watching them, his face creased in amusement, and I honestly don’t know why he’s here when he could be over there with his brothers and those girls.

“You should go and join them, I got this now. Everyone will head out to the clubs soon, and it’ll quiet down,” I shout over to him. “Thanks for the help. I appreciate it.”

He stares at them for a couple of seconds, and I wonder if he didn’t hear me, but then his blue eyes flick to mine and he shakes his head. “No, I’m very happy right where I am.”

He picks up a new order and gets back to work.

I keep expecting him to change his mind, especially when his brothers and the bachelorettes all get up to leave together. There’s hardly anyone in The Old Saloon now, just one other table drinking up. The band is done, food stopped being served an hour ago, and the kitchen is closed down for the night. Boone and Jocelyn have started cleaning behind the bar, and the floor staff are helping to empty the trash and take it outside to the dumpsters.

By the time the nine of them have got their coats on and stood up, they’re the only ones left. The twin stays firmly wrapped around the girl who was on his lap and guides her over to the bar. He places Alex’s coat and sweater on the counter.

“Al…we’re going to the Caribou Club. Come on, let’s go…Haven, you’re coming too,” he orders, like I can drop everything and leave, and it never occurred to him otherwise.

I imagine very few people ever say no to him. If they do, I doubt it’s for long. Once you’ve been given the full combination of those dimples, megawatt Hollywood smile, and the pleading of his deep blue eyes, you’d give him whatever he’s asking for.

Except Alex, it seems. “No…I’m good here.”

Twin rolls his eyes. “Al…seriously, enough playing bar manager…come and play with us. Lando’s coming too.”

Alex’s attention flicks over to Lando, who’s trying his best to edge away from the grip of the girl nearest to him by inching closer to the other twin. He’s gone back to looking serious and like he’d rather be anywhere else than heading to the Caribou Club.

“I’m staying here and helping Haven.”

I spin around to Alex, baffled by his insistence to stay. I hate cleaning up, and I’m paid to do it. No one does it for free. “Oh, you don’t have?—”

“I’m staying . Miles, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You’d better,” Miles replies, throwing me a wink. “Bye, Haven. Come and join us, make sure you bring Alex.”

With that, they all leave, though I swear Lando turns around to Alex with an almost pleading look on his face before he’s tugged outside by the girl next to him. And now the bar is empty…quiet. Peaceful, almost. Before anyone gets the idea that we’re still open, I hurry over to bolt the doors.

I can hear Jocelyn and Boone somewhere in the cellars, checking the kegs and counting the liquor bottles to see how much we sold tonight. Based on the number of trash cans I saw being taken down there, it’s a lot. They’ll be there a while.

Alex is leaning against the bar, propped on one elbow, and there’s a look on his face I can’t read. But that thick, heavy tension between us is back, and this time, it feels like it’s pushing out all of the oxygen in the room. My heart is hammering hard in my chest.

God’s honest truth. This guy is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.

I need a drink.

I manage to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth and swallow. “You want a drink. Eggnog?”

“Fuck no.” He chuckles.

I clutch the bottle he helped me lift down and wave it. “Tequila?”

“Yeah. Tequila.”

I fill two glasses with ice and a squeeze of lime, pour it over, and slide one to him. Though he’s stepped nearer to me, so it almost slides past him before he catches it with one big hand.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue tonight.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do after you saved me from the Christmas music the other night.”

I roll my lips, so tempted to ask him why he hates Christmas. Because how can someone hate Christmas? But it doesn’t feel like the right time. Instead, I say, “So we’re even then.”

He picks up his drink and sips, his throat working as he swallows. I need all the ice in my glass to cool me down.

His blue eyes bore into mine. “Yeah, we’re even.”

It’s a thousand times hotter and sweatier than it was before, even though it’s now empty except for the two of us. There’s a faint clatter in the distance, I have no idea where anyone’s got to. I’m alone with this guy.

My brain is completely fogged, but I know I’m not imagining this chemistry. It was there by the jukebox two nights ago, then my shop, then the bakery. That’s three separate occasions with chemistry. I’m definitely not delusional.

And now there’s enough electricity sparking here to light the continental United States.

He places his glass down and steps closer, leans in a little closer …and his eyes flick up to the giant ball of mistletoe I made Joe hang above the bar.

I can’t stop myself. I grip the front of his shirt and tug him into me. I can’t tell if his mouth crashes to mine first or if I lift on my tiptoes to get there right before he does, but I forget all about it when his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

Wet, hot, zero inhibitions. The way you kiss someone for the first time when you know you’re probably never going to see them again. When there’s nothing to lose. A big hand wraps around my waist and lands on my ass, yanking me flush with his solid body. Fingers push through the sweaty strands of hair at the base of my neck and grip onto my ponytail.

He pulls my head back just enough to give him more access, his tongue thrusting harder down my throat.

I can taste tequila and lime. I can smell the oaky, earthy scent he wears. It’s delicious. He’s delicious.

Gripping onto me, he lifts me up, sits me on the top of the bar, and nestles himself between my thighs, all without his mouth ever breaking contact, and I can’t help it…the loudest groan escapes me. Loud enough that he pauses for a fraction of a second and chuckles.

My palms ghost over the stubble coating his face, soft and scratchy all at the same time, and push into his hair. It’s so silky and thick, I can picture myself gripping onto it while his face is between my legs, and then Alex clasps my ass in his hands, tugs me to the edge of the bar, and grinds against me.

Ho-ly. Fuck. This guy is enormous .

Images of him naked flash before me. He’s nothing short of incredible, and I’m nothing but a sopping wet, panting mess sitting on the bartop.

At least I haven’t cleaned it yet.

My hands push under his shirt and slip along his smooth, bare back. At the same time, he tilts my hips for another grind of his, making sure the friction we get is just right. It’s been a while since I dry humped anyone, and I do not remember it being this good.

“Fuck, I wanna get you naked,” he mutters into my mouth. “Come back with me.”

His tongue plunges into my mouth again, and I can’t think of any good reason why not. No reason at all why we shouldn’t already be in the car on the way back to his. Maybe fucking in the car.

He’s probably got a big car.

Alex mutters my name. I know I moan.

“Haven? Haven. You up there?”

Oh shit.

I push Alex away and jump off the bar seconds before Jocelyn pops her head around the door leading to the cellar. I’m going to ignore the look on her face and pretend that she hasn’t guessed exactly what’s been going on, especially as I’m catching my breath and Alex is straightening himself up over in the corner.

“Hey…yeah…we’re just cleaning the bar…um, tables. What’s up?” I pick up a nearby cloth as evidence of said cleaning.

Her eyes flick to Alex, who’s pulling his sweater on, and back to me. “Do you have the key for the hatch? We need to get the empty kegs out.”

I pat myself down before I realize that they’re behind the bar. “Yeah, I’ll bring them to you.”

“Okay, thanks.” She smirks. “We’re restocking the shelves.”

“Cool. Cool. Great idea.”

When she leaves, I turn back to Alex, who’s standing near the door, all straightened up, although I can see an impressive bulge in his jeans. It takes him four large strides before he’s back in front of me and pulling on my ponytail so I’m looking up at him.

Now I’m not sitting on the bar, I can fully appreciate just how big he is.

How tall he is.

I’m not short, but he’s still towering over me. And for the first time ever, I feel…small.

“Come back with me. I’ll wait for you.” His gaze scours my face, and I heat up all over again. “Come back to mine so I can get you naked.”

I’m so tempted. God, am I sooo tempted. But I have to be awake in six hours to open the bakery, and while it might be presumptuous of me to think we’d be having sex all night, we’d definitely be having sex all night.

Reluctantly, I shake my head. “Thanks, but I need to stay and finish up here. And I have to open the bakery. Rain check?”

Alex nods as if understanding, though he seems to be disappointed. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

He unbolts the door, and a blast of cold, fresh air shoots into the bar.

“Yes.” He turns and winks. “I need to get more cinnamon buns.”