Page 8 of Tied Up in Riches

“Thanks. Now if only we could convince you to take a vacation.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon.”

Before Troy can respond, our heads spin toward the entrance to the kitchen from the hallway. Brooke is standing there frozen like she walked in on a drug deal, but I can’t not take a moment to check her out. She’s beautiful. I thought so when I met her, even with tears streaking her cheeks, but goddamn, she’s gorgeous. Her spandex shorts barely peek out from under a zip-up hoodie that hangs off one shoulder. Her bare skin pulls my attention from wondering what color her eyes are, the purple fabric loosely hanging across her chest. It subtly highlights the soft curve of her breasts, and my hands ache to find out if they fit perfectly inside them.

“Oh. Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I grip my water glass tighter. Fucking hell. Get it together, man. Being attracted to Brooke is not on my to-do list. I don’t have time for that. And even if I did, her time here is limited. Pulling my drink to my lips, I wash away all the inappropriate thoughts trying to sneak in and break my stare as I clear my throat.

Words get caught in my mouth, but thankfully Troy recovers for me. “Hey. I’m Troy.”

She gives him a slight wave with a growing smile. “Oh. You’re Lexy’s fiancé! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Brooke.” She smoothes her hair down, retying her ponytail, and the urge to tug it loose until her wild blonde waves fall down her back is strong enough that my dick twitches.

Troy sits up, moving his feet from the chair to the floor. “Tell me, Brooke. You worked in a tourist town, right? At a bar?”

She shrugs, leaning against the kitchen island. “It was more of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant for locals.”

“Maci said something about you being responsible for keeping the place open?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I helped, yes. Why?”

“We’re brainstorming, thinking of ways to drive more business to the bar. Most of our clientele are college kids, but a lot of them go home over the summer.”

“Oh. Hmm. What kind of ideas are you looking for?” She glances my way even though she’s having the conversation with Troy, like she’s expecting me to answer. But for the life of me, I can’t make my voice work. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“An event maybe?” Troy’s response pulls her attention back to him. It feels like a loss, and the way I miss her intense eyes on me has me questioning my sanity. “We have a few themed nights planned. Karaoke. Pool competition. That kind of thing.”

“Are you open in the mornings as well?”

“No.” There’s my voice. Fucking finally. “We’ve never opened before three.” Brooke's gaze catches on mine and holds it.

“Not as long as the place has been opened, as far as I know,” Troy chimes in. She hesitates before glancing back at him.

“We’re coming up on summer,” I add, unsure why I feel she needs this information. “Over half the students at the University of Oregon are not residents and many go home for the break. Seeing as most of our customers are college kids, we’re expecting a decrease in profits. I want to prevent that as much as possible. We’re hoping to come up with some creative ideas and spearhead a few projects to keep people coming in–maybe even bring in others from the community who don’t usually choose Jameson’s.” I’m fully aware I word-vomited everything Troy already said, and I’m not sure if it’s because it took so long for my vocal cords to get their shit together or just to have her attention back on me.

“Okay. I’ll see if I can come up with something to help. I’m just going to grab my tea, and I’ll be out of here.” I turn enough to see a pot of tea on the stove, barely able to make out the star anise spice floating on top of the amber liquid.

“There should be snacks in the pantry too. Help yourself to anything you see.” I cut myself off before adding “What’s mine is yours,” because that’s insane, right? What the hell is it about this girl? I feel like I know her–the way Maci has talked about her for a year–but I don’t. Yet, despite my natural ability to feel calm, confident and in control, she’s already under my skin.

“Thanks.” I turn back to Troy at her word, the unzipping of her jacket and watching it fall off her shoulder out of the corner of my eye nearly derailing me.

“Alright, so,” I start.

Troy looks like he’s about to say something I’ll want to smack him upside the head for, but the universe has my back, and his phone buzzes, jumping across the worn wooden table.

I catch our bartender’s name flash on the screen before he picks it up.

“Hey, Jess. What’s up?”

His eyes flick to mine as he pinches his phone between his ear and shoulder, readjusting to his previous position with his feet kicked up on the chair next to him.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” Pause. “No, really. Get some rest. Feel better.” Pause. “Of course.” The call ends and he taps his phone lightly against the table in thought.

“What’s up?”

“Jess is sick. She offered to come in anyway.”

“Nah. Maybe I can push my meeting.” Lexy is our only other bartender. Between the two of them and Troy stepping in if needed–me as a last resort–we’ve never needed anyone else. Those two girls can rock a crowded bar like I’ve never seen anywhere else.

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