Page 6 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I barely stop myself from biting my lip when his breath fans across my neck. His voice weaves around the strings controlling my lust, tugging ever so gently. I’ve lived in Arkansas my entire life, and no one ever told me they loved my accent. No one that mattered, at least, and certainly no one who can make me hotter than Satan’s armpit with just their words.

The Goliath, whose name is Bruno according to his ID, chuckles and shakes his head before slapping his friend on the shoulder.

Mylan.

That’s the kid’s name. Ugh. He’s not a kid though. He’s far from it. Still, he’s too young for me. I’m a forty-year-old woman with a rule to never hookup with, or date, anyone more than ten years younger than me. I made that rule because I don’t want to waste my time with men who are still trying to figure out their life, who don’t know who they are let alone what they want for their future.

Not that I’ve allowed myself to date or fuck anyone lately. To be fair, I’m a hard person to love. Which is why I've been in dozens of failed relationships and why I'm still single.

Maybe I’ll amend the rule tonight for this man. Who says I can’t have a little fun?

No. I am not a cougar.

Mylan and Bruno sit in a corner at the bar, out of view from everyone there. I wonder if that was intentional because there are seats available where plenty of women could walk by and give them all their attention. Wait, are they a couple? A pang of jealousy rips through me. What the hell is wrong with me? I have no right to get jealous over a man I just met.

Mylan’s blue eyes follow me as I walk back behind the counter. My stomach clenches and a part of my body I’ve neglected for years stirs to life. I fan myself, positive my chest, neck, and face flare red.

“Are you serving us tonight?” A simple question, if it weren't for the way Mylan’s voice dropped on the word serving, deep and smooth and laced with desire.

Fuck me.

I search for Ginger, but she’s running around waiting tables tonight since we’re swamped, and my other servers are overwhelmed. My bartender Zack is on a smoke break and my barback Max is busy restocking bottles of beer and liquor.

Of course, I'm the only one left to serve the so-called celebrities.

I set a napkin in front of Mylan, then Bruno.

“What are y’all drinking tonight?”

Mylan regards Bruno with a raised brow. They have an entire silent conversation before Bruno clenches his jaw, muscles rippling like waves.

“He’ll have a Coke,” Mylan says, pointing his thumb at his friend. He peers over my shoulder. “You have any craft beers?”

I smile wide. “We sure do. It’s what I mostly keep in stock. What’s your taste?”

“IPA?”

“Hazy or west coast?”

“West coast, obviously.”

I don’t know what he means by ‘obviously,’ so I ignore it and open the fridge behind me. I select a pale ale with a Sasquatch on the label.

“This one is made in the Ozarks. My best-seller. It’s strong.”

Mylan takes a swig and nods his approval.

I glance at Bruno; his eyes are lowered as he traces a fingertip over a name carved on the countertop. Those carvings are a staple of Lilies. Something I started myself. Now everyone who sits down finds a spot to carve their name. I’m almost out of room on the bar itself, so people started leaving their names elsewhere: the wooden poles, the wooden walls, the chairs, and even the floors in some spots.

“You sure you don’t want anything harder than a Coke?” I ask the big man.

He looks up and replaces his scowl with kind eyes. Kind but pained. “I am sure, miss.”

An accent. I wonder where he’s from.

“Not while on the job.”

Again, I’m not sure what that means but it only makes me more curious about these two. I walk off and grab a glass, filling it with Bruno’s drink order.

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