Page 34 of Rut Bar

Anthony’s grin widens, and he looks far too happy with himself. “It’s the fresh coconut cream. You can’t beat getting something right from the tap rather than out of a bottle.”

I frown, but take another sip. “You bought fresh coconut?”

“Mmhmm. Locally sourced.”

That sounds expensive. But if it makes the drinks this good… we can charge extra to make up for the expense. God knows the omegas will pay for it. They love anything that seems luxurious, and the alphas and betas who bring or meet them here don’t mind financing it. If I could bottle whatever’s making this so fucking delicious, I’d be a millionaire.

“None for me today?” Brendan asks, his voice teasing and light.

Anthony twists to glance back at the IRS agent camping out at Nate’s desk. “Not today, but maybe if you beg me nicely…”

“Anthony,” I chide him, warning him to stop.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

I give him a look that saysbe professional or get out of my office.

He kicks away from where he’s leaning against my desk, and his eyes drop to my skirt as if he can see through it with x-ray vision. Like he’s Superman instead of a handsome pain in my ass.

I squirm in my seat and try to pretend I’m not going commando right now. He can’t tell. There’s no way. This skirt is black. My clit throbs from the way I’m squeezing my thighs together.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Anthony says. He heads toward the door, then pauses at Nate’s desk. He looks the confused IRS agent up and down, practically eye fucking him. “I hope you do.”

“Pardon?” Brendan asks.

“Beg me for it. The buttoned-up ones are always the kinkiest.” Anthony grins back at me and leaves before I can do more than let my jaw hit the floor.

“Agent Hall, I am so sorry,” I say as I rise from my seat and slap my hands on my desk. “Please let me apologize for my bartender’s inappropriate behavior. I’ll talk to him.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Don’t trouble yourself.” He’s so embarrassed that he’s blushing, his light brown skin reddening. He ducks his head over his paperwork.

I exhale sharply and plop back down in my seat, wincing at the contact of it with my bruised ass. Wet lips rub together, and I spend the next minute trying to figure out if it’s leftover arousal from earlier or if my preheat has transitioned over to the first stage of heat.

It’s coming on too fast to be normal. Likely because I’m being hot boxed by his pheromones. Already, my clothes seem extra annoying. My skirt is too tight. My heels pinch my toes too much. The tag inside my shirt collar rubs. I’m crawling out of my skin… and there’s far too much work left to do. I won’t be able to put it off too much longer, though. I’ll have to take a few days off to deal with my heat unless I stop by the twenty-four-hour pharmacy tonight.

So why does the thought of going on suppressants fill me with such dread? Yes, it’s annoying. But it’s bearable. It’s an option.

I take another sip of my drink to cool myself down. Each sip softens my rough edges until my pounding headache eases and I can think again.

If Anthony wasn’t the best bartender in the entire city, I’d probably write his behavior up. At the very least he’d get a verbal reprimand. But knowing him, he’d pay me back for it twice and I… I think I’d let him. And now that we’ve fucked, disciplining him professionally will be awkward as hell. He could claim sexual harassment.

What the fuck have I done?

I sip the rest of my drink while I spiral. Creamy coconut and pineapple and white rum should make another boring piña colada, but he’s made it absolutely decadent. It must be the fresh coconut cream. It tastes like sitting in a sunbeam on a Caribbean beach. There’s no other way to describe it. I feel better than I’ve felt in years. Less anxious and irritated by everything.

Before I’m ready for it to end, I’ve drained the glass, and I set it down on a stack of old paperwork. The coldness of the blended drink helps with the heat symptoms. I don’t feel in danger of overheating or crawling out of my skin anymore.

As if he knows my glass is empty and I was thinking something nice about him, my cell phone lights up and Anthony’s name scrolls across it. My heart flutters traitorously. “What is it?” I answer a bit too sharply.

“One of the customers ordered an angel shot, but I’m all out of the syrup I need.”

My heart goes from fluttering to hammering in my chest. It doesn’t matter how many times we do this—and we’ve done this far too many times for my liking—it never gets easier. “I’ll handle it.” I hang up with him and dial the shelter’s secret line.

Moriah answers, her voice thick with sleep. “Veronica?” It’s almost midnight and far past her bedtime.

“I have one. Bring the van.”

“Sugar,” she says, because she never curses. “Okay. Rob! Wake up. Get the van. No, I don’t know where your shoes are. Leave them. We don’t have time. Wear your slippers. Nobody’s gonna see your feet and they won’t care if they do. Here’s the keys. Veronica, we’re coming. We’ll be there in fifteen.”

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