Page 6 of Love on the Rocks

I lean my head back against his chest. “I’m getting my customers some beer. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re trying to get bent over the bar later,” he says in my ear.

A smile stretches across my face. “Is it working?”

He growls, and I know I’ve almost got him where I want him. Over the edge. Just a little more pushing and he’ll tumble right over.

Scott’s former teammates continue to eye fuck me as I move between my tables. Donovan is keeping his eye on them as much as he is me, which gives me an idea of the quickest way to drive him crazy.

After waiting on a few more tables I find an excuse to walk past them again. “Hello boys. Is there anything you need?”

“Just some time with you,” one of them, I think his name is Joaquin, says.

“And what would you do with that time?” I ask with feigned innocence.

He walks around me, probably thinking he’s being seductive, and trails a finger down my arm as he comes back around to face me. “We could play a little.”

“Like a game?” I could laugh at the look on his face. He thinks he’s being so smooth, and I’m leaning into the stereotypes for blondes.

“Sure, we could play a game. What time do you get off work?” he says, thinking he’s got me on the hook.

“Oh, we don’t have to wait.” I add a bit of extra pep into my voice. I look over the baseball player’s shoulder and see my husband glaring at them. I wink at him before returning my attention to my victims.

I start to head over to the corner, leaving three confused men behind me. “What are you waiting for?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Elizabeth,” Donovan says my name in warning.

I turn halfway and smile sweetly at him. “Ooh, not even Bessie this time. You must be really annoyed. Calm down, boss. I’m taking my fifteen.”

Crooking my finger at the baseball players who are still just standing there. “Which one of you is going to teach me how to play pool?” There’re only three of them, so I’ll let them battle it out to see who gets to be my partner.

There’s a little playful shoving between them before the mouthy one claims the right to play with me. The pool tables are in the corner in direct view of the bar. In other words, the perfect place for me to torment my poor husband.

I make a big production out of chalking the end of my cue. Donovan’s eyes shoot daggers at me. Customers wave at him trying to order drinks, but he hears and sees nothing except for me. I blow on the end of the cue and watch him ring the towel in his hands. He’s almost there.

The pool table is a bit higher than the dining tables, which means I’m going to have to lean over farther to hit the cue ball. If I do that it’s almost certain that the bottom of my ass will show from my microscopic leather skirt. I slide the cue through my fingers and line up my shot. Donovan slams the pint of beer he just poured in front of a customer, sloshing the liquid over the bar.

My over-eager partner, I still haven’t been properly introduced, moves behind me ready to help me learn how to play. Like I haven’t been hustling college kids like them for their pocket money for decades.

“I just hit this white ball, right?” I ask before he gets any ideas that I need him to guide me. I want to taunt Donovan, not enrage him.

“Yeah, uh, looks like you’ve got it,” he answers a little disappointed.

I start to lean over the table and look over at the bar just in time to see Donovan vault over it like he’s an Olympic gymnast. I know he’s coming for me, but I continue to lean forward as if I’m going to actually play the game. The only game I’m playing is the one where I rile up my husband.

“Break’s over, Bessie,” Donovan grumbles in my ear, lifting me by the waist and carrying me away from the table.

He sort of hugs me tight to his chest and carries me with my feet dangling above the ground. He could have thrown me over his shoulder, but that would do the one thing he’s been trying to prevent this entire time, flashing my ass from my too-small skirt.

Donovan sets me on my feet outside of the storage closet. My lips twitch. “I remember another couple who went into a storage closet a lot like this. You don’t expect me to start calling you daddy now though, do you?”

He rolls his eyes, reaches behind me to open the door, and guides me inside. “Do not ever call me daddy.”

Donovan spins me around so that my back is pinned against the door. He leans down with one arm next to my head, and his other hand on my waist. His nose grazes my cheek as his lips move closer to my ear. “A little over ten years ago you walked into my bar and asked for a job. From that moment on I’ve been your boss. I might also be your husband and the father of your child, but I will always be your boss. That’s what you call me.”

My breathing turns shallow, and my skin is hot all over. I lean forward ready to kiss him, and he steps back. There’s an evil smirk on his face. The bastard knows he’s leaving me with—what’s the female equivalent of blue balls—blue bean. I’m pretty sure this is a violation of the Geneva Convention or our marital vows.

“Now your break is truly over. You need to get back to work before you get in trouble with the boss.”

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