Page 20 of Vito

Gus and I quickly find a rhythm of working together. He shows me where everything is while we serve the nonstop orders.

"You've worked behind the counter before," Gus surmises as he cracks a beer for Dominic.

"Nah, just a natural, I guess." I smirk.

Gus grunts a laugh. "Makes sense; Aiken was a natural, too. Maybe this is a bit like coming home, then, yeah?"

My throat does that weird closing-off with emotion thing again.

There's a break with no one standing at the bar now, and Gus pats my back. "I'll be right back. Just gonna grab a couple of cases of liquor."

My throat works, swallowing away the lump while I keep my head down to ensure my expression doesn't betray me and expose my emotions.

An arm encased in a gray suit jacket enters my field of view, resting on the bar in front of me, and I lift my eyes.

Vito Santoro.

I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to.

My gaze slowly moves over his muscular shoulders that perfectly fill out his suit, up the corded neck, the strong jaw, the lips I want to sink my teeth into, and finally, those blue-green eyes.

Eyes that are zeroed in on me like a fighter pilot locked on his target.

We're the only ones at the bar right now. He hadn't come up to get a drink earlier.

Did he plan that? Waited to order his drink when I was here alone?

I shake off that intrusive and ridiculous thought.

The guy is off-limits. Forbidden. He can get me killed.

Turning up the frigidness of my resting bitch face, I ask, "What can I get you?"

That mouth—full lips with the bottom a little fuller—spread into the smallest of smiles.

"Bourbon."

How can his voice sound like sex, sin, and redemption wrapped all into one?

Jesus, get a grip on your raging cooch, bitch.

He leans in slightly. "You'll have to bend over."

Holy. Shit.

I arch a brow. Thankfully, my resting bitch face ison pointtonight.

He raises his eyebrows and gestures with his chin—the equivalent of 'go on'.

I rest my arms on the bar and lean toward him. "I don't bend over for cocks."

He contemplates me, his jaw shifting. "Is that so?"

I smirk inwardly. I have a pretty good idea of what he's thinking: I'm not into cock. If he thinks that, I won't correct that misassumption, as it can help keep unwanted advances away.

I have, in fact, had sexual relations with two women in the past—I'm not sure if I'd formally classify myself as bisexual, though. The two women I was with, I had been attracted tothemas a human, not because of the slit and clit between their legs.

"What can I get you?" I repeat, keeping my expression unreadable with an indifferent tone to my voice.

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