Page 2 of You're All I Need

Adrienne keeps a friendly, knowing smile on her face as she comes to stand in front of me on the opposite side of the bar. “Last call. Can I get you anything? Another ginger ale, perhaps?” she teases, her lips continuing to curl upward and making my cock notice.

There’s been something about this exotic beauty. From the first moment I saw her to the way she told me to knock my shit off when I tried to flirt with her. She’s fire and sass all packaged up in a gorgeous bow, and all I want to do is unwrap her like a Christmas gift.

“I’m good, sugar,” I reply with a wink, taking another sip of my drink.

I can’t help but notice Adrienne pays absolutely no attention to the woman beside me, turning and walking away as if Jordyn wasn’t even there. “Well, that was rude,” Jordyn grumbles, tapping her fingernails against my thigh. “What if I wanted a drink?” she adds with a pout.

My eyes move back to the bartender, who’s pouring a draft beer and laughing at something a patron says. Her curves are accentuated by the clothes she wears, but not overly so. Her company tee is tight, and the way it hugs her body makes my jeans a little tighter in the crotch. Adrienne is what some might call thick, but all I see is a sexy, gorgeous woman.

One I wouldn’t mind hearing scream my name a time or two sometime soon.

“So what do you say, Caden? Buy me a drink? Or would you prefer to head out now?”

I return my gaze to the woman at my side. Her blond hair is sleek and shiny, not a strand out of place, and her makeup looks like it was applied professionally. I bet she spent hours getting ready to go out this evening. Normally, I’d be thrilled to undo everything she spent time doing, but I’m just not feeling it tonight.

What the hell?

I wave over Adrienne. “Get the lady whatever she wants and put it on my tab,” I say, taking another sip of cold soda.

Adrienne’s eyebrows raise in question as she shifts her focus to Jordyn. “A Dirty Shirley, please,” Jordyn replies, leaning a little closer toward me and pressing her tits against my arm.

Adrienne flashes a smile, and if I’m not mistaken, barely contains her eye roll. I watch, mesmerized, as she goes about making the mixed drink. I’ve heard about Dirty Shirleys, but never actually heard anyone order one. It’s a take on the classic Shirley Temple drink we used to enjoy as a kid, but with a kick of vodka. And by the looks of it, a small kick.

The bartender slips a cherry onto a drink pick, along with a wedge of lime, and plops it down in the concoction. “One Dirty Shirley,” she says, sliding the glass across the bar.

“Thank you,” Jordyn sings, reaching for the glass. She instantly pulls out the pick and swirls her tongue around the cherry. I’m certain it’s meant to be seductive, but when I hear Adrienne snort, I can’t help but find it humorous.

Jordyn narrows her eyes at the other woman and pokes her teeth into the cherry, gently pulling it from the pick. She turns to me and practically purrs like a cat. “Yum.”

I lift my own drink and hold it up in salute. “Enjoy.”

Jordyn’s face falls as realization sets in. She huffs and spins around, walking away in a flurry of expensive perfume.

“A Dirty Shirley, Caden? Really?”

I shrug and finish off my ginger ale. “I didn’t pick it.”

She stands up tall, her hands resting comfortably on the edge of the bar. Her fingers are long, her nails short and manicured, and all I can think about is those hands wrapped around…something else. “No, but you picked her at some point, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Touché,” I reply, sliding my empty glass her way.

“Another?” she offers a second time, but I wave it off.

“I’m good, but thanks.”

She takes my empty glass and places it in the bin to wash. Then, she moves about the bar, starting the nightly process of closing it down. Walker is here, the man who runs the bar, as are Jasper and Jameson. They’re standing at the end of the bar, watching, as patrons slowly start to make their way to the exits.

Pulling out my credit card, I set it on the bar top in front of me and wait to pay my tab. A group of rowdy guys stand in the middle of the room, loudly egging each other on. I can’t tell what they’re hollering about, but each statement is followed by a gaggle of laughter. There’s no missing the way Jameson—or Tank, as many of the employees call him—takes notice and starts moving in their direction.

Jameson is the muscle, as well as the man to provide Friday and Saturday night entertainment, and even for a man in his early forties, I wouldn’t fuck with him. He takes no shit, and even though I’ve been told he seems mellower now he’s married with kids, he’s not someone you want to fuck with.

Turning, I watch as the big, tattooed man approaches the group of four. “Time to go, gentlemen,” Jameson states, his voice firm.

The loudest one of all of them laughs and turns to face Jameson. “Five more minutes, grandpa.”

Jameson crosses his arm over his chest. “Now.” That one word was practically a growl.

The fearless, drunk patron reaches out, attempting to push Jameson’s shoulder. I sit up straight, ready to act if needed, but I know it won’t be necessary. Jameson’s a tough SOB, but more than that, two of the other business owners are approaching, preparing to act if necessary. Even at four to one, I’d still place my money on Jameson.

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