Page 114 of Craving Venom

She laughs, reaching for another bottle. “It’s cute how much you love her.”

“That I do.” I grab a rag, wiping down the counter while Corrine sets up the drink trays.

“Alright, grab this one. Table six.” She nods toward the far side of the bar. “You’re lucky. He tips like he’s allergic to small bills.”

I pick up the tray and glance at the table. The guy sitting there is in his late forties, the kind of man who probably owns half the city. He’s dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. His tie is loose, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin.

Grabbing the tray, I balance it against my hip and make my way over. When I reach the table, the man looks up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” I straighten, ready to turn away, but he speaks again.

“You new here?”

I glance back. “Just covering for a friend.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink as his eyes drop to my tits. I resist the urge to cross my arms. I’m not even wearing anything revealing. My shirt is tight, sure, but my cleavage is next to negligent.

Still, he stares.

I clear my throat. “Uh, well… enjoy your drink.”

“Hold on,” he says smoothly, lifting a brow. “What’s your name?”

I hesitate. “Faith.”

“Faith.” He rolls it over his tongue. “Pretty name.”

I force a polite smile. “Thanks.”

“What do you do, Faith?”

I hesitate again, for half a second before answering. “I’m still studying.”

“Oh? What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” I adjust my grip on the tray.

The lighting doesn’t let me make out all his features, but something about his face tugs at a thread in my brain. He seems familiar. Though from where, I can’t quite place it.

“That’s an interesting field,” he says, setting his glass down. “Helping people work through their problems. Understanding them. Must take a sharp mind to do that.”

I shrug. “Or just a fucked-up one.”

He chuckles. “Spoken like someone who’s seen a thing or two.”

“Something like that.”

“Any plans for after you graduate?”

“Not really. Still figuring that out.”

“That’s normal. The important part is knowing what you want out of life. The rest comes later.”

I nod, licking my lips. He sounds like someone who gives advice over Sunday breakfast, like the kind of guy who sits at the head of the table and makes sure everyone eats before he does.

Not the type to eye-fuck a bartender.

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