Page 10 of Sirens
But as Maggie placed the flaming shots on the bar, the trailing edge of her sleeve grazed the flames, and then the pile of napkins, setting a corner of the bar on fire.
“Shit!” she yelped, shaking her arm fast enough to smother her sleeve. But the flames spread quickly across the napkins.
Trent leapt up, grabbing a pitcher of water.
But Maggie was faster. She snatched the soda gun and doused the growing fire before it could spread.
For Sirens, it was a near miss.
For Kurt, it was a direct hit to the vitals, drenching him sternum to knees with freezing soda water.
Trent wasn’t that mad about it. Kurt was one of those assholes who hid their true nature behind burlap shirts and waxed hipster mustaches.
“Oh no, I’m so, so sorry,” Maggie said for what had to be the thousandth time that night.
“It’s fine,” said Chris as she relieved an astonished Maggie of the soda gun through her giggles. “Go home and change your panties, Kurt—I’ll cover your tables.”
Maggie sputtered at her boss. “I promise, I?—”
“No worries,” said Chris with the laid-back demeanor of a woman who’d seen it all happen within these walls. “I don’t mind a mess if you take it on yourself to clean it up as you go. Besides,” she whispered as she leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk, “Kurt needs a good douche every so often. Keeps him from getting too big for his britches.”
Maggie let out a shaky laugh as she swept the soggy napkins into the trash. But Trent noticed her hands trembling slightly as she took the bleach rag and wiped beneath the patientbar patron’s glasses and took their good-natured ribbing with genuine humor.
When she reached Trent, he couldn’t stop staring at the peach blush spreading beneath her light freckles.
A natural redhead, then.
Fuck.He couldn’t know that.
“Hey, you handled that like a pro,” he encouraged her. “Might have a future at the fire department.”
Maggie snorted. “Might have…but I dumped a drink on the fire chief an hour ago, so I think that vocational avenue is closed for good.”
“What? Why’d you do that?” Trent asked with a laugh.
“Because that pervy old goat grabbed my ass and pretended it was an accident.”
Trent shook his head, his expression turning serious. “Someone should do something about that problematic motherfucker. You want to press charges?”
Maggie gave him a small smile that snaked through his insides with a slick desire. “It’s okay. I handle assclowns like him atonin my line of work. But thanks for having my back.”
Trent lifted his glass in a mock toast. “What is your line of work, anyways?” he asked, only half teasing. “We both know it’s not bartending.”
Maggie chuckled, but the mirth didn’t reach her eyes.
Because anxiety flared there.
Interesting…
She was saved from giving him a reply by a customer at the other end of the bar.
Trent turned back to his tablet, promising himself he could go five minutes without glancing at her.
And he did.
Well, four minutes.
All right, three minutes and twenty-seven seconds…
