Page 23 of Wild Side
I’m met with a chorus of “Yes, chef” and guilty grimaces, followed by sheepish smiles.
“Bunch of schoolgirls, the lot of ya,” I tease as I walk past them toward the back. They chuckle as I push through the swinging doors. Then I march straight to the staff bathroom where I splash my face with cold water, refasten my bun, and ditch my chef’s coat.
I groan when I see the shirt beneath. The saying emblazoned across the front reads,Holding grudges is my superpower.Alarmingly, in this case, it’s true.
Rhys might as well know what he’s up against. That I’m combative, snarky, and slow to forgive. Character flaws, yes. True? Also, yes.
I drag my tired ass and tacky T-shirt out to the bar to face him, and it’s the funniest thing. Every person in the restaurant is staring at him or sneaking peeks, like his energy just fills the space in a way that screamslook at me.
I spot two of my floor staff making eyes at him from behind the service station at the other end of the bar. They legitimately look like they’re sporting those stick-on googly eyes I’ve used to make crafts with Milo.
The temptation to go over to them and criticize their terrible taste is strong, but I opt to slide onto the stool one down from Rhys without so much as a glance at him.
He grumbles something that sounds an awful lot like,I don’t bite. It rumbles through the air between us and vibrates over my skin. It’s so deep that I feel it more than I hear it.
I snort and volley back with, “I do though.”
Rhys goes rigid but doesn’t get a chance to respond before my part-time bartender, Scotty, hustles over to me. “Bordeaux?”
I give a weary nod, dropping my cheek into my palm.
“It’s good. That’s what I’m having,” Rhys pipes up from beside me.
“Yeah?” I don’t look at him, instead watching Scotty chat up a few women at the end of the bar while he pours my glass. Great bartender, even if his brain is in his dick.
“2015 was a good year for Bordeaux.”
I do look at him now, shifting my head so that my ear is propped against my palm. “I know.” It’s not only annoying that he’s drinking wine but also that he has knowledge about it. “I chose it.”
His heavy shoulders rise and fall as he mumbles, “Good choice,” before taking another sip.
I can’t help but watch him. His lips, just a touch too full. His Adam’s apple, just a little too pronounced as it bobs in his throat.
When he swallows, I drop my gaze and cross my legs, pressing them together.
Turns out my taste might be just as bad as my servers’.
The worst kind of taste because this man isn’t here for me; he’s here totakesomething from me. Someone I love. And legally he can, which is why all this hanging around and chatting is feeling an awful lot like a lion playing with its food.
It’s the reminder I need to keep my head on a swivel. Rhys Dupris may be easy on the eyes, but he’s a fucking nightmare for my heart.
Scotty swaggers back with my wine and slides it across the live-edge bar top. Then he props his palms against his sides and cranks up the wattage on his smile so that his dimples pop. I swear he’s practiced this look in a mirror. “Damn, boss, you are looking mighty fine in that tee?—”
I cut him off with a raised hand. “No. Go back to hitting on the cougars, Scotty.” I take a sip of my wine, letting my eyes close as the liquid hits my tongue, effectively dismissing him like I always do when he pulls this flirty nonsense.
Scotty chuckles as he walks away. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
I’m shaking my head when I open my eyes, and try as I might to look bitchy and dour, my lips quirk up. Fucking Scotty. If it’s got a heartbeat, he’ll try to have sex with it.
The weight of a heavy gaze on the side of my face has me shifting my eyes in Rhys’s direction. “What?”
He shrugs.
“Oh good.A shrug. This talk is already going so well.”
“You’re consistent at least.”
“Consistent how?”
