Page 3 of One Hotlanta Night
“All right, you’ve twisted my arm. But you were closing for me, remember? That’s gonna make for a super late night,” I remind her.
“Hmm… well, you know Derrick has been wanting to get some more management experience, right?” With a devilish twinkle in her eye, her signature fake sweet southern tone rings out through the bar. “Oh, Derrrrick!”
You could get whiplash from how quickly his brown hair and blue eyes pop up from around the corner of the bar.
Like a hot bartender version of Whac-A-Mole.
I stifle my laughter. Derrick’s practically a ninja with how his eyes track her every movement. He’s always waiting, anticipating anything she might need so he can do it for her. So she doesn’t have to lift a finger when he’s around.
He’s got it so bad for her.
But she just doesn’t know it.
Or she’s deliberately ignoring what’s in front of her. Whether it’s because he’s an employee or because he’s younger than she is, she won’t tell me.
And I’ve asked.At length.
“You called, m’lady?” His eyes immediately focus on her. His voice is confident, almost belying the flush quickly climbing up his neck. Can it be any more obvious with the way he reacts to her presence? The black polo he’s wearing clings to his muscles, and if I hadn’t taken one look at him and filed him away in the hot-but-not-my-type category, I would have made a play already.
How does she not see this deliciousness? Or how he’s practically salivating for a look, a touch, anything to give him encouragement?
“I have a proposal for you,” she drawls, leaning on her forearms across the gleaming bar that he keeps polished to a shine.
“A proposal? Just name it, we’ll set the date.” He walks closer and braces himself on the hard surface opposite Claire, a mischievous smile on his face. Their height difference is even more pronounced as she’s forced to look up to make eye contact and I swallow my giggle. Any other place, someone might call it harassment. But not with Derrick. His style is sweetly flirty. His utmost respect for Claire has been proven time and time again. His words are innocent, but the way his eyes smolder when he looks at her is not.
She’s got to be the only person on the planet who doesn’t see just how gone for her he is.
Derrick’s arrival gave us a much-needed helping hand. He walked in looking for a job a couple months ago and said he would take whatever jobs were available: dishwasher, busser, you name it. He didn’t care, just wanted to be here. Claire really didn’t have the payroll to be hiring, but he insisted that hewanted to get some experience in the industry. His good humor and cheerful energy quickly landed him a spot behind the bar. Claire was hesitant to give up that kind of responsibility to a new hire but really didn’t have much of a choice.
We’re both pretty good mutli-taskers; you have to be in this industry. But slinging drinks alongside managing the busy lunch and dinner shifts left us with nothing but spilled product, testy customers, and pure exhaustion.
In a matter of weeks, we’ve come to rely on Derrick more than we probably should. From unloading produce boxes to washing silverware, he doesn’t view any task as being beneath him. And he does it all with a smile on his face and hustle in his step.
The boy—well, I guess technically he’s a man since he’s older than me, but not by much—excels at winning people over. He’s funny, strong, and at well over six-feet tall with cute boy-next-door features, quite easy on the eyes.
It’s clear to everyone that the only thing he sees is Claire, and I shake my head again at how clueless she is. Or maybe willfully oblivious.
His charm works on everyone from eight to eighty, and when I talk to her about it, she keeps insisting that he’s too young to be flirting with her. That there’s nothing serious behind it. She talks like their four-year age gap eliminates any chance of a relationship. But I guess the responsibilities of being both a mother and restaurant owner make her feel older than your average twenty-six-year-old.
I think he could show her a good time. Frankly anything would be better than what she’s getting right now—zilch.Which is now me as well, I think on a sigh.That’s okay. Boys are trouble.I mentally slap myself.
Realizing that Claire is frozen in place, her eyes glazing over, I touch her elbow to bring her back to reality, and she blinks hard. Maybe she’s not as immune to his presence as I thought.
“So…” She clears her throat and twists her ponytail around. She’s fidgeting, a dead tell if you ask me. She takes a breath and tries again. “You know how we went through front-of-house closing duties last week? Wanna give it a shot tonight?” Straightening her shoulders, she regains her confidence as she pretends to bat her eyelashes at him like she’s asking him a favor, but we all know she’s really the one in charge here.
Not like he would deny her anything anyway.
“You know I’d do anything for you, Claire.”
See?
Derrick tries to smirk but his neck is still flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, and not for the first time, I wonder how Claire can ignore the signs. How his body responds just by being around her.
“See? Easy peasy.” She grins at me and throws her arm around my shoulders. “We are gonna have thebesttime!”
“We need clothes, y’know.” I pretend to huff at her. I’d come straight from the douchebag’s house in ratty cutoffs and an old Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, too irritated at the whole Trent situation to care what our regulars might say. I’d just needed a drink.
“What about your car stash?”
