Page 8 of Crash and Burn
I clutched the empty glasses to my chest. His blue eyes were calming, with a bright glint from the reflected ceiling lights. A lock of dark hair curled around one ear. His jaw was smooth and freshly shaved, although I knew there would be a slight shadow before morning.
"Hey Liz." A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Skipping the line?"
"H-hey," I breathed. I loosened my grip on the glasses and set them down on the counter with a loud clink. "I've got three orders for you."
"Let me finish this drink and I'm on it," he said, brandishing a bottle of whiskey.
Grant knew if I gave great service I'd get great tips, so he always gave my orders priority over the patrons waiting at the counter. The new guy made me wait.
I reached up on the high shelf and took down the three cocktail glasses Grant needed for my drinks. I lined them up then started wiping down the counter to give him a clean space to work with. It was the least I could do.
"So what'll it be?" Grant asked when he came back to my side.
I rattled off the orders and he listened attentively with a nod.
"Got it," he said.
"Thanks," I told him.
"Anything for you, Liz," he said with that curve of a smile.
A warm, bubbly feeling rose inside me, making its way from my stomach, up to my chest, and finally settling in my no doubt red cheeks. I quickly turned my back and returned to cleaning before he could see them.
I still hadn't said anything to Grant about my feelings for him. He still didn't know about my crush.
No. Crush wasn't the right word. What I felt for Grant was deeper than that. It was an all-consuming passion. A painful desire. A desperate wish. It was longing, yearning,hunger.
I closed my eyes briefly and leaned against the counter.
Damn, I had it bad.
"Here you go," Grant said, sliding the three drinks over to me, already sitting on a platter.
"Thanks," I said gratefully. "I owe you one."
"You owe me at least a handful by now. But who's counting?" The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.
My heart sped up.
I took the platter and excused myself, ducking under the counter again and making my way back across the room.
I had to say something. Things couldn't stay like this. I could barely stand in his presence without swooning.
But what if he didn't feel the same way? We'd worked together forever, and we'd become such good friends. If I said something, and he turned me down, everything we had would be destroyed.
"There we are," I said as I handed the two drinks to glasses guy and log neck. "Enjoy!"
But Grant and I were both mature adults, right? Surely we could both agree to stay friends, even if he didn't feel the same.
But he had to feel the same. He had to. The way I caught him looking at me, the way his gaze would sometimes linger, the spark I'd see in his eyes whenever I smiled at him — it all had to mean something.
Didn't it?
"Oh shit—!" I blurted as my toe caught on a chair leg and I went flying.
I grabbed the corner of a table before I hit the ground, still managing to keep the platter in hand, but the Chocolatini was a lost cause. It had tipped over and splashed all over my shirt, the chocolate shavings smearing onto the cotton fabric.
I looked down in dismay. This was the first time I’d worn this shirt and chocolate was a pain to get out. I blew out a frustrated breath and headed to the back. I stuck my head in the manager's office.
