Page 2 of Cherry Beats

Presley West was reeling her in without much effort.

He never had to try, but he did so anyway, lavishing them with unnecessary attention and serving them a scoop of his moreish personality. He gave them his everything when he was one-on-one because that’s just the kind of guy Presley seemed to be.

Attentive.

Focused.

“Hot,” my boss Bourbon chirped beside me, interrupting my reverie.

I turned and stared into the dark grey eyes of my thirty-something boss as he moved closer. Bourbon was only a few inches taller than me—not good for a man when I was a pathetic five-foot-three inches tall—and he always wore cowboy boots with a good chunky heel on them to give him those extra few inches.

I heard those extra few were important.

Bourbon glanced down at the squeaky-clean tumbler I still turned in my hands.

“The glass.” He nodded at it. “Rub it any harder and the damn thing will overheat and shatter in your hands, dolly.”

Bourbon always called me dolly. According to him I was so small, he could pick me up and put me in his daughter’s toy Silver Cross pram and push me around town.

“You’ve gotta stop this.” Bourbon sighed, jerking his head in the direction of Presley who was currently making his potential-lover hoot like a canary. “You’ve got to stop letting him get under your skin.”

“Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “Romeo.”

“Pah. He doesn’t get under my anything. The only thing I wish hewouldget under is that girl’s clothes, already. They’re the last people in the baragain. He takes so damn long warming these dates up, I think he forgets it’s me who loses precious beauty sleep because he keeps me here, at work, where I don’t want to be.”

“Remind me why I pay you so much when all you do is destroy my business with your words.”

“You don’t pay me enough.” I placed the super clean glass on the bar, dragged my cloth through my free hand, and then flicked it on Bourbon’s arm. “What are you still doing here, anyway?”

He shrugged his shoulders beneath his far-too-faded denim shirt and glanced over at Presley and his… acquaintance. Let’s callherGertrude.

“Nothing to go home for. Fliss will be asleep by now, and I’ll be bored.”

“Even you have Netflix.” I grinned, nudging his shoulder with a weak fist.

“Just nobody to chill with.” He tried to remove the cloth from my hand. “Go home, Tess. I’ll lock up tonight. DiCaprio could be here a while.”

“No, I want to stay.” I clung onto my precious security cloth, pressing it against my chest.

“For the rock star?”

“Notforhim. For me. I’ve made a bet with myself that he’ll waste at least another half an hour chatting shit with her—which, by the way, turns this particular girl colder rather than hotter because she isn’t exactly the intelligent conversationalist type—when he could be back at his place already, getting his dick sucked and his balls tickled.”

“Tessa Lisbon! Is that what you think all men want from women?”

“It’s what I’d want if I were a guy. Howdoesthat feel, by the way?” I leaned in closer, folded my arms over my chest and cocked my hip to the side.

He chuckled. “I can’t even pretend that shit ain’t good when it’s done right. But, as your boss, this probably isn’t a conversation I should be having with my nineteen-year-old bartender.”

“Don’t deny me. I have penis envy. Those things look like so much fun. I’d love to just stand there spinning it around if I had one.”

“Jesus, Tess.”

“Ah, come on. You know I love guy talk.”

“Guy talk, guy humour, guy clothing.” He scanned me from head to foot, taking in my ‘Just because I have tits it doesn’t mean you can milk them for free’slogan black T-shirt and black ripped jeans combo. His eyes widened on my cherry red Doc Martens before they shot back up to my face.

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