Page 30 of Breaking my Billionaire Bully

Maddie's already dressed in one of Shelly's uniforms.

"Do you have experience?"

Maddie smacks her thick lips and squeezes her elbows together, hands outstretched, plumping up her already very full cleavage. "Oh yeah, I definitely know how to service men."

That's not exactly the answer I was hoping for, but it's going to have to work. "Can you serve them drinks?"

Maddie twirls her hair and her green eyes light up. "That too."

"Great. Shelly will show you around."

The front doors open, and I spin around. Two regulars enter, still dressed in their church attire. Where the hell is Lara?

Half an hour later and the Sunday brunch crowd is well underway. It’s not the typical after-church clientele, and they're rowdier than usual. Shelly tells me that the group of fifteen young men, which has set up camp in the middle of the lounge, is mostly out-of-towners. One of the guests is planning on getting married and has invited a dozen of his college buddies to town for his bachelor party tonight. They’re getting an early start, and all I can say is I’m glad we close at six on Sundays. This group is going to be a handful for whoever gets them after they leave Eden’s.

I’m working on a large order of drinks for Shelly, who is working the lounge, when I look up to see the leader of the pack, presumably the groom himself, approaching the bar. He’s a tall, good looking kid in his mid-twenties, the top buttons of his white oxford collared shirt undone. I pause on the drink I’m making and turn toward him, preparing to take his order, when for no apparent reason, he raises his hand into the air and whistles at me. "Hey, buddy—I ordered a gin and tonic like twenty minutes ago."

The large order I’m working on is for his group, and Shelly dropped it only five minutes ago. This self-absorbed entitled jerkhole is obviously still hungover drunk from last night, so I turn away and go back to mixing the drink order. "Buddy! Did you hear me?" he commands from across the bar.

"Give me a second." I don’t look up.

"I already gave youtenminutes," he growls.

I'm a breath away from losing my shit on this guy, when Lara appears behind me, her eyes wide and lively. "I got it. Gin and tonic?"

"You're late," I remind her.

She avoids my look and whips up the guy's drink to placate him while I work on the rest of the order.

The next hour flies by, drink orders coming so fast that I struggle to keep up. Something is off. Unlike last time Lara and I worked the bar together, today we are out of sync.

She’s not zigging when I’m zagging. She’s not picking up where I leave off. Instead, when I turn around, she's in my way. Bumping into me. More than once, we make drinks for the same inebriated guest who ‘forgot’ he already ordered and then insists on a refund for the second drink that he orderedanddrank.

It doesn't help that Shelly's friend Maddie hasn't picked up the lounge orders, so the men by the stage are coming to the bar for drinks. It's so packed here, I can't even see which of the girls is on stage.

And why is the music so damn loud?

“Six shots of fireball.” It’s one of the men from the jerkhole groom group. “We’re at the tables in the middle.”

Where the fuck is Maddie?

I pour the shots, set them on a tray, turn around-and bump directly into Lara. The tray and the shot glasses shatter at my feet. “Fuck.”

A couple at the bar cheers and laughs, applauding loudly.

Lara's white uniform is drenched with cinnamon whiskey, revealing a pink lacy bra beneath. "I'm sorry. I thought you saw me." She's standing so close, her perfume hits me… just like it did in the car last night when she tried to kiss me. Except she's also wearing that ‘fuck me’red lipstick that accentuates those incredible lips.

Was she wearing that lipstick the night we had sex, the night those lips tangled with mine? The night I envisioned them wrapped around my stiffness, yearning to feel their pleasure around me, guided by her moist sliding tongue.

Why is she standing so close to me?

She steps left at the same time I step right and her breast presses against my arm. A wave of heat passes through me, and I feel the pressure in my jeans as a surge of blood rushes to my groin. I'm not sure what's come over me, but my heart pounds. "Jesus Christ."

Her eyes widen. "I-I'm sorry," she stutters.

"Right."

I put my hands gently on her shoulders and move her to the right as I slide to the left and pass her to get to the other end of the bar.

---