Careful What You Kiss For (17 page)

Think fast
. “I hurt myself.” She dropped a hand to her thigh. “That’s it. I pulled a muscle or something.” She grimaced. “It really — ouch.”

Concern crossed Razor’s face. “Oh man, that’s tough. Did you tell Pop?”

Tensley shrugged. “I tried, but, well … .” She let her voice trail off, hoping for the sympathy vote. “Maybe you could talk to him for me.”

The stocky man looked doubtful. “I could try, but it didn’t go so well last time.”

Last time? She took some comfort in knowing this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get out of dancing onstage. “I can still work. He probably doesn’t know it, but I’m a hell of a bartender.” Not exactly true, but she had learned how to make two drinks from a cute bartender she’d flirted with at a friend’s wedding reception last year. She unfortunately hadn’t been paying that much attention to the instructions because she’d been caught up with how great the guy looked in his tux, but she could probably fake it. How hard could it be to tend bar?

Razor’s features mushed together with the effort of deep thought, but then his expression suddenly cleared. “Becca,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Becca?”

“I just remembered. Her grandma’s sick. She’s leavin’ today to go home and see her. I could ask Pop about letting you be the one to cover for her.”

“Yes. You could.” Tensley grabbed his arm. “Where’s your phone? You could do that right now.”

“You sure about this? You always said — ”

“Whatever it was, I didn’t mean it.”

“So the thing about not wanting to have to look people in the eye — ?”

Tensley shuddered. God, no, she didn’t want to have to look them in the eye. Not the people who went to Gary’s. But if she had to do it to get off the stage, she would. “Don’t know what I was thinking,” she assured Razor. “Will you call him?”

He pinched the skin between his brows. “But you said — ”

“Please?”

Razor hesitated, then shook his head. “Women,” he said, pulling his cell from his pocket. He took another large bite of his sandwich and wandered back toward the kitchen. Seconds later, she heard him mumble something into the phone.

She sank into a chair, closed her eyes, and waited.

Razor’s voice rose, fell, and then went silent. He appeared in the doorway, sandwich-less. “Okay,” he said. “You’re in.”

“I’m in?”

“You’re fillin’ in for Becca at the bar. Pop wasn’t happy, but he finally said okay.”

“He said okay.”

Razor looked confused. “That’s what I said.”

She could help Max while keeping her clothes on. Tensley shot out of her chair toward Razor and threw her arms around him. “Thank you.” He was round and solid, like a teddy bear with muscles, and smelled of soap.

“Sure, babe.” His big arms swallowed her. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

He was sort of sweet in a lumbering kind of way. Must be why she was with him.

“Wouldn’t want you to be hurtin’ yourself.” Razor released her and took a step back, looking down. “Hold on. Did your leg get better?”

Uh-oh
. Tensley bit down on her lip, staring at him. “No. I just — wanted to hug you, so I, you know, pushed through the pain.” She put a hand to her leg. “Big mistake, though. It hurts even worse now.” She was such a bad liar.

Razor apparently couldn’t tell. His face relaxed. “Aw, you can’t be doing that to yourself, just so you can hug your Razorman.”

“I … uh … .” Could think of no response to that.

“Come on now. You can have a hug any time you want.” The big man smiled, pulling her back to him. “Wanna show your Razor some lovin’ before you go?”

Oh My God. No. She did not. “I can’t be late!” She pushed away and began speed-limping in the direction of her bedroom before realizing she was favoring the wrong leg. She came to an abrupt stop and turned to blow him a kiss. “I’m out of here in a few minutes, so see you later. You’ll let yourself out?”

Without waiting for an answer, she took off toward her bedroom again, this time remembering to limp with the correct leg.

“Oh-kay,” she heard him say, his voice uncertain, before she shut the bedroom door behind her. And locked it, for good measure. Then she pressed her back up against it, eyes locking on the annoyed cat sprawled across her bed.

Her apartment door opened and closed. Razor probably wasn’t sure what had just happened. Thankfully, he didn’t seem like the type to pursue finding out.

Gemini voiced his displeasure at the interruption.

“Really?” Tensley asked. “What else was I going to do?”

The cat blinked.

“That’s what I thought.” She left the door and went to her closet to push through hangers of clothing in search of something to wear. Didn’t take her long to settle on dark skinny jeans, super-cute stilettos and a black tank top. She needed to blend in, especially if she was hanging out anywhere near Gary’s office.

Speaking of blending … .

“It can’t be that hard to make drinks, right?” she asked Gemini, who turned away to lick a paw, apparently hoping she’d take her questions elsewhere.

A lot of help he was.

“People don’t go to strip clubs for the drinks,” she announced as she began changing clothes. “So no one’s even going to notice what I give them. They’ll probably all want beer, anyway.”

Once ready, she ran a brush through her hair and stopped for a quick look in the mirror. She’d never looked so good in a pair of jeans. It was maybe the one perk of her new life.

She grabbed her purse and keys. “Wish me luck,” she said to Gemini. “Drinks to pour; bad guys to catch; lessons to learn.” A premise for a TV show, if she’d ever heard one.

Gemini responded by burying his face in the covers.

Damn cat.

He was right.

Twenty minutes into her shift, Tensley realized how wrong she’d been about bartending being an easy job. At first, she’d thought a smile and a clean counter could carry her through anything. Then a topless woman walked up and fired off drink orders so fast, all Tensley could do was look at her open-mouthed. “I, uh, what was that again?”

The woman focused in on her for the first time and the exasperated sound she made was loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. “Why are you here? Where’s Becca?”

“Family emergency.” Tensley tried out her bartender smile, which she’d decided should be a mix of hell-yes confidence and don’t-come-near-me-cheerfulness.

The woman’s layers of dark eye makeup made it hard to tell for sure, but it looked as though her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could think about writing this down.”

The hell-yes confidence part of Tensley’s smile froze as she scrambled to find a piece of paper and something to write with.

“Something wrong, Pepper?”

Tensley glanced up. It was Milo, the bouncer. The guy who had covered for her the other night.

“Got a dancer behind the bar and she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing,” Pepper responded. “That’s what’s wrong.”

Tensley’s fingers closed on a pad of paper and pen. She gave Milo a nod of recognition, trying her best not to look like a dancer slash bartender who didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

Milo pointed at her. “Her leg’s messed up so she can’t dance. And Becca’s gone.”

“So what’s the big deal? I danced with a broken ankle.”

“Really?” Tensley asked, genuinely curious. “Didn’t anyone notice?”

Pepper looked at her as though she’d asked if two plus two equaled four. “They weren’t looking at my ankle.”

“Oh. Right.” Tensley wrapped her fingers around the pen as though her life depended on it. “What were those drinks again?” She could do this. She really could.

Milo left and Pepper propped an elbow on the counter and repeated each one, slowly and deliberately. A screwdriver, a vodka and tonic, whisky with a water back, a salty dog, three beers. When she’d finished, she asked, “You got that now? ’Cause you’re costing me money.”

“Got it.” At Tensley’s nod, the other woman walked away.

The music pounded and a male voice announced Terrible Tawny, the dancer from Tensley’s first night at the club. Tawny took the stage to enthusiastic applause and cat calls, while Tensley, clutching the piece of paper with drink orders, paused to watch.

Razor had told her
she
was the best. Was that even possible or was he just speaking boyfriend-ese?

Tensley had never been the best at anything.

Tawny was pretty good, but those legs didn’t look like they were straddling the pole at a perfect parallel to the floor, as Lila Delightful’s had. Still,
that
was an interesting move; how had Tawny been able to transition so smoothly to a handstand with one foot wrapped around the pole, especially when that foot was tied up in a shoe that didn’t bend —

“You doing okay?”

Milo.

“Yes! Perfect!” Tensley put the list on the counter in front of her and grabbed the two closest glasses she could find, doing her best to look busy.

It must have worked because he moved on.

Tensley stared at the drink orders. She herself preferred cosmos, martinis and chocolate cake shots. Vodka and tonic was easy enough, but what the hell was a salty dog?

She squared her shoulders. Easy stuff first.

Thanks to college parties, she could pour a beer with a beautiful head on it. As more than one gentleman of Delta Tau Delta had hopefully observed, though it hadn’t gotten them anyplace, she gave good head.

Tensley poured three beers and set them carefully on a round tray, murmuring a silent thank you to the Delts who had taught her well.

Next, she moved on to the vodka and tonic, but turned up her nose at the bottle of no-name vodka she spotted on a shelf close by. She ran her eyes up and down the bottles until she found one of Absolut tucked in the back. Much better.

She grabbed it, threw a few ice cubes into a glass and then poured out a generous portion of vodka. Nearly too late, she remembered the tonic part. She found that bottle, added a thin layer of tonic water and then stood back to appraise her work. Something was missing. Color. She sliced a lime and threw it on top. Vodka and tonic. Done.

Next, a screwdriver. She’d heard of it, but had no idea what was in it. She made a stealthy grab for the purse she’d placed on one of the lower shelves, rummaging through it until she found her cell phone. It only took a minute to pull it out, open the Web and type “screwdriver” into search.

A photo of a drink had just come up, listing the ingredients as vodka and orange juice, when she heard a familiar growl at the other end of the bar. “Tell me you’re not on the phone when you’re supposed to be working.”

Tensley jumped, the cell clattering to the floor. She reached down to pick it up as Gary’s gaze burned through her. She threw the phone back into her purse and straightened. “Of course not,” she said, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Don’t be thinking you’re going to get any special treatment from me,” he warned. “This is a one-time deal, only while Becca’s gone.”

“Yes, sir.” The sarcasm in her voice fell into the swirl of applause for Terrible Tawny.

“And that’s only because I was feeling like being a nice guy to my son. That doesn’t happen much.” He leaned forward. “I ain’t a nice guy.”

“Can’t think why anyone would ever say that about you.”

Gary grunted and then slapped the counter. “So get to work. I’m not telling you again.”

She resisted the urge to slap him, focusing instead on the fact that her helping Max should put Gary out of business. That thought made her smile, a real one this time. Gary looked suspicious, but left.

Vodka and orange juice. Okay, then. She grabbed the bottle of Absolut, again pouring an ample amount in to the glass, but this time remembering to leave enough room for the orange juice she’d found in an under-the-counter refrigerator behind her.

A few ice cubes tossed in for good measure. And another drink down.

Whisky with a water back. Whatever that meant. She searched for and found a bottle of Maker’s Mark, hidden even better than the Absolut. Her absent father had imparted few words of wisdom, but one thing he had said was that there wasn’t whisky, there was only Maker’s Mark. She’d been ten years old when she’d overheard him saying it to some other man. It had sounded grave. And wise.

“Here’s to you, Dad,” she murmured, pulling the bottle out.

But the water back part … . She glanced up to see Pepper making her way over to the bar, followed by another topless woman. Time was nearly up.

Tensley plopped ice cubes into a glass and filled it with Maker’s Mark. The water part could happen when the ice melted.

A customer flagged down Pepper. She stopped to talk to him, giving Tensley another minute or so.

Next, a salty dog. Short of coaxing a canine into standing under a shaker and then on top of a tray … . She smiled, picturing it, and then ducked her head so no one would see.

There was always the margarita approach. Tensley ground the top of a glass in salt and debated what alcohol to put in. Pepper was on the move again. Tensley grabbed the bottle of Absolut and poured it in the salted glass and then shot in something clear and fizzy from the flexible hose. Looked like soda.

There. About as dog-ish as things were going to get. “Your order,” she said to Pepper, who had just reached the bar. Tensley pushed the tray toward her and turned to the next woman, who thankfully only wanted one whisky and soda and five beers. That she could do.

“Where’s the water?” Pepper asked.

Oh. Who knew it was that simple? “Sorry.” Tensley filled a glass and put it on Pepper’s tray before turning to the next woman’s order.

Pepper returned a few minutes later. Tensley’s stomach turned over, fearing the short turnaround might be because of angry customers, but then she noticed the glasses on the woman’s tray were empty.

“The guy said that wasn’t exactly a Salty Dog, but whatever it was, he wants another one.” She made it sound like a question.

“Great.” She did her best to sound like it was no big deal, but she knew she’d packed a fifth of relief into the one word.

For the first time, Pepper looked as though she might smile, but she managed not to. “They all want another round, even the screwdriver guy.”