Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Mom stood by the stove when I walked into the kitchen.
“I thought I heard you moving around,” she said with a smile. “How do pancakes sound?”
“Good, but you don’t have to cook for me, Mom. I already appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“Of course, you should stay here. This is your home too. And I like cooking for you. Cooking for one isn’t fun.”
I could tell by how thin she was that she hadn’t been cooking for herself much since I left last time, and I made a mental note to do my share of cooking, too.
“Do you work today?” I asked.
“Yeah, I picked up a shift.” She glanced at the clock. “I should leave in an hour.”
During that hour, we chatted and ate. She told me more about her current job and asked about Uncle Jay and my work. I shared my plan to work nights at Lunar Pulse for the foreseeable future, until I got a day job. I didn’t mention the application I’d submitted to Steele, though.
After Dad bulldozed her out of their company during the divorce, she’d clawed her way into upper management elsewhere—until one project failure toppled it all.
From there, she’d landed a mid-management position that ended with severance, then lower and lower rungs, until she ended up behind a retail counter.
She didn’t even glance at companies like Steele anymore.
A man—and relentless bad luck—had broken her confidence.
While she would be happy for me if I managed to get into Steele Corporation, one of the “it” companies to join in Motan, I also knew she’d worry.
The corporate world could be cutthroat. She’d experienced it firsthand.
However, I wasn’t looking to be corporate.
At least, not at the level she’d been. A steady job with room to grow was all I wanted.
Stability was good.
When a person climbed too high, the foundation got shaky.
She hugged me goodbye, and I started cleaning up. While putting things away, I saw how little food there was in the house and ran to the grocery store with last night’s tip money.
With a roast in the slow cooker and a note on it reminding Mom to eat, I left for the club.
Uncle Jay was dusting bottles behind the bar when I walked in.
“You’re early,” he said.
“Nope. I’m right on time for you to make me tonight’s signature drink.”
“It’s a little early to start sampling, isn't it?”
I grinned. “It’s never too early for a sample when we’re taking pictures to promote the club and pull in more patrons.”
“Ah.” He started mixing and presented me with an artfully colorful drink that sparkled in the light.
“Is that glitter?”
“It’s meant for cocktails,” he assured me.
I turned the martini glass so the curl of orange zest was at the right angle and took some pictures with the background blurred and the light catching the glitter. Then I sampled it.
“Mmm. That’s good. I’ll upload a teaser post with a flavor description before we open. I’ll get some pictures of friends drinking it later too. We’ll stick to that for a few days and see if it sparks an uptick in sales. Then work on what kind of posts or drinks are pulling more profit.”
He hugged me. “I’m glad you’re here, Sophie-Girl. I like the talking and the mixing, not all the stuff you’re doing.”
“I know.”
Setting the drink aside, I focused on prepping for the night.
Like the day before, there wasn’t a mad rush when we opened, but enough to stay busy until Miranda showed up with a few friends to model with their free drinks.
Uncle Jay made a variety this time, and the pictures came out great.
About an hour after I posted those, Uncle Jay needed help behind the bar again.
“I think you’re on to something with these pictures,” he said. “Let your friends know they’re welcome back any time.”
Laughing, I helped him fill orders, working my way down the bar until I reached a familiar face at the end.
My pulse tripped when I saw Mr. Angel.
“What can I get you?”
“A night. Alone. With you.”
That, along with the weight of his gaze, didn’t help my pulse recover. Flirting was one thing; the way he said “you” was another.
So damn dangerous.
“Neither of us would survive,” I managed smoothly. “Unless you’re into dicks on transitioning chicks.”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a little.
“It’s the person who interests me, not the gender.”
Shit. Did I get a guy who was bisexual? Pansexual?
Damn if that didn’t just interest me more.
“Smooth…and either very enlightened of you, or you're saying what you think I want to hear. Either way, I'm still working. So how about we stick to what you want to drink, or I help the next person?”
“You choose the drink,” he said, looking only a little disappointed.
I mixed up the signature drink and charged him twenty again. He paid without hesitation, and I walked to the till, unsure what to think of him.
Attractive? Absolutely.
Dangerous? Yes, but on what level?
When I said it to Miranda, I’d been referring to the danger to my ovaries and possibly my single status. His approach and the way he was watching me were sending off different warning vibes now.
He was too interested after one simple exchange.
“You’re walking me to my car tonight,” I said to Uncle Jay when he joined me.
“Problem?” he started to turn.
“No. Caution. Actually, I’ll have Miranda stay.”
She was more dangerous than Uncle Jay, but also had a better nose.
“‘Kay. Let me know if you need me,” he said.
I nodded and continued serving until the crowd died down enough for me to return to the tables. Once the numbers thinned, I clocked out and let Erika handle the rest so I could hang out with Miranda.
“You smell anxious,” she said. “Why?”
I glanced at the bar and saw Mr. Angel was gone.
“The hot guy from last night was here again. He didn’t even flinch when I told him I’m transitioning. He said it was the person, not the gender, that attracted him. I haven’t been hit on by a bisexual yet. It threw me off.”
She grinned at me. “Is he breaking through your ‘hell no’ wall?”
“No, he’s pushing my ‘do I have my shifter friend walk me to my car tonight?’ button.”
She immediately lost her humor. “Absolutely. I’m sorry for laughing.”
I shook my head. “No, I get it. It’s not like me to get spooked by a guy. Something about him is just…a lot.”
She nodded and looked at the spot where he’d been sitting. I could see her thoughts spinning.
“By the way, Uncle Jay said you’re welcome for a free drink any time,” I said to distract her. “It always seems to pick up after I post pretty people drinking. Thank your friends for me too.” I looked around, but they were already gone. “Who were they?”
“Other pack members. They liked it here. Smells decent. Your uncle keeps it clean. So they’ll probably be back on their own.”
“I never thought of bar smells being a deterrent,” I said. “You never seemed bothered.”
“The company always outweighed the smells. Plus, we have similar tastes and pick decent places.”
“Very true.”
She set her drink aside. “Let’s talk about what I should tell your admirer to start earning a handbag. I was thinking about rules for engagement. Not coming on too strong is a given.” She waved her hand at where Mr. Angel had been sitting. “It’s also not personal enough.”
I considered my turn-ons and turn-offs.
“Guys who give things with the expectation of reciprocation are a big turn-off. I’m not saying I’m into freebies or anything, but giving should be just giving. If there are strings, the strings should be put out there upfront.”
“Meh, I think that’s a pretty universal turn-off. I’ll pass it on, but it’s not handbag-worthy. At least, not the one we want.”
“I like honesty, which is ironic coming from a girl who shuts guys down with a lie, and I appreciate a guy who doesn’t flaunt his emotions.”
“Oh, this is getting interesting. Go on. Give me examples.”
“Like, it’s okay to get angry about something, but it’s not okay to take it out on other people, either physically or mentally.
I think the silent treatment is the biggest red flag there is.
It’s okay to need a minute of peace to calm down, but it’s not okay to use silence as a weapon.
” I smirked a little. “Although that weapon doesn’t work well with me.
Their silence is usually a blessing and a sign to send them on their way.
But I also don’t like a guy who explodes.
Explosions usually have casualties, you know? ”
“What about positive emotions? Like affection?”
I made a face.
“So no PDA?”
“That’s not what that face was for. I was imagining affection outside of the bedroom. I think it would freak me out and send me running.”
“Okay. Affection is fine, but not until you’re ready for it.”
“I’ll never be ready.”
She shrugged. “We need him to think he has a chance. I need the purse.”
I shook my head at her. “You're borderline evil.”
“I disagree. I already warned him away from you several times. His persistence is his problem. And how much he values this information is up to him. I already spilled what I knew, and it wasn’t purse-worthy.”
“What did you tell him?”
“You’re strongly against long-term commitment because of your parents’ divorce. You don’t like your hair pulled during sex—”
“I regret sharing that story with you.”
“You’re smart and intuitive, which will make you a lot harder to catch.”
“Am I wild game now?”
“You're snarky—extra snarky when hungry—and extremely loving when you’re drunk, but only to your close friends.”
“Hmm. Those are all good. He mustn’t be that into me if he didn’t find value in any of that.”
“Oh, he did find value. But just ‘down payment for the handbag’ value.”
“Well, tell me how much this next batch of info goes for, and I’ll keep brainstorming.”
She grinned at me. “You’re a good accomplice.”
My phone buzzed with a message.
Mom: Thank you for the roast. It was delicious. I’m sorry you had to go shopping.
Me: It wasn’t a problem. And I enjoyed cooking for you for a change.