Chapter 3 Sierra
SIERRA
LAST CHRISTMAS
“Another usual?” I ask Clay.
He nods and I slide a soda over. He takes it in his big, tattooed hand.
It’s Christmas Eve and the bar is full. From the moment the Kodiaks poured in, the vibe changed. It always does when they arrive.
It’s not their bar, but in so many ways, it is.
“Settle this for us, Sierra.”
I look up at Ryan, his bright eyes locking with mine.
“Who played better tonight, me or Miles?”
“You think I have time to watch you play ball?” I answer Ryan. “Some of us have to work.”
Miles grins. “Funny, that’s what Brooke always tells me.” He winks and goes to say goodbye to the rest of the guys.
All the Kodiaks fans light up around the team, and the guys are happy to rub shoulders with the locals who support them.
The line of women who want the guys on the Kodiaks isn’t short.
Their fans number in the millions. They’ve gone from an underdog team to world champions.
There’s something for everyone—Clay’s the all-star, Jay’s the team leader, Atlas is the big man with the European accent, Miles is the charming guard.
Ryan’s the wild card. The cocky new kid I still can’t quite get a pulse on.
Hell, right now there are two women eyeing him up.
“Nice decorations,” Ryan says, nodding toward the mistletoe over the bar.
“Dad’s fault,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d prefer not to post invitations for drunk people to kiss me. I guess he didn’t think about it because no one tries to kiss him.”
Ryan laughs.
Mile High is decorated for Christmas with swags along the length of the bar and lights gracing the top of every wall. It’s been that way since I was a kid.
Tonight, I’m dressed in a cutesy outfit that’s not my usual style, but in my defense, I was distracted when I got ready for work.
My little black skirt shows a ton of leg over my knee-high black boots.
The strapless purple top pushes up the girls and shows off the ink—a long Tinkerbell trailing star dust down the underside of one arm and a ribbon below my collarbone.
I keep tucking my straight black hair behind one ear when I lean over the bar.
I should put a ponytail holder in it and be done, but I haven’t had a moment to slow down.
If I’m being honest, the mistletoe hasn’t caused that many problems. My regular patrons wouldn’t hit on me. The odd drunk person does, but they’re easy to dodge.
I haven’t had a hookup in a while.
I’m due. Overdue, if we’re counting.
There’s a lot to be said for a mutually beneficial physical relationship. Everyone knows the score, and expectations don’t start to get out of scope.
Still, I’m not using some sappy Christmas decoration as an excuse to get snuggly with someone. Especially not a pro athlete I might see again at my family’s bar.
“You going to finish that anytime soon?” I prod.
I’ve been surveying everyone’s drinks—it’s second nature and my job—and Ryan’s been working on that one all night.
“I’m getting there. You trying to rush me outta here?” His eyes dance as he takes me in.
“Rookies don’t need to close the bar.”
“Not a rookie anymore, Sierra.” He flashes a grin.
“Second year’s still a rookie,” I remind him. That’s how first contracts work in basketball.
“How old are you? I bet we’re the same age.”
His question throws me off-kilter.
“Twenty-three.”
“See?”
“I still know more about life than you. Even if you did go six for six from the line tonight.”
“You did see my game.”
But the weight of his attention has me tingling.
I don’t need to look at Ryan to know his height stands out even among a bunch of other players.
His dark curly hair makes me want to brush it off his face.
His firm lips and bright eyes are movie-star riveting.
His huge hands are currently wrapped around his glass in a way that shouldn’t be distracting but is.
The two women who’ve been eyeing him and Miles sense their opportunity and descend. I turn away to serve the other side of the bar, hoping I’m facing the other way by the time my eyes roll.
“You were incredible tonight,” I hear one of the women say over the music behind me. I deliberately don’t turn back, making drinks for everyone on the other side.
I watch this shit go down every night.
“Hello?” an impatient voice calls.
I turn back to find one of the women flagging me down impatiently. “Can I get a tequila sunrise?”
“We’re out of cherries,” I say. “I can make you…”
But she’s already talking to Ryan. The other woman is laughing too.
I put my own spin on a tequila sunrise, making the drink with a flourish.
I push the drink over.
“Where’s the cherry?” She stares me down.
“We’re out,” I repeat.
Her lips, which have enough filler to claim their own zip code, pout. She runs a hand over Ryan’s arm. “But how can I show you the tricks I can do with my tongue? We’re under the mistletoe.”
She nods toward the little white flowers that are actually way closer to my head than hers.
I clear my throat. “Would you like the drink?”
New patrons are trying to make eye contact with me while I wait for her.
Her attention turns back to me, her smile replaced with disgust. “No. You might be able to drink tequila straight, but I need a cherry in my cocktail.”
It’s not straight, I want to tell her but bite my tongue since I can see that the message won’t sink in.
Ryan looks between us. Before I can lean in, he rounds the bar.
“Come on.” He tugs me out from behind the bar and after him.
“I can’t leave!” I protest. “Someone might do something stupid. Or steal alcohol. Or…”
“Clay’s keeping watch,” he says without looking back as he pulls me toward the storeroom.
His fingers are huge. I look down in disbelief to see his golden skin over my tattoos. The feeling leaves a not-unpleasant buzz in my stomach.
When we get to the storage room, I hit the light switch from memory.
Tired fluorescents flicker on with a low hum. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I see Ryan looming over me with an amused expression.
“What the hell?” I demand.
“I figured you might deck that girl. And as much as I’d love to see that, it’s easier without fifty witnesses.” His grin is slow, and I’m way too invested in how good he looks when he does it.
Attraction ripples through me. Did I have a drink and not realize it? Because the buzz feels as if it’s in my chest at first, then everywhere.
I’m the first person to acknowledge that sometimes you just need to burn off tension, but I don’t do it here or with regulars.
Ryan isn’t even a regular. He’s a starting Kodiak, which would be a thousand times worse.
At Mile High, we’re supposedly in the business of beer, but we’re really in the business of the Denver Kodiaks. My dad has always drummed that into me. As much as we can hang out and be friendly, they’re the product. Patrons don’t flock to us for the Miller.
“This is not the day to test me, Ryan.”
His eyes soften. “You’ve never called me that.”
“It’s your name.”
“I know.”
Even with the sound of the music and crowd outside, it’s quiet in here.
The throbbing ache through my body moves lower, sets up residence in my stomach, between my thighs.
This is stupid. Every woman on the other side of that door would feel the same damn way being this close to a pro basketball player, particularly one who looks like Ryan.
Even if he smells as good as he looks…
“Maybe I do have cherries.” I turn away and scour the shelves. I catch sight of the edge of a jar on a high shelf. I pull over a box and step on it.
“Don’t even think about it.” Ryan leans past me, easily reaching the jar and bringing it down.
With me on this box, we’re nearly the same height. We stare at each other for a moment.
“It must be nice to be this tall. You can tell people what to do.”
“Something tells me you wouldn’t listen.” He cocks his head, and fuck me if he doesn’t have dimples.
Ryan holds out the jar of cherries and I take them.
“Thanks. I guess we’d better get back there.”
He catches my arm again. “You’re not taking those cherries out there.”
Confusion makes me blink. “Then why did you get them down?”
“So you’ll have them tomorrow. That woman doesn’t get one.”
I’m so focused on the attraction that I’m not prepared for the tidal wave of appreciation. It catches me completely off guard.
“You’re devious,” I accuse. “As much as I’d like to tell her where to stick her cherries, if I can save her dropping a shitty review on my dad’s bar, I will.”
His gaze flicks over me. “Leave that to me.”
Surprise rises up. “But how will she show you what she can do with her tongue?” I bat my eyes up at him.
“I’m not all that interested in her tongue.” He says it evenly, but his gaze drops to my mouth. “Yours, on the other hand…”
Shoving down the attraction to a man who’s hot and willing and funny and within arm’s reach on a lonely day is one thing. Keeping both of us above water and fighting this sudden hunger when it’s been a long week and he’s not only hot but sweet and on my side is another thing altogether.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t need someone in my corner. I’ve never asked for it. I’m married to this place.
So why does it feel so damn good?
Then he kisses me, and every thought goes out the window.