Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cruz
My Friday night in the tasting room is bustling, and Lane stopped in to help.
The end-of-summer tourist season is booming, and in one corner, there’s a table full of rafters.
In the other is a group of trail riders.
A few general tourists doing a weekend of distillery and brewery crawls fill some of the other seats.
And at the bar are two women working really hard to get me and Lane out alone with them for the night.
My anxiety rises by the minute. I didn’t ask to get hit on.
It’s worse that there are witnesses. I’m used to rumors and speculation.
As a kid, I hated it. I would succumb to the fury of knowing that the other kids were right or that teachers talked about my home situation.
After living with the Baileys, the gossip turned to who I was seeing and for how long.
Then there were comments about me and Lane pushing Myles out of the business.
It didn’t matter if what they said was false.
Nothing seemed as bad as where I’d come from.
But this? If the story swells and bloats until people are saying I actively flirted back, or worse? Went home with one of them? I’ve never had anyone on the other end who cared what was said.
I’ve made a lot of progress with Elodie. I can’t lose it now just by doing my job.
“The cabin we’re staying in is so nice,” one says in a throaty purr. She pushes her long, blond-highlighted hair off her bare shoulder. If her other strap falls any lower, the integrity of the top will be at risk, and I’ll get flashed. That might be the goal.
The table of rafters stands up. One of the guys gives us a big wave. “Thanks for the drinks. Damn good.”
“Appreciate it, man.” I see my reprieve and rush around the counter to clear their table. “Enjoy your river cruise tomorrow.”
They file out and I collect their empty glasses and napkins. I breathe easier getting a break from the incessant flirting.
Lane appears behind me. “Chicken.”
In this? Yes.
“I’ve got a damn good thing,” I mutter only loud enough for him to hear. “But I’m not sure if Elodie will think so if these girls go to the bakery tomorrow and boast about how into them I am.” I give him a flat look. “I’m not.”
An amused grin tugs at his lips. “Oh, I know. You’re ready to crawl out of your skin, and I’m enjoying the show.”
I glare at him. “Those two are thirsty as hell and it’s not for water or alcohol.” I stuff a finger at the dirty table. “I’m wiping this off.”
He brandishes a dishcloth I didn’t notice. Dammit. “I got it.”
“Jackass.”
His laughter follows me back to the bar. I juggle my armload to the dishwasher and take my time. Anything to keep from having to attend to the women and their cleavage.
One of them slides off the stool and tries to scoot around the bar. “Let me help with that.”
Alarm spikes my pulse. I spin around, a glass nearly slipping out of my hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Only staff are allowed back here.”
She pouts but doesn’t move away. “I used to bartend. I can help.”
“That’s what Lane is here for.”
Lane returns and she has to move to let him through. He gives them a charming grin, and I think I hear the one still sitting moan. “Don’t want us to get in trouble with the boss, do ya?”
Lane loves to use that line. He rarely identifies himself as the one ultimately in charge, and he definitely doesn’t out himself as an owner.
The almost intruder sits back down. “Invite him too. Our cabin’s big enough.”
Her friend nods. “We can pick up some drinks, and y’all can stay until morning. I hear there’s an excellent bakery we can try.”
“The bakery is the best,” Lane says with a shit-eating grin. “You’ve had some of the best desserts of your life there, right, Cruz?”
“Without a doubt. My girlfriend knows what she’s doing.” I didn’t know I’d been waiting to use that line forever.
The girl with the boob nearly spilling out doesn’t rearrange her shirt after my girlfriend announcement. Damn. I dump the remnants from the glasses into the dishwasher and load them.
When I turn back, Lane’s preparing a new cocktail for each girl.
Fuck, that means they’re going to be here longer.
I’ve never been this stressed before, but this is the first time I’ve been blatantly hit on in a long while.
Usually, a little charm goes a long way.
The other party puts out feelers, I wave them away, and we all go about our business.
I haven’t been seeing Elodie for that long, but I didn’t think to talk to her about these situations.
I was too worried about her getting creeped on by the Deans of the world.
Guys can flirt with her from dawn ’til dusk, and I know she won’t be seduced.
She fended me off for years when she was interested.
It’s different on my side. I’m the flirt she didn’t trust, and I don’t know who she’ll believe.
Can I call her now? Tell her the details before I get screwed by how small this town really is?
The woman with the loose top leans over the counter, and a whole tit almost dumps out of her collar.
My stomach acid is going to chew through every organ in my body. I beeline to the table of trail riders to see if anyone needs refills. They’re just talking about leaving. Dammit.
The distillery crawlers are also calling it a night so they can hit up at least one distillery in Billings before they quit serving for the evening. We’re open for two more hours, and the barstool stalkers aren’t leaving.
This has never been an issue. I never went home with people I met here even before Elodie started giving me the time of day, but that’s not what the gossip says.
None of the guys did either when they were single.
In fact, hitting on us at work was a sure way to get our rejection.
All of us are dedicated to Foster House Gold.
Doesn’t stop people from talking, but with five of us, it was never clear who was the root of the talk, so it didn’t matter to us that there was talk.
I should ask Iverson and Durban what they do. My situation isn’t quite the same, but if any of the other guys were working, these two would be all over them too.
A couple comes in, and I shoot Lane a glare before he even thinks about greeting them and taking their order. I head there before my brother can fuck with me. Spending a few minutes chatting gets my pulse to settle down.
When I return to the bar to make their drinks, I go straight to the shelf of bottles.
He appears next to me and tips his head close to mine. “You’ve gotta relax. It’s going to be okay, but the customers are going to sense your mood.”
“What if it’s not okay?” I whisper back without turning my head. “There was nearly nipple action, and it wasn’t an accident. I don’t need that getting around town.”
“I can ask them to leave.”
I let out a long breath. The distillery’s reputation could take a hit. They’re nothing but flirty girls. They aren’t the first and they won’t be the last, and I need to get over it. If only I could talk to Elodie, calm my anxiety down, and be my normal, flirty but aloof self.
I’m not doing anything wrong, and I’ll have to trust that Elodie knows me well enough to realize the truth over rumors that haven’t even happened yet. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
I don’t have to specify what I mean.
He slaps me on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”
Now both of the woman’s tits are on the countertop. She’s bellied up to the bar so close that her ass can’t possibly reach the stool. I’m not going to be the one to check.
The glint off a car window in the parking lot catches my eye before I spin around to shelve the bottles I took out for the couple. Thank fuck more customers are arriving.
The door opens. When I turn back to make sure Lane knows I have dibs, my tongue sucks back into my throat. Fuuuck.
A woman struts in, all legs and abs and full, lush tits.
Her long, glossy dark hair flutters behind her, and her shrewd hazel gaze sweeps the room as she makes her way unhurriedly toward the bar.
The denim shorts she’s wearing reveal her entire bouquet tattoo, which means half her ripe ass cheeks are sticking out.
One hummingbird is visible along her rib cage thanks to the scrap of a top she’s wearing.
The sky-high red stripper heels unlock a million fantasies I didn’t know I had.
She moves like she’s on a runway, and I’m stuck in the tractor beam of her sex appeal.
“Whoa,” Lane breathes next to me. “Didn’t see that coming, and I’m the one who called her.”
I don’t have time to be confused. Her gaze collides with mine, and the air sizzles between us.
The corner of my mouth tips up. Elodie’s here.
Sexual tension replaces all my earlier frustration.
She clears the counter without slowing down, heading right for me.
When she reaches me, she throws her arms around me and gives me the biggest kiss.
I hug her to me, bending her back, though not far.
Those heels are throwing off my perception of how tall she really is.
“I thought no one was allowed behind the counter?” the almost intruder complains.
“She works with us sometimes,” Lane lies easily. Sometimes our old habits come in handy. “Besides, she’s his girl.”
I let Elodie up for air. My hands are at her waist, but I’m touching mostly bare skin. She’s hot as fuck, but this outfit puts a big ol’ spotlight on it. “Sugar, you’re so damn hot you’re gonna combust all the liquor in here.”
She grins. Her red lipstick is smeared. Half is probably on my lips, but I rub at hers gently with my thumb instead.
It gives me an excuse to touch her. I don’t know what Lane did, but he must’ve sent an SOS on my behalf.
And she’s here when there’s a ton of baking she’s got to do for the street fair next weekend.