A Dangerous Kind of Love (The Dangerous Devotion #1)

Katie

“Yeah?” I say, not looking up as I set two drinks onto my tray.

It’s Friday night, and every TV in the place is blasting the same college baseball game. The bar is packed shoulder to shoulder. There’s barely enough room to move.

“See the guy in the suit in the corner?” She nods toward the back of the room.

I glance over. It’s the same guy who’s been sitting there every night this week. Except tonight, he’s already looking at me. I roll my eyes and turn back to my drinks.

“What about him?” I ask.

“He says he’s ready to order.” She lifts one eyebrow.

“And?”

“He only wants you to take it.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head.

I grab my tray and head out from behind the bar. Sarah follows right behind me.

“He was pretty adamant.”

“I don’t care,” I say through a tight smile.

I drop the drinks at a table with two college guys.

“You two let me know if you need anything else.”

They nod without looking away from the game.

“Katie, just go over there,” Sarah says, trailing after me.

I set the tray down and start wiping the bar.

“I said no.”

“Come on,” she says. “He’s hot.”

I glance at her.

“And a creep.”

Sarah smirks. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”

“Yeah, and he hasn’t said a damn thing to me,” I say. “He’s been here every night for a week and hasn’t even said hi. That’s serial killer behavior.”

Sarah groans.

“Plus, he looks at least thirty-five,” I say.

“I know.” She grins. “That’s the best part.”

“You know my life isn’t one of those age-gap romances you’re always reading, right?” I say, giving her a side-eye.

She throws her head back and laughs. I can’t help laughing too, but when I glance over Sarah’s shoulder, he’s still watching. Only now there’s a smirk on his face, like he enjoyed seeing me laugh.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

“I’m doing this once and never again,” I say, looking at Sarah.

“That’s my girl!” She smiles.

I straighten, smooth out my T-shirt and wipe my hands on my jeans. I weave through the tables and throngs of people hovering around the TVs until I’m standing right in front of him.

“What can I get you?” I say, looking right at him.

His eyes are already on me. They’re dark brown and calm.

Up close, I notice his dark hair pushed back from his face, the trimmed beard along a strong jaw, and the dark suit he’s wearing.

His white shirt is open at the collar. He looks expensive and completely unbothered by the fact that he’s staring.

Suddenly, I feel a little self-conscious standing here.

“Whiskey neat, doll.”

Are you serious? Doll?

“Got it,” I say, already turning away.

His hand catches my wrist, and I glance down at where his massive hand is wrapped around it.

“You wanna remove that before I kick you in the nuts?” I say through my teeth.

He lets go immediately and raises his hands in mock innocence.

“I was giving you this back.” He holds up my pen, waving it between his fingers.

My face goes red.

I snatch it from him and mutter, “Thanks,” before retreating toward the bar.

“No problem, doll,” he calls after me.

I duck behind the bar and set the tray down a little harder than necessary, and Sarah is instantly in front of me.

“Well?” she demands.

I grab a glass and reach for the whiskey bottle.

“Well what?” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” I mutter.

She folds her arms. “Katie.”

I pour the whiskey.

“He ordered a drink.”

“That’s it?” she says.

“That’s it.”

Her face falls in disappointment.

“You walked all the way over there for a whiskey neat?”

I slide the glass onto a napkin.

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me he didn’t flirt with you?”

I grab the ticket and set the glass on my tray.

“No.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Yes.”

Sarah leans forward across the bar.

“What?”

I pick up the tray and shrug.

“He said thanks.”

She stares at me.

“That’s it?”

I hesitate for half a second. Then I sigh.

“And he called me doll.”

Sarah slaps the bar.

“I KNEW IT.”

“Sarah,” I warn.

She’s grinning.

“The suit guy called you doll. Katie, that man is flirting.”

“He ordered a drink,” I say firmly.

She gestures toward the corner.

“And he’s been staring at you for a week.”

I roll my eyes and lift the tray.

“He’s getting his whiskey, and that’s the end of it.”

“Mhm,” she says, completely unconvinced.

I weave back through the crowd and stop at his table again. He hasn’t moved. One arm rests against the back of the booth while his other hand sits loose on the table as he watches me. I set the glass down in front of him.

“Whiskey neat.”

His eyes flick up to mine, and a small smile touches the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, doll.”

That’s it. For the rest of my shift we keep playing this bizarre little game. He stares. He drinks. He orders another, and every time I set the glass in front of him he looks up and says the same thing.

“Thanks, doll.”

No conversation, just two words and that damn look. It’s creepy as hell.

Near the end of my shift, I notice him lift his hand slightly from the corner booth. It’s just enough to catch my attention across the crowded bar. I assume he wants another whiskey, so I grab the bottle and make my way through the maze of tables toward him.

“You ready for another?” I ask when I reach the booth.

He glances down at the empty glass in front of him and then back up at me.

“No.” He nudges the empty glass aside with his fingers. “Go ahead and bring me the bill.”

“Sure,” I say.

When I come back with the check, he pulls a black card from his wallet and places it neatly inside the folder without even looking at the total.

I take it, run it through the register, and return a minute later with the receipt and a pen.

He signs it quickly and then slides the paper back toward me.

“Thank you,” he says.

I nod and pick up the slip. As I turn to leave, his voice follows me across the booth.

“Have a good night, doll.”

A few minutes later, when I circle back to wipe down the table, it’s empty except for the glass and the folded receipt sitting on the napkin where he left it.

I pick it up to throw it away but glance down at the total out of habit.

The bill was thirty-seven dollars. The tip line reads $200.

00. I stare at it for a second before looking toward the door he walked out of.

“Sarah,” I call across the bar. “You’re not going to believe this.”