Sugar on the Edge (6 page)

“I disagree with you, girls,” Alyssa finally chimes in. “Savannah deserves someone sweet and kind, who will dote on her. This guy doesn’t sound anything like that.”

Pulling my Screwdriver up to my lips, I take a swallow, the alcohol no longer possessing quite the stinging bite the first few sips did. “I’m with Alyssa. I need someone sweet… like Brody or Hunter. So, let’s try to find me someone tonight,” I finish off with a huge dose of bravery that I might actually go on the prowl tonight.

Fat chance.

That’s just not in my nature, to make the moves on a man. I’m too introverted and unfortunately, I’m one of those women that will just have to wait for my Prince Charming to come after me.

I tilt the glass back and swallow down the last of the Oban. I’ve lost track of how many I’ve drank, but I’m fucking buzzed as hell so I’m thinking it’s been quite a few. The bartender, I think he said his name is Brody… looks like he may want to cut me off. Or maybe that jaundiced look he’s delivering at me has something to do with the fact that I’ve shunned any attempt he’s made at conversation tonight other than to thank him for every glass of Scotch he’s set down in front of me.

The only reason I’m here—in a local bar in a strange town on a Friday night—is because when I finally surfaced from my writing cave after two hard days of work, I realized I didn’t have any liquor in the house. I wholeheartedly felt I deserved a drink, seeing as how I banged out a solid five thousand words on my manuscript over the last two days.

Unfortunately, the five thousand words I managed to type didn’t get me anywhere closer to finishing this project. Rather, I ended up adding a new character to the book, which twisted my plot line just a bit, and will end up making more work for me in the end, but what the hell… I’ve been inspired by my new cleaning woman.

Yes, the new character is a soft-spoken, wisp of a woman with dark brown hair and warm, brown eyes. She’s shy and innocent, and I intend to serve her up on a platter to the villain in the story, a demonic warlord who peddles in drugs and prostitution and loves to dirty up his prey before he devours them.

“Want another?” Brody asks as he steps in front of me and drags me from my musings.

“Sure,” I tell him and pull a twenty from my stack of bills lying before me, pushing it across the wooden surface of the bar. “Make it a double.”

He gives me a curt nod and pulls the Oban off the shelf behind him. Tipping it over my glass to pour, he doesn’t attempt to make any further small talk with me.

“Do you have a cab service around here?” I ask as he tilts the bottle back straight and pushes the scotch closer to me.

“Absolutely. Need me to call you one?” he asks with a smile.

Shaking my head, I tell him, “Not yet, but soon. I’ll let you know.”

He nods at me again, another small smile, and I feel like I’ve made him happy by asking for a cab. I’m guessing he must have been worried I’d drink and drive, but that’s a worry he can leave behind. I don’t make stupid mistakes like that. Brody picks up the twenty I had pushed toward him and makes change at the register. When he returns, I hold up my hand to stop him. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” he says as he puts it in the tip jar and turns away from me.

Feminine laughter gets louder and I look behind me to see what all the noise is about. A door to the back deck area swings open, and the voice of several women laughing filters through. To my surprise, my new little housekeeper walks in to the bar, her head turned back to the women I can just see sitting around a table littered with empty drink glasses.

“You girls are rotten. I’ll see you later,” Savannah calls out to the women, then she turns with a huge smile on her face and a chuckle pouring over those generous lips as she walks through the door, letting it close softly behind her.

She doesn’t see me, but rather makes a beeline straight to the bathroom facilities to the left of where I’m sitting.

Interesting… looks like sweet Savannah is having a fun night out with friends. She didn’t seem to be the type to do that. Rather, I sort of imagined her sitting at home reading a book with an old cat on her lap or something. At least, that’s the way I wrote her character in my novel, and I’m usually a pretty good judge of character.

“Want to buy me another drink?”

Turning to my right, I smile at the woman standing next to me. Can’t remember her name for shit, but she introduced herself to me a little bit ago and I bought her a shot of tequila. I don’t know if it’s the scotch working some magic but she’s pretty fucking hot. Long, blond hair, a magnificent set of tits, and a slammin’ ass that would look fantastic while I fucked her from behind.

“Sure,” I tell her with a smile, waving my hand to catch Brody’s attention. I point at the woman and call out, “Shot of Patrón Silver.”

Can’t remember the woman’s name, but I can sure remember what she’s drinking.

She takes her fingertip and runs it down my forearm as it rests against the bar. “So, leaving any time soon?”

“Probably after another drink or so,” I tell her, my eyes straying down to the creamy swells of her breasts, which are plumped out over the top of some type of black, corset-like top she’s wearing.

“Want some company?” she asks coyly, but her eyes pin me with direct confidence.

My smile becomes calculated, because it’s clear what she’s asking. “I’d love some. Want to give me a ride home?”

“I’d like nothing better,” she says as she leans her face in toward me, nipping my ear with her teeth. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

Fuck yeah, game on.

Brody pushes the shot of tequila with a lime wedge on the rim of the glass toward the woman. She takes it, gives me a wink, and walks back over to the group of friends she had been hanging with.

Brody helps himself to another twenty laying before me for the cost of the tequila shot. “Keep the change,” I say as an afterthought.

He says, “Thanks.”

No biggie. I’m feeling super generous tonight, because looks like I’m about to get laid for the first time since I became a temporary U.S. resident.

“Can you call me a cab, Brody?” I hear from my left, and I don’t have to turn in my seat to recognize that voice. But when I do, Savannah is standing at the end of the bar, leaning casually against the swinging service door.

“Sure,” he calls back to her, and I watch as he picks up a phone beside the register to dial. When he hangs up, he says, “Be about ten minutes. Want anything?”

“Bottle of water,” she replies.

I stare at her, waiting for her to notice me. But she keeps her eyes pinned on Brody while he reaches down into a cooler and pulls out a bottle of water, twisting the cap off and setting it down before her. She tries to hand him a five-dollar bill but he turns away. “It’s on me.”

“Quit being an ass, Brody, and stop buying me stuff.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” is all he says as he walks away from her.

Savannah huffs but shoves the money back in her purse, keeping her gaze on Brody with a wistful sort of look in her eyes.

Understanding dawns on me. She has a thing for the bartender. Now isn’t that just fucking sweet as can be? And this little exchange I just witnessed has only confirmed my initial impression of Savannah. Sure, she may be out at a bar late on a Friday night to have some fun with friends, but she’s still the insecure, withdrawn, and ‘too shy to make a move on a dude’ woman that I had originally taken her for. A total pushover in my opinion.

Whether she feels the weight of my stare or she knew I was sitting there the entire time, Savannah’s gaze slides over to me. The minute we make eye contact, her eyes dart back behind the bar, seeking to look anywhere but at me.

I’ll probably later blame it on the liquor swirling in my blood, but I suddenly feel the need to see how Savannah reacts to an unkind world. She is, after all, my muse, and I consider this more research than anything.

“Hello, Savannah,” I say, loud enough that I know she hears me.

Turning back to me, she offers a small smile and says, “Hello.”

Cutting my eyes briefly over to Brody, who is chatting with a customer at the other end of the bar, a rag thrown casually over his right shoulder, I nod my head toward him. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head with a blush.

“Lover?”

“God, no,” she squeaks out. “Just a friend.”

Scooting my barstool over closer to where she’s standing, I lean toward her and ask, “Want him to be your lover?”

“What?”

“Lover,” I affirm with a low voice. “Someone who will fuck you sweetly every night and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he pumps away in between your legs.”

Savannah rears backward from me, face flaming red and indignation swimming in her eyes that I’d talk so crudely to her. I can’t help the grin that comes to my mouth because she reacted exactly as I figured. In fact, I need to memorize that look on her face right now because it’s exactly how her character should look when she first gets propositioned for a trick. All affronted and indignant, because it’s beyond the scope of the narrow walls within which she lives.

Taking a sip of Oban, I watch and wait to see what she’ll do. Running from the bar in tears is my first bet, and I’ve probably just lost my housecleaner, but I just couldn’t fucking help myself.

What I don’t expect is the tiny flare of heat that enters her eyes, and quickly transforms into anger. Before I can even set my glass back down on the counter, Savannah takes two steps toward me and leans in close. “Brody is a dear friend of mine. He’s engaged and happily in love with another dear friend, and I’m happy for him being in love with Alyssa. You think you know something about me, but you don’t know shit, Mr. Cooke. And at the risk of losing my job with you, go fuck yourself.”

Now I’m the one that rears backward from the venom in her voice and the absolutely unexpected violence of her convictions. I open my mouth to say something… what, I don’t know, but snap it shut when she whirls away from me and stalks from the bar.

“What the fuck did you just say to her, asshole?” Brody asks as he slams his hand down on the bar in anger, right in front of me.

Turning my head slowly, I look at him… eyes flamed in anger, his jaw muscles ticking because his teeth are clenched hard.

Picking up my glass of Oban, I shoot the rest of the liquor back in one swallow. When I set it back down, I pick up the rest of my money on the bar, leaving a last twenty-dollar tip behind.

“Friend of yours, I take it?” I nod toward the door that Savannah just slammed through.

“A very good friend,” he snarls as he waits for me to enlighten him on our conversation. He can keep waiting for all I care.

“Well, cheers, mate. I’m off,” I tell him with a smirk, so he knows I have no intention of addressing his concerns. He glares at me as he swipes the twenty-dollar tip I left him and stuffs it in the jar. After tucking my money in my wallet, I walk over to the blonde, who watches me with hungry eyes as I approach. She licks her lips, and I’m betting they’ll be wrapped around my cock before the end of the night.

I forget all about Savannah Shepherd and her tender sensibilities.