Caught Up in You (2 page)

Although I guess it technically wasn’t a lie. We did have differing opinions. I thought it was perfectly acceptable to give a woman an orgasm inside his restaurant. He didn’t.

And don’t you doubt for a second that I
would
have given her the orgasm of her life had we not been interrupted.

Lia nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer, which was a relief.

“And you don’t speak Italian,” she confirmed, keeping her eyes on the notepad in front of her.

Fuck, there was that weird question again.

Why would an Italian restaurant not want a bartender who spoke Italian?

“Not a word,” I said. “In fact, for the longest time, I thought it was pronounced Las-agg-na.”

She cracked a smile. It was a small victory but enough to make me want her.

“When can you start?” she asked.

I opened my arms wide. “Tonight. Right this instant. I’ll get back there right now and pour you a drink. What do you want?”

Another smile. Damn, she was cute.

She stood up. “Tonight. We open at 5.”

I checked my watch. Three hours from now. “I’ll just run home and put on my sexy clothes,” I told her with a smirk to let her know I was kidding.

Kind of.

She cocked an eyebrow in my direction but stayed silent. I took it as a sign that she liked me.

I didn’t need much.

“By the way,” I said, stopping just short of the door. “What’s with the no Italian thing? You have an ex-Italian lover who broke your heart or something?”

I’d meant it as a joke but I could tell from the flicker of something that flashed over her face that I’d hit a sore spot.

“See you at 5,” was all she said and then she disappeared into the kitchen.

Three

I’d never tried harder to seduce a woman than I tried with Lia Smart.

God, she drove me crazy. I’d flirt, she’d flirt back, then I’d ask her out and she’d say no. Over and over again it happened. One time, I got so close, I swore I’d managed to claim victory. I was already counting the articles of her clothing lying on my bedroom floor.

It was about three months after I got the job there. She was sitting at the bar after the restaurant closed, drinking a glass of Chianti. I’d gone to the back to put some stuff away in the walk-in refrigerator and when I returned, she was reading something.

As I got closer, I saw it was a letter. Like one of those old fashioned ones with handwriting on both sides.

My first reaction was, “Who the hell writes letters anymore?” But then I saw the stricken look on her face and my second reaction kicked in: concern.

“Anything exciting happening in the world?” I asked, nodding toward the letter.

She startled upon hearing my voice and stuffed the letter into her pocket, not even bothering to fold it. She shook her head and blinked rapidly, as though she were trying to chase away tears.

“No,” she said quickly. “Just uh…an electric bill.”

Obviously it was a lie. Since when did the electric company write up their bills with flowery cursive handwriting?

But the redness around the rims of her eyes told me not to push it.

She downed the remainder of her wine in a single, impressive gulp. I slid behind the bar and picked up the bottle, shaking it. “More?”

But she shook her head, scooting off the barstool. Her skirt snagged on the wood, riding up her tanned leg and offering me a glimpse of heaven.

Pink cotton panties.

Fuck, I nearly jizzed my boxers.

What was it with girls in cotton underwear that was so damn sexy?

With the amount of girls I’d seen in the flashiest, sluttiest, most complicated lingerie ever to be sold in stores, I should
not
have had this reaction to something so uninspiring and dull as cotton.  

Except it wasn’t dull. Not on Lia.

It was sexier than any expensive get up that any woman had ever worn to impress me.

She caught me staring and quickly yanked the fabric down around her legs.

I suddenly felt like a stupid little boy with a crush who’d been caught with a love note in his pocket.

And let me tell you, shame was
not
a sensation I was used to.

In fact, I barely even recognized what it was at first. It was just this strange itchy feeling in my stomach. Like I’d swallowed a Brillo pad.

And I have to say, I didn’t like it very much.

“I’m going to cut out,” she said and I was pretty sure that was going to be the end of the night. Until she added, “Wanna grab a drink somewhere?”

I had to fight to keep my cool. Harder than I’d ever fought before.

Even though my cock was screaming, “yes, yes, yes!” and my mouth was already salivating at the thought of tasting her, I forced my shoulders into a shrug. “Sure.”

We went to Hank’s. It was packed. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. More people meant more anonymity. Maybe she wouldn’t mind kissing me in a dark booth in the back if she was sure the place was too crowded for anyone to notice. But there was also the possibility of the crowd being a distraction.

I was just so ridiculously excited to be alone with her outside of the restaurant, I was worried the slightest hiccup could cause her to go running home.

God, when had I turned into such a pussy?

I never used to care about this shit. I never
worried
about being rejected by a girl. Because…well, for one, it hardly ever happened (before Lia) and secondly, there were always ten more lined up right behind her, ready to step in.

Glancing around this bar, I saw at least five potential candidates. That girl leaning against the pool table, sipping some fruity concoction, was already eyeing me. Her tight jeans slug so low, I could see enough skin to know she wasn’t wearing underwear. 

But for some unknown reason, tonight I only wanted Lia.

And I didn’t even want to think about a back-up plan.

We found a vacant table and Lia ordered two shots for us. She downed hers the second the waitress set them on the table. I watched her throat move to accommodate the influx of liquid. She looked back at me and then at the full shot glass before me. “Aren’t you going to drink?”

I blinked out of my trance and poured the clear liquid down my throat. I had prepared myself for some girly, froo froo shot like a lemon drop but was surprised when the tequila burned my throat.

Lia Smart drank tequila?

Fuck, that made her even hotter.

I had sudden flashes of sucking it out of her navel and placing the lime between her legs…

“What?” she asked, breaking me out of my reverie. “You look like you’ve never had tequila before.”

I shake my head, clearing my throat. “No. I have. It’s just not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

I looked up and met her gaze. Her chin was cupped in her hand. I couldn’t tell whether or not her tone was flirtatious. I decided, for my own sake, that it was.

“I never know what to expect from you, Lia,” I replied, keeping my eyes locked on her.

She looked away, the light on her face suddenly dimming. “I’m not that complicated.”

“Oh, but you are. You’re an enigma.”

“Hardly.”

“What’s with the no-Italian speaking bartender thing?” I challenged. Her eyes flashed back to me and I shrugged. “Just an example.”

She sighed. “It’s not because of me. It’s because of my mother.”

“Your mother doesn’t like men who speak Italian?”

“No. She likes them a little
too
much.”

I suddenly understood. Why Lia is running the restaurant. Why she always referred to it as her “mom’s restaurant” even though I’d never actually seen her mom.

And I could tell whatever had happened there had happened relatively recently.

I watched Lia’s face start to turn ashen and I worried this conversation was steering in the wrong direction. I needed to keep this upbeat and playful. And it was starting to feel like a bad therapy session.  

I opened my mouth to say something—to change the subject—but Lia beat me to it, obviously having had the same thought.

“So,” she said, wagging her finger vaguely in my direction. “What is
your
deal?”

I laughed. “My deal?”

She nodded. “Your
deal
.”

I couldn’t be sure but I swore I heard her voice start to slur on the last word. My hopes instantly rose. Tipsy Lia would be a lot more willing to take clothes off than sober Lia. That I could be sure of.

“I don’t have a deal,” I insisted.

She squinted. “Oh, you
so
have a deal. All guys like you have a deal.”

“How many times are we going to say the word deal? Should we turn it into a drinking game? Make things interesting?” I flagged down the waitress and ordered a Jack and Coke. Lia asked for the same.

“Do you always drink Jack and Coke?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

I laughed. “Are you trying to be mysterious?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Maybe.”

She stayed silent and we stared each other down like two kids having a contest.

“I’m waiting,” she finally prompted.

“For me to kiss you?” I asked presumptuously, making her giggle. “Because that’s a little difficult with you all the way on the other side of the table. But I’ll give it a shot if you want.”

I cleared away the empty shot glasses between us, like I was going to sprawl myself right across this table.

“For you to tell me your deal,” she corrected.

I pounded the table with my fist. “Damn. We don’t have our drinks yet. That’s one extra sip for you.”

When she didn’t respond, I added, “Why don’t you tell me what you
think
my deal is.”

“Oh, I already know.”

I feigned surprise. “You do?”

She nodded. “I do.”

The waitress delivered our drinks and I took a sip of mine, prompting Lia to take an obligatory swallow of her own. She did.

I sat back. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“You’re a bartender,” she began.

I pursed my lips in mock appreciation. “Oooh, perceptive. I like that in a woman.”

She ignored my jab and continued. “You do it because you like the attention.”

“What attention?” I asked. “You ignore me all night.”

“From
other
women. I see the way they look at you. You could have any girl in this room.”

I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “But I’m here with you.”

She didn’t blink. Her eyes stayed locked into mine and, like a small zap of electricity, I felt the shift.

The fall.

After seducing enough women, you just start to
know
when you’ve succeeded.

When the race is won. There’s a tipping point. A precipice. And you can feel when they collapse over the edge of it.

Some women—like Lia—fight so hard and for so long to stay on that edge. They dig in their heels and scrape their fingernails against the dirt, like they’re hanging on for dear life.

Other women are willing to jump over the edge the second you say their name with any amount of urgency.

But I could feel the moment Lia slipped. And I was so desperate to keep her on my side of the divide, so determined to make sure she didn’t manage to crawl back to her safe zone, I barely even noticed the third person who’d appeared at the side of the booth.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming here, biatch.”

The voice jolted me out of the moment and I glanced up to see a tall brunette with a devious smile on her face, staring down at Lia, before flicking her eyes to me.

Upon seeing the newcomer, Lia jumped up and hugged the girl. “Danika! You’re here. I would have texted but I thought you were on nanny duty tonight.”

“Whose your date?” she asked, glancing suspiciously at me over Lia’s shoulder. I recognized the look immediately. It was the protective look you only see on the best friend, after they’ve pegged you for a player.

Lia laughed and turned to face me. “He’s not my date. He’s my new bartender. At the restaurant. Which you’d know if you ever came in to eat there.”

“Trust me,” Danika said with a snort, “you do
not
want me to bring that little monster child into your restaurant. You’ll be scraping dried pasta sauce out of your carpet for months.”

“Whatever,” Lia said, suddenly jumping up and down like a little girl. “We’re both here. Let’s dance!”

I watched her pull Danika by the hand and make her way through the crowd of people to the small scuffed up dance floor. I watched her start to bump and grind against her best friend, her skirt riding up against those sweet legs of hers. I waited and waited and waited for her to look back this way. For her to acknowledge for even a second, that the flicker of something that passed between us.

But she never did.

And just like that, I knew she was gone. Crossed back over to the other side.

The side where I’m just a bartender, not a date.

Where I’m just a player, not a contender.

The side where I go home alone.

Four

Lia and I didn’t have another moment until the weekend her sister arrived in town. I’ve never seen a girl so neurotic about the arrival of a family member. She buzzed around the restaurant, freaking out about wine selection, too much confetti, not enough confetti. She even made cannoli. She
never
made cannoli for the regular menu.

She wanted so desperately for everything to be so damn perfect.

When I asked her why, she replied vaguely with a comment about how if I knew her sister, I’d understand.

I didn’t need to know her sister to realize that she clearly brought out the crazy in Lia Smart.

And not the good kind of crazy. The cute, scatterbrained kind you can write off as being part of her adorable “personality.”

I’m talking the bat shit kind.

I’d never seen Lia so tense before. I massaged her shoulders, hoping to help her relax but all she wanted to do was drink. She downed glass of wine after glass of wine. And still, nothing seemed to take the edge off.

Of course, as soon as I actually
met
Alex—the infamous sister—I understood why.