Page 12 of Uxpectedly Ever After

"Huge deal? Me? Never. Now, continue. And leave nothing out."

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the big deal she’s about to make. "Banks is… staying at my apartment for a little while."

Navy fast blinks about twenty-five times as she processes this information. She lets out this dramatic gasp that makes a few of the people sitting at the bar glance over at us. "Banks Priestly?! As in, your brother's gorgeous firefighter friend who you've been not-so-secretly drooling over since you were practically a fetus?"

"I have not been drooling—" I cut myself off at her raised eyebrow that calls me on my bullshit. "Fine. Maybe there was some mild, totally age-appropriate attraction when I was a hormonal teenager that I have since completely outgrown. His apartment flooded, and Kasen guilt-tripped me into letting him crash on my futon for a couple of months."

"A couple ofmonths?" Navy's shrieks. Thank god for loud music. Her face splits into this wide, delighted grin. "Oh, this is pure gold. The sexual tension between you two could probably power all of Portland."

"There is no sexual tension," I insist, even as my cheeks start to feel suspiciously warm. "There is only regular, run-of-the-mill tension because he's annoying and arrogant and he had the nerve to reorganize parts of my kitchen."

"Hewhat?" Navy bursts out laughing, grabbing a bar towel to wipe imaginary tears from her eyes. "Oh, honey, he's totally that kid on the playground pulling your pigtails because he’s got a crush. That's adorable."

"It is not. He's driving me insane." I grab a cloth and start wiping down the already gleaming bar top with unnecessary force. "And he walks around shirtless. And fixes things without even asking. And he somehow manages to make coffee exactly how I like it." I realize I'm only making her point for her and snap my mouth shut.

"Sounds horrible," Navy says, not even trying to hide the massive smirk on her face. "How will you go on with a hot, tattooed handyman who makes you perfect coffee and wanders around half-naked? My deepest condolences on your truly awful situation."

"You are so not helping right now."

"I'm not trying to help," she says, bumping her hip against mine with a knowing smirk. "I'm trying to get you to admit you've got it bad for Firefighter Priestly."

"Well, I don't," I lie through my teeth, feeling my cheeks heat up anyway. "I have to tolerate him for three months, and he's gone. Then I can get back to my life."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, sweetie. Just make sure you give me all the juicy, embarrassing details when you inevitably end up ‘accidentally’,” she makes air quotes, “slipping and ‘accidentally’ falling on his dick.”

Thankfully, our first wave of Friday night customers chooses that exact moment to descend upon Ember, and soon the bar is slammed, preventing any further interrogation from mybest friend. Friday nights are always a chaotic blur of spilled drinks, loud music, and even louder conversations, and tonight is no exception. I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of shaking cocktails, chatting with the regulars, and trying to keep everything from descending into utter madness.

It's nearly midnight when the hair stands up on the back of my neck and I know he’s walked in.

Since when can I feel his presence before I ever see him?

Banks slides onto a stool at the far end of the bar, looking good enough to attract the attention of almost every woman in the bar in his dark henley that stretches across his broad shoulders like it was personally tailored to showcase his biceps. His jeans are doing things to his thighs that Instagram models only dream of. His hair is still damp from a shower and they’re messy in thatI just fucked someoneway he has. He catches my eye across the crowded bar and offers this small, almost shy wave, and yup. There goes my heart—and that pulse between my thighs.

He doesn't try to flag me down for service. Instead, he starts chatting with my boss, Theo, who actually looks like he's enjoying a conversation for once. That's almost as surprising as Banks fixing my shower.

I try my best to ignore his presence, but my awareness of him is like this constant, annoying tug, my eyes magnetic as they keep getting drawn back to him whenever I'm not actively dealing with a paying customer.

Once, I catch him watching me mix some complicated, multi-step cocktail, his gaze tracking the movement of my hands with an intensity that makes my skin prickle in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with annoyance. Heat crawls up my neck, and I have to resist the urge to fidget.

"What can I get for you?" I ask when I finally manage to make my way down to his end of the bar, aiming for professionaldetachment and probably landing somewhere closer to flustered mess.

"Just a beer. Whatever you’ve got of Timber's on tap." His eyes don't leave my face for a second, and I get this distinct, unsettling feeling that he's seeing way more than I want him to. "Good crowd tonight."

"It's Friday," I say with a casual shrug that feels anything but casual, pulling the tap for Kasen's go-to IPA. "How was your shift?"

"Quiet, thankfully. Just a couple of medical calls and some idiot who thought pulling the fire alarm for fun was a good idea." He accepts the beer with a nod of thanks. And then, of course, his fingers have to brush mine during the exchange, again, and I'm pretty sure he's doing it on purpose now. "Oh, and Kasen says hi, by the way. He's still stuck at Timber dealing with some kind of distribution fuck up."

I nod, already scanning the crowded bar for my next customer, when I notice some entitled douche at the other end getting increasingly aggressive with Navy. His body language is all kinds of wrong – leaning way too far over the bar, jabbing his finger in the air, his voice loud enough to carry over the music.

"Excuse me," I murmur to Banks, already moving toward the brewing storm.

"I said I want to talk to you!" the guy is slurring as I approach. He's huge, his face is blotchy red, and he's clearly had one too many. "Why won't you just give me your damn number?"

Navy's glaring at him and it takes a lot to get her to drop her customer service smile. "Like I've already told you, I'm not interested. Can I call you a ride?"

"I’m not going anywhere," he snaps, his eyes bugging out. "I want your number. And for you to stop being such a fuckin’ tease."

"Is there a problem here?" I step in, positioning myself in front of Navy. I've dealt with my fair share of drunk, entitled assholes in my years slinging drinks and I’ve got thick skin.

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