Page 17 of Some Like It Hops

Her eyes tighten suspiciously at the edges as she looks back and forth between us.

“I’m thinking about applying here,” I say quickly, trying to make this odd line of questioning make sense.

Her features relax and she smiles widely. “Oh, sorry. Duh. I couldn’t figure out where you were going with this.” She gives her head a little shake. “I love it here. We have amazing bosses, and we can work around, like, any schedule. School, kids, other jobs, whatever. They’re, like, super understanding about everything.”

I make it a point not to glance at Griffin because his smugness rolls off of him in satisfied waves. “What about the uniform?” I ask. “Do they make you…?” My words trail off because I’m dangerously close to insulting her.

“Oh, they don’t mind that I let my cheeks show a bit.” She turns halfway around and gives a little shake of her ass, then smiles and leans in. “I make more tips than the girls who stick to the black pants and boring checkered shirt combo, you know?” She shrugs. “If you got it, flaunt it, right? College doesn’t pay for itself.” She smiles sweetly and looks back and forth between us, then adds, “You want me to get you an application?”

“No, that’s fine… I’ll, uh, apply online! Sorry to keep you.”

“No worries! I hope you get the job.”

When she’s gone, I finally look at Griffin.

He smiles. “College doesn’t pay for itself, you know?”

Breathing deeply through my nose, I shake my head. “Fine. No one forced her to wear those shorts.”

“So you were wrong in your assumption.”

“That’s what I just said.”

He nods. “And you were wrong in assuming I wouldn’t know my own beer.” He motions toward the second taster, which I asked our server to pour secretly, trying to trip him up by having him taste one of my beers. It took some pleading, but she finally gave in.

“You know,” Griffin continues, “she could probably be suspended for pouring that.”

My mouth falls open. “You wouldn’t. It’s my fault. I asked—”

“Relax, Charlie. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

I narrow my eyes, still not sure I believe that.

“You got something else wrong, too.”

“Oh?” I ask, intrigued.

He leans forward, and his hand finds my thigh beneath the table. The heat from his palm sends a rush of desire through my veins, but when he squeezes my thigh, my breath catches in my throat.

“You said I misread the situation between us. But I can read just fine.” He guides his hand just a hair farther up my thigh. “From your quickness of breath, the way your eyes flash with desire when I do this”—he squeezes again—“to the way you lick your lips anytime I focus on them.” He drops his gaze and I—

Goddammit. I licked my lips.

I pull back and hop off the barstool, grabbing my purse from the hook beneath the table. “Excuse me.”

I hurry away from him toward the front of the brewery, then slip into the women’s restroom, closing the door behind me. My pulse races, my body buzzing from the touch of his hand, my belly tight in response to the way he makes me feel. The sound of his voice, the promise of his words, the look in his eyes.

Danger. Zone.

I lean over the sink and splash some cold water on my cheeks and neck, trying to bring my temperature down and possibly cool the burning desire pulsing through my veins. I let the cool water pour over the inside of my wrists for a few moments, jumping when the door opens. A woman enters the restroom and I laugh to myself, shaking my head.Silly girl. Like he’d just walk in here and throw you up against the wall!

I dry my hands on paper towels and dab the wetness from my face and neck, then leave the room, stepping into the little hallway.

Griffin’s waiting for me outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall with the confidence of someone who already has this in the bag. “I left money on the table to cover the tab.”

“I paid when I ordered.”

He inclines his head in deference. “Consider it a tip for risking her job for your little game.”

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