Page 10 of Betting Blind
The doorman thrusts my ID back into my hand, dismissing me. “Jack’s busy. He’ll get to you when he gets to you.”
Jeez.
A few bandana-covered heads turn my way, making me increasingly self-conscious. I stare curiously at the crowd of fifteen or twenty people loitering around the bar, and for a moment, I’m afraid another fight may break out. Squirming under scrutinizing eyes, I yank my little black shorts down a touch and move to find a seat at a table far enough away from any potential problems that may arise.
The longer I survey the front bar space, the more baffled I grow. The patrons are laughing with each other and having a good time, which means this isn’t an instance of lack of staff or poor management as I had previously thought. In fact, it’s almost as if they are patiently waiting for something.
As the thought strikes me, the crowd grows eerily quiet, and my head swivels as I dart my eyes around. I crane my neck to get a better view of what’s going on. From where I’m seated, I see Derrick and the other man step away from the swinging gate that allows entry to the inside of the bar space. They share twin smirks as they lean against the back bar, where row after row of varying liquors are displayed.
I jump out of my seat when the sudden sound of Jack’s repeated name sweeps throughout the room. Over and over again, they chant his name, and my pulse thunders in my ears when I catch sight of him moving to the main bar.
I’m in a trance, utterly swept away and dumbfounded by the brilliant smile spreading across his face. His black beard is trimmed about an inch in length, and it’s perfectly edged, giving his face sharp angles. His ice-blue eyes practically glow in the dim setting as he spreads his ink-covered arms out in a welcoming gesture. A chill races over my body at the sight of him laughing with the crowd.
Men and women slap the bar, hooting and hollering and throwing cash all over the long wooden counter.
What the hell?
He steps to one side of the bar, pumping everyone up by lifting his arms, and then he repeats the same motion on the other side. His movements are fluid and easy as he soaks up the attention from those around him.
Where’s the asshole I’ve had the pleasure of meeting?
There’s no trace of him in this man. No, this man exudes confidence and sex appeal, andboy,is it appealing.
The man beside Derrick hits a button under the bar, and a heavy guitar rift drifts across the room. Jack jumps up on the bar with ease, and unlike the night he offered me a job, I allow my eyes the pleasure of skimming their way down to his strong legs, clad in faded jeans that have me gripping the table tightly. Derrick tosses him a bottle of Grey Goose and with a crooked grin, Jack swiftly begins to flip the slender bottle around, juggling it. The effortlessness of his movements tells me he’s done this a time or two, and now it makes sense as to why there are so many people gathered here tonight.
My head moves right and left, up and down as my eyes try to keep their focus on the object. He’s moving so fast it becomes a blur, and the crowd chants for him to add another bottle. He obliges when the handsome bartender I haven’t met throws him a bottle of Absolute vodka. They roar their approval, and I’m stunned into paralysis.
Jack continues tossing the bottles around to the music and laughs with his fans. He quickly changes pace to a trick where he moves his left arm straight out in a sweeping motion and tosses the other bottle under and over his extended arm, catching that bottle in his right hand. He then sends the left bottle back up into a smooth, simple juggle, tossing the bottles seamlessly between both hands.
The way he’s able to interact with the people around him, hardly glancing at the effortlessness of what he’s doing, amazes me. He tosses the bottle of Absolute high into the air, and I gape as it turns end over end. I lean forward in my chair, afraid that he may fall or not make the catch. I can almost see the bottle crashing down on top of the bar, shattering glass over everyone surrounding him. I can barely stay seated as he winks to a woman at the front of the line and spins around quickly, reaching his arm up in time to catch the bottle, and follows the movement fluidly into a bow.
A rush of air escapes my relieved lungs as cheering erupts throughout the place. Jack turns to Derrick, sharing a laugh with his buddy, who gives him a hand off the bar. I hear Jack’s voice carry over the noise. “Micah, give these people some Fireball!” He slaps the darker man on the back, and Micah saunters off to retrieve the whisky.
Once I can no longer see him, I lean all the way back in my chair and refill my tortured lungs. The crowd disperses after their greedy hands swipe their shots of cinnamon whisky, and I’m left speechless by what I witnessed.
Derrick’s shoulders relax and he assumes the same callous look he wore the night we first met. As if he can feel my stare, his eyes roam over the space until they’re captured by mine. Giving me a slight nod, he turns and makes his way out of the main bar and slips into the back.
I’ve got to admit, this is the weirdest job interview I’ve ever had.
I tear up a stray napkin that was left on the table into a million tiny pieces as time slips by. After twenty minutes of waiting, I’m about to jump ship and say forget it when I see the man of the hour make his way toward me.
“Welcome back, pup.” He swings the chair at the opposite end of the table around so he’s straddling it, draping one tattooed forearm lazily across its back. I resist the urge to squirm when his blues blaze a trail down my body.
Instead, I casually gather my hair in my hands and pull the strands over my left shoulder, absently twisting the ends. It’s something I tend to do when I’m uncomfortable, but I’m hoping he doesn’t notice my nervous habit. The exposed skin of my neck burns hot under his gaze before he quickly flicks his eyes back up to mine.
The first few buttons of the white dress shirt he’s wearing are undone, showing off more of his hidden art, and if I were a betting woman, I would say it spreads over the entire surface of his broad chest. For the first time, I notice ink stretching up both sides of his neck, but I can’t quite make out the images. I force my hand to still, blocking the urge to reach across and pull the fabric down lower.
Jack is a strange character. He’s gruff but charismatic, tough yet playful. It’s hard not to be drawn to him or those full, sexy lips. Lips that carry the barest hint of a Texas twang. “You can stare at me all night if you want to, but I can’t pay you for it.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I practically sputter, deciding to ask the question on my mind. “Do you always dress nicer than your employees?”
Continuing to study me, he leans away from the chair, and cocks his head, unsure of what to make of me. Under his gaze, a dark veil of emotion shifts over his face, and I’m startled by the sudden mood swing. “I dress up on the nights I perform.” Is the only explanation he’s willing to offer. The playful Jack who put on an incredible performance not so long ago is gone. “Do you want the job or not?”
I huff a laugh. “Do you feed all your new hires that line? Because let me tell you, it’s a winner.” I hear someone close by snicker, and it’s hard for me to keep a straight face when Jack is obviously irritated. If he’s so easy to rile up, then this is going to be fun.
His face is made up of strong, harsh angles, and his brows cut in tight with a frown. Placing my palms on the table, I speak firmly. “Jack, I think we both know exactly what we need.” I sit forward in my chair to pin the word “need” under my finger against the cheap wood.
The accidental innuendo causes me to flush, and he shifts in his chair, casually running a hand through his dark hair that’s still damp with sweat. I unsuccessfully deny the warm sensation tingling its way down my spine.
