Page 8 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
"You need lingerie," Susie counters. "The good stuff. The kind that makes you feel powerful even if no one sees it."
"It's just dinner!"
"Keep telling yourself that, boss." She pours me a generous glass of red. "But that man has plans for you. Good plans. Dirty plans. The kind of plans that end with you forgetting your own name."
I take a large sip of wine, trying not to think about Jason's hands. His voice. The way he commanded my attention without raising his voice.
When someone makes you feel safe enough to drop your guard, you let them catch you.
The question is: am I brave enough to fall?
CHAPTER 3
Wednesday night should be perfect. The bar is closed, I have a date with a man who makes my knees weak, and the Naughty Girls Book Club has spent two hours this afternoon styling me like I'm starring in my own romance novel. And they are convinced that I am. One of the types our favorite author, RJ, writes. Not a regular vanilla romance, but a ‘Daddy Dominant meets his perfect submissive’ romance novel. The kind I believed didn’t come to fruition until several other members happened to find their very own Daddies.
Instead, I'm standing in my bar at 6:47 PM, staring at my son while broken glass glitters around our feet like fallen stars.
"It's bullshit, Mom!" Josh's face is flushed, his eighteen-year-old righteousness in full force. "You can't just start dating some random guy!"
"First of all, language." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Second, I'm forty-two years old. I don't need your permission to have dinner with someone."
"Dad's only been gone?—"
"Five years." The interruption cracks like a whip. "Your father has been gone for five years, Joshua. And he would want?—"
"Don't." Josh's voice breaks. "Don't you dare tell me what Dad would want."
The front door chimes.
Of course.
Of fucking course Jason arrives early, because the universe has a sick sense of humor.
He takes in the scene in one sweep. Josh's defensive stance, my carefully styled hair now falling from its pins, the broken beer bottle Josh knocked off the bar in his anger.
"Everything alright?" His voice is calm, neutral.
"Fine," I say.
"Fucking perfect," Josh spits at the same time.
"Joshua Michael Mitchell." I've reached the end of my rope. "You do not speak that way in my establishment."
"Your establishment?" Josh laughs, but it's bitter. "Right. Your bar. Your rules. Your new boyfriend."
"I'm not—" I start, but Jason steps forward.
"You must be Josh." He extends a hand. "Jason Schaeffer. I'm consulting with Dale Morrison on the new winery."
Josh ignores the offered hand. "I know who you are."
"Then you know I'm not trying to replace anyone." Jason's tone remains even, but I catch the steel underneath. "I'm just taking your mother to dinner. Respect isn't optional, here. Especially when it comes to your mother."
The authority in Jason's voice makes both Josh and me freeze. It isn't loud or aggressive, just absolutely certain.
"You don't get to tell me?—"
"I'm not telling you anything." Jason moves closer to me, not quite touching but close enough that I feel his warmth. "I'm observing that you're upset, which is understandable. But taking it out on your mother by breaking things and cursing? That's not acceptable."
