Look Before You Jump (3 page)

I was surprised someone hadn’t sicced
security on my fast fanny.

The register clerk cast a knowing grin when I
handed over the confiscated items and asked her to ring them up
ASAP. The good sales chick even hid them between several other
items among my hang-up bag.

Somebody needed to give that girl a
raise.

Mom returned as the clerk finished
subtotaling the existing pile then added in the flowing pink dress
– probably something for church or the ladies Thursday luncheon.
Like a dutiful daughter, I then handed over the credit card to my
mother.

“You seem winded, Victoria,” my mother
observed. “Do you need to use my inhaler?”

I smiled. “I’m good, Mom. Just excited over
some new clothes.”

Am I a little dickens or what?

Don’t answer that.

Wednesday nights at the bar tended to rev up
kinda slow, the band’s music levels allowing orders placed in an
almost normal tone of voice. My boss slow to rev? Not so much. I
recognized the press of Grady’s warm lips across my bare shoulders.
Even though I knew it was coming at some point, it still made me
jump every time he snuck up on me like that.

“Nice to see you too, Grady,” I
responded.

Deep brown eyes penetrated mine like liquid
chocolate you just wanted to dive right into. A lopsided smile
tipped one edge of his mustache higher than the other. The man
oozed charm – and pheromones. He was gorgeous and knew it, but I
had a rule about tangoing between the sheets with the man who
signed my paycheck. Well, it’s direct deposit, but I’m still not
getting involved with the boss man – no matter how much my
noodle-like legs protested.

Grady trailed his finger lightly down my arm
as he leaned against the bar. “You can see more of me anytime ya
want, Vic. All ya gotta do is say the word.”

I shoved his hand away and busied finishing a
customer’s cocktail. “Some might construe this as sexual
harassment.”

“What would ya call it?” Grady’s husky voice
whispered in my ear.

I shivered and nearly dropped the drink as I
handed it over to the patron and collected payment.

Every night it was the same, this dance of
ours where Grady advanced and I retreated – like a waltz in two-two
time instead of three-four time. After the last two and a-half
years, I’d come to enjoy our little repartee. All in good fun
without letting things get complicated. Plus, on the rare occasion
when Grady didn’t start the evening out this way, I knew he was
pissed about something – or at someone. Sometimes I did things on
purpose just to get a rise out of him. Showed him I still held
some
power, even though he could fire my lily-white butt
anytime he wished.

I ignored his last question in favor of one
of my own. “What’ll you have tonight, boss?”

“The usual.”

Without glancing away from his stare, a flick
of the wrist to insert the shot glass into my cleavage before I
grabbed the Jack to pour. I’d perfected this little technique so
well I didn’t even have to see the glass to know when the whiskey
reached three fingers – and I never spilled a drop. It might
present too much temptation for Grady to mop up the drips from my
chest with his tongue. Or maybe that was too much temptation for
me.

The other side of Grady’s mustache joined the
first as he retrieved the glass from its resting place between my
boobs. The feather brush of his fingers against my skin sent chills
up my spine. He stared down the length of me before knocking back
the drink in one swallow.

“New dress?” Grady asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “A gift from my mom.”

Not quite a gift per se. Mom never would’ve
willingly purchased the strapless sheath that hugged me tighter
than a lover and pushed up my Texas-sized bosom until it was almost
spilling over the top of the black leather. We’d have to chalk this
one up to yesterday’s ingenious planning – or just downright
sneakiness.

Grady brought my musings back to the present
with another appreciative glance at my leather-clad cleavage. “Your
mom’s got good taste.”

If he only knew about my in-store sprint.
“Speaking of my mom, I’m gonna need off this Saturday night.”

That earned me a groan.

“Come on,” I prodded. “In two and a-half
years, when have I asked for a day off?”

“Countin’ last month?”

“Besides that.”

Grady pushed back his Stetson and rubbed a
hand across his forehead. “You’re killin’ me, Vic.”

“Everyone’s here on Saturdays. You’ve got Bud
and Wanker for behind the bar, and Rochelle and Baby can handle the
guys on the floor without me for once.”

“The guys come just to see what you’ll do
next.”

My turn to groan. The list of my Saturday
night antics was long and distinguished – or not. Dancing on the
bar in barely there skirts resulted in actual monetary bets placed
of Guess the Color of that Thong. Kissing contests, drinking
contests, and impromptu wet t-shirt contests from
accidental
beer spills completed my repertoire. Maybe it was time to come up
with some new material.

I turned the bottle of Jack upside down and
let two fingers of smooth whisky slide down my throat. Grady held
out his shot glass and joined me in downing another round.

“Was the dress a bribe to get ya to church on
Sunday?” Grady asked.

“You might say that,” I responded.

An exaggerated sigh. “Go make your mom happy
then.”

I gave Grady a kiss on the cheek. Then he
handed me the empty shot glass and left the bar area to mingle with
some of the regulars before heading to his office to do paperwork.
It gave me a chance to watch his tall, slender form from the
backside.

The back. I meant from the back.

A trio of guys sauntered over and sat along
the bar looking as ruffled as the Cowboys offensive line after a
quarterback sack. All three appeared frayed at the edges after long
days of slaving away in the corporate world, young egos bruised by
reality. Time to have a little fun.

“What’ll it be?” I began in my tired
bartender banter. Before any of them mumbled an order, I put up a
hand. “Wait. I’ll bet I can guess.”

That brightened their attention and earned me
a smile from one, a smirk of derision from another, and a
penetrating stare from the third.

“Prove it,” the third challenged.

Thing Three loosened his run-of-the-mill
cobalt tie and unbuttoned the two top buttons of his white Perry
Ellis dress shirt. The black straight-off-the-rack suit jacket
screamed department store, while black hair sported a classy cut
and style of one trying to impress his elders. The steady gaze from
blood-shot eyes and the firm line of the lips bespoke a customer
who knew how to play it cool and close to the chest while in the
midst of an all-nighter of poker – or chicken. A confident
character. Someone unafraid of facing life’s challenges.

I laid down a napkin in front of him and
leaned forward. His dark eyes didn’t leave mine even with my
pushed-up assets in view.

“Lawyer,” I began. “New associate with a big
name firm and equally big aspirations. Putting in the hours and
plan to make partner by the time you’re thirty.”

The stare never wavered, though a brow hiked
up ever so slight. “Nice.”

I’m pretty sure he meant my guess and not the
assets. I offered a grin before pulling away. “Though you might
consider having that suit tailored before your next court
appearance.”

His veneer cracked just enough to offer a
tilt of a smile in return. “I’ll do that. Now what about that
drink?”

Smooth and cool drink for a smooth and cool
customer. “Scotch on the rocks.”

That earned me a full-blown smile and a slap
on the bar. “Make it so, counselor.”

“How’d you do that?” Thing Two asked with an
incredulous smile.

“A good magician never shares her secrets,” I
said as I poured then handed over the drink.

“Okay, you’ve gotta do me next,” Thing Two
said in a silky and sexy voice.

Do him next? No problem.

Relaxed. Easy-going. Thing Two nonchalantly
rubbed his earlobe like a rabbit’s foot or some other good luck
charm. Deep impressions flattened his amber hair as if a pair of
glasses had sat there all day – or a headset. A kaleidoscope of
color meandered across the rumpled button-down with the sleeves
cuffed to his elbows. I’d noticed it hanging untucked from his
jeans before the trio had bellied up to the bar. A fun guy who
didn’t put on airs, with a voice made for television and a wardrobe
made for radio. I liked him already.

I wiped down the spot in front of him and
stared into cornflower-blue eyes before finalizing my decision. Too
comfortable in his own skin and not neurotic enough for television.
And with that voice?

“You’re in radio.”

Eyes widened before he threw his head back
with a husky laugh. “That’s uncanny.”

“So I’m right?”

“Creepily so. I do the
Live on the Drive
at Five
segment and all the other shit they throw at me down at
the station.”

“How’d you get on the air so early in your
career?” I asked as I popped the top of a Sam Adam’s Summer Ale and
set it before him.

Thing Two – no, Radioman – took a deep pull,
giving me a view of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down. The
movement sent tingles to my nether regions. And I’d thought his
voice was enough to curl my toes.

Yeah, I’d definitely be willing to do him
next. Hmm…

He finished the swig and stared at me over
the rim. “Must be my voice.”

“I’ll bet.”

The timbre had me purring already as I leaned
an elbow on the bar and rested my chin in my hand. Radioman
followed suit – and didn’t hesitate to let his gaze wander downward
before drawing up to mine again with a lazy grin.

“I’m still waiting,” Thing One called
out.

After breaking the trance Radioman had placed
me under, I wasn’t in the mood to size up the final patron. But one
glance told me this guy would be the easiest to peg.

Practiced smile didn’t reach calculating
eyes. Chilled but not yet glacial. Sell out his mother but not his
best friends – yet. Fair hair already thinning and plastered
against an oily forehead coupled with a clenched jaw bespoke the
stresses of middle management. The impeccably tailored
midnight-blue suit along with the still well-anchored tie gave new
meaning to the words
stiff
and
uptight
. Probably a
bit OCD – or a lot – but a definite hard drinker when the day’s
work was done. How else could this guy relax and forget the
misdeeds of the day?

“Jack and Coke,” I said. “Straight up for the
banker.”

“Make it a double,” Thing One commanded
without blinking. “And I’m in investments, not banking.”

“Oh really?” I challenged. “Where?”

Under the stare of friends, Thing One finally
squirmed. “I office out of First National.”

Raucous laughter filled their end of the bar.
I raised my hands in triumph after setting his drink on the
counter.

“I rest my case,” I said.

I didn’t even get the teeniest drop of
acknowledgement or praise – and little more than a paltry tip when
Thing One laid down his cash. Yep, cheapo banker dude. Won’t
hesitate to spend money to make himself look good but maintains a
death grip on the wallet around others. I’d hate to be his server
at a five-star restaurant.

The music level rose as I bopped my way down
the bar to help other customers. I loved my job. Besides Janine, I
felt like I had real friends for the first time in my life instead
of those plastic banana smiles and wimpy hugs followed by blazing
gossip I’d encountered growing up in the church.

Life was hard enough without the stage
performance every Sunday. Being noticed all of the time because of
personal affiliation and under constant scrutiny by the
holier-than-thou club made me suspicious of motive when anyone
tried to weasel their way into my world. I hated how cynical I’d
become, which was why I’d decided to make some serious changes in
my life. I wasn’t interested in riding the hypocrite train like my
dad or being fodder for gossip ala Mrs. De’Laruse. After all those
years, I’d bled enough from repeated back-stabbings by supposed
friends
.

Here at the club I’d found real friendships –
and the occasional one-night-stand. But I was finished with those.
For now. At least for a little while. In the club I felt at home.
At peace among the pulsating beat, the neon lights and the white
silk streams hanging down from the ceiling against the backdrop of
black walls. Grady had strategically placed the silk along the
ceiling close to the air vents so it writhed like ethereal specters
in the night.

I’d love to do something like it in my
apartment bedroom, but the look would be completely out of place in
my outdated hole. If I started on the bedroom, the whole place
would need a major overhaul, something I could scarce afford. The
landlord might not take too kindly to such an eclectic look either
if I ever moved out.

Now Mr. Yummy from Saturday night? I could
definitely see such a look fitting in with the industrial and sexy
motif of his condo.

“Hello again.”

“What’ll it be?” I started again in my
bartender banter.

Could’ve wiped the floor with my jaw when I
glanced up to see the hunky Saturday night sleepover companion
sidled up to the bar. The mussed hair looked just like it did when
I’d awakened Sunday afternoon to the walk of shame. But this time
the brown locks hung over his forehead instead of brushed away from
it. Definite GQ material screaming off the pages.

‘Cept this one was live and in the flesh –
with a sexy Aussie accent to boot. How could I have forgotten those
ice-blue eyes? A girl could get lost in them.