“Don’t fuck with that girl, Masterson.”
It takes me a moment to get what she’s saying. My anger surges. “You think I’m fucking with her? What kind of asshole do you take me for?”
“An asshole who’ll do anything to win a bet.”
I shake my head in disgust. “Then I guess you really don’t know me.” But whose fault is that? I’ve been so angry these past few months that I’ve made playing the dick card an art. It’s no surprise that she’d think the worst of me. Her eyes fill with guilt when she hears the force behind my words. I lean closer and lower my voice. “I’m not fucking with her, okay? She’s the kind of girl that Sabrina used to trash. I don’t know why I want to be nice to her. I just do.”
“Sorry,” she says. “I can be a real jerk sometimes.”
Although Britt knows about the rape charges and my bitterness toward Sabrina, I’ve told her very little about our relationship, other than she was a first-class bitch even before the false accusation. I grin. “No shit.”
She flashes me a smile in return before getting serious again. “But be careful with that girl, Ben. If you’re too nice to her, she’s not going to understand when you don’t ask her out. I think it’s sweet that you want to help build her self-esteem, but be careful.”
Sensing the truth in her words, I nod.
Her smile returns. “And don’t worry. I won’t tarnish your rep as a dickhead by letting people know that you actually have a soul.”
I roll my eyes.
“So we good?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.
“Of course.”
I put in the group’s order for appetizers and make their drinks. I’m about to take their order to the table when the door opens and a group of people walks in the door, laughing and talking loudly.
Brittany looks up as she’s pouring a draft beer.
I recognize this group immediately. They’re the theater kids who came in the night before. They stuck together while they were here, tipped well. But I’m kidding myself by pretending I’m not looking for one of their number in particular. I haven’t seen her yet.
My eyes are on the door as I put the drinks on the tray, so I’m watching when it finally opens and she runs through it. The guy she was with last night is close behind, and he snags her hand and pulls her back to him. They shut the door and join their group.
“What’s the story with her?” Brittany asks, standing behind me.
I look away. “Who?”
“Don’t play stupid with me,” she says with a laugh. “We both know who. What’s the story?”
I shake my head and scowl. “There’s no story. They’re the cast and crew from the theater down the street. Their play has a two-night run. They came in last night and they’re back tonight.”
“And…?”
“And nothing.” I try to get around her, but she blocks my path. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“That’s bullshit. I saw you talking to her when you took her order, then you watched her for the rest of the night. What’s her name? You at least have to know that,” she teases.
I press my lips together in irritation. “Alexa. Now get out of my way, or I’m going to blow my tips from the rowdy bachelorette party.” I lift an eyebrow. “Or is that your plan?” I try to sound pissed, but we both know I’m on the defensive.
She scoffs and steps aside. “As if I needed any help. Get to it.” She smacks me on the ass as I pass by.
The ladies are happy to see me and the band begins to set up while I’m setting their glasses on the table.
The theater group is at the next table and I keep stealing glances. Alexa is sitting next to the guy who escorted her inside and there’s a notable change in the way they’re interacting tonight. His hand rests high on her upper thigh and she’s not brushing it off. Something about her is different too…there’s a confidence that wasn’t there before.
Why I give a rat’s ass is beyond me, yet I do. I’m not jealous, more like intrigued. Something about this girl has crawled under my skin since she burst in the door with her friend the night before. She took in the room with a gaze that said everything she saw was hers to be conquered. Next she intrigued me with her ambitious summer program. Then when she went out onto the dance floor, she caught the attention of every human in the room in possession of a pair of balls. Perhaps she’s a siren.
I nearly choke on my own thought. When did I turn into a romantic?
I head back to the bar, but then turn on my heels. I’m already over here. I might as well take the orders for the theater group’s table and keep all the tips. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as my feet carry me to the table where she’s sitting.
“How was tonight’s performance?” I ask, trying to not stare at her. Her black hair is a sharp contrast to her pale skin and startling blue eyes. I now worry that this was a bad idea because my eyes are drawn to her, as if I can’t control myself.
Look at someone else, idiot.
I tear my gaze away and find her friend, the girl who came to the bar to get her last night, and focus on her. She’s pretty and she likes the attention I’m giving her. She was alone then, and I don’t see a guy with her tonight either. Unattached. Good choice.
“Great!” is the group’s enthusiastic response.
I take their orders, sneaking glances at Alexa, but she’s too busy looking at the guy she’s with to even notice. What the fuck is wrong with me?