CHAPTER NINE
Raven
Crazy grandmother.
Randy aunt.
Inquisitive uncle.
Sexy Parker.
No fucking bra.
Check, check, check, check, motherfucking check.
I was so over today. It had to have been the worst day of my entire goddamn life. Well, that was probably an exaggeration, but it was pretty close.
The worst part was when I’d gotten dressed this morning, I hadn’t even thought about putting a bra on. There wasn’t one on my bed when I’d gone back upstairs to put it on after Parker had pointed it out.
I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to put a bra on and nobody had told me. What the hell was wrong with the people in my life? Not that I was complaining, exactly. It was a Saturday morning, after all, but Parker had been all up in my business with some dirty words.
Dirty words and braless weren’t exactly the dream team combination when you didn’t want the speaker of said dirty words to know you thought he was hot or that you were affected by him in any kind of way. Any other time, perfect. They would have been besties. But not today. Not in my life. Not in the slightest.
I adjusted my now-present bra and headed to unlock the bar door. I’d seen people hanging around by the beach before I’d come downstairs, so although it was a little early, I wanted to put the sign outside and hopefully bring some customers in.
Thank god Wes was here. He’d saved me from having to have any more conversations with Parker. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to him after this morning. He’d actually told me he’d hate-fuck me on the kitchen counter right before stepping away like he’d asked me how my freaking day was going.
What did you say to someone after that?
Did I demand an apology? Maybe I should have—maybe I should. He was my employee and he had no right talking to me like that. But he was also my brother’s best friend and, well, it was the closest thing I’d had to a decent offer in a while.
By a-while, I meant six months.
My sex life was so dry it made the Sahara look like a freaking ocean.
That didn’t mean what he’d said to me was okay. Never mind that the prospect of it flashed through my mind for a moment. Clearly not wearing a bra had been impairing my judgment this morning.
Right now, I was just thankful I’d managed to convince my family to go somewhere else until dinner rolled around. I’m pretty sure Yia-Yia had said something about a nap on her way out, but I’d seen that woman nap, and if riding a horse bareback was the only place she could sleep, she’d do it. God only knew where they were or what hell they were unleashing upon Whiskey Key, but I didn’t much care as long as they weren’t unleashing it in Dirty.
I pushed open the door to the bar and reached back for the sign. The wooden feet dragging against the bar floor screeched like nails on a chalkboard, making me wince as the sharp sound danced across my skin. I shook it off as I grabbed the chalk pens and a damp cloth.
It was Saturday, and I felt like doing a special to counteract the hellish day I’d been having. It took me only minutes to decorate the board, complete with a drawing of a cocktail.
The door opened behind me.
““Buy one Dirty Screw, get one half-price!”” Parker read over the top of my head. “Is this a bar or a brothel?”
“A murder site,” I muttered, capping the orange pen and standing up. “It’s quirky. That’s the whole point. It makes you stop.”
He pouted out his bottom lip before tilting his head to the side. “If I had to buy sex, I’d definitely be stopping to check out this offer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just being annoying. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like your job?”
“I can’t think of anything better to do than piss you off, hotshot.”
I looked at the board. I was going to ignore him. “Damn it, I should have said buy a Filthy Hooker and get a Dirty Screw for half-price.”
Parker choked on a laugh. “What the fuck is a Filthy Hooker?”
“Jack Daniels, tequila, and coke.”
“Do you put tequila in everything?”
“A good three-quarters of my drinks. I like tequila. It’s kind of my thing.”
“Your thing? Is that like big hair was an eighties thing and pot was a sixties thing?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure pot is just a ‘thing.’ It didn’t exactly go out of fashion the way neon leg warmers and over-crimped hair did.”
“Fair point.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out over at the beach. “Is tonight going to be as wild as last night?”
I shook my head and gripped hold of the pens tightly. “No, we have the right number of staff tonight. Don’t worry. You won’t be dragged into being my bar bitch tonight.”
He laughed. “It was pretty fun. I didn’t know you could mix drinks that fast.”
“Ah.” I smiled and backed up to the door. “That’s why I use tequila in everything.”
“Lazy bartending.”
“Do you want a Filthy Hooker?”
“Will I get the Dirty Screw?”
“No. The Dirty Screw offer is for Dirty Screws. You have to buy one of those first, but it’ll cost you.”
“How much.”
“Like eight bucks. They’re cheap.”
His laughter followed me into the bar. I walked around the back as he pulled out a stool and spun it between his legs.
“All right,” he said. “Get me a Filthy Hooker.”
I reached for the cocktail shaker, then paused. “Do you want a Wet Filthy Hooker, or just a Filthy Hooker?”
His eyes flashed with amusement as those goddamn full lips tugged to one side in a smirk. “What’s the difference?”
I held out my hands and waited.
“I might regret this. A Wet Filthy Hooker.”
I grabbed a shot glass with one hand, lifting it to the optical on the Jack Daniels bottle, and picked up the tequila bottle with the other. I topped the JD with the tequila, added a dash of lemon juice, and set the double-measure shot on the bar in front of him.
Parker picked up the glass with his finger and thumb. “Am I allowed to drink this on the job?”
“Can you handle your liquor?”
“Not as good as I can handle a woman, but well enough.”
He was so fucking cock-sure of himself, it was almost too much. “Yeah, well down that and see if you can handle a Wet Filthy Hooker.”
He met my eyes and held my gaze as he lifted the glass to his unfairly pink lips and threw back the shot. He’d barely swallowed it when he shuddered, and I grinned, sweeping the glass up.
“Motherfucker,” he whispered, banging his chest. “That’s strong.”
“That’s why she’s a wet one.” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as Sienna walked in.
She glanced at us. “What did you give him?”
My smile widened.
“A Wet Filthy Hooker?” She shook her head. “How’s he going to cook tonight?”
I held up my hands. “He insisted he could handle it. If he can’t, Wes is up for a promotion.”
“Shut up and get me water,” Parker demanded. “You’re not giving the kid my job, and you know it.”
I pulled a glass off the shelf behind me. “You’re the one who’s drinking on the job.”
“Doesn’t count when your boss gives you the alcohol.”
“Are you at work?”
“I’m on a break. Double doesn’t count.”
Setting the glass of water in front of him on the bar, I raised my eyebrows. “Someone could have a gun to your head and you’d talk your way out of them shooting you, wouldn’t you?”
He flashed me a half-smile, picking up the water. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Sienna said, smiling in Parker’s direction in a way that was a little too friendly. Her gaze lingered a little too long even though he didn’t turn to look at her.
“Si, I didn’t get a chance to sort the delivery since my family showed up for breakfast this morning and it took forever to get rid of them.” I gripped the edge of the bar and leaned into it. “Could you go out to the cellar and get it sorted for me?”
“Sure.” She shrugged off her light cardigan, finally dragging her gaze away from Parker. “Do you need anything out here?”
A glance at the fridge told me I did. “Orange juice. Dirty Screws are on special so make sure it’s easy to grab. When Katie gets here, she’ll have to keep an eye on it.”
She gave me a thumb up before she disappeared back to the cellar.
Seconds after she disappeared, Parker said, “You’re pretty obvious, you know that?”
I swung my attention from the hall Sienna just walked down to him. “That doe-eyes at work aren’t acceptable? I don’t pay her to ogle you, Parker. I pay her to get shit done.”
His lips twitched up to the side once again, and the stool scraped against the floor when he got up and kicked it back under the lip of the bar. “That may be so, but that’s not what’s obvious.”
I gave him an “Oh, really?” look. “Then enlighten me as to what is.”
He opened his mouth right as the bar door opened to a group of five women and two guys. “Breaks over.” He smirked and pushed back into the kitchen.
I glared after him for a second before turning to my customers.
I’d be annoyed with him later.
For now, I had to work.
***
“Katie, I need shot glasses!” Sienna yelled a few feet away from me.
I didn’t know when it’d gotten so busy, but it was only eight and the bar was packed. Granted, fifteen or so of those people were related to me, but I didn’t know how they could stand it. I’d had to turn up the music when people started coming in and gravitating toward the dance floor. Hell, I’d had to have Wes come out since the kitchen was quieter just to move tables to free up the dance floor.
As Katie waved in acknowledgment while running another food order out to the kitchen, I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. The bar, the weekend club atmosphere, and now food. Was I doing too much? Dirty was a big bar, but was I trying to cram too much into it?
Or did I just need another member of staff? Katie was good. She was barely twenty-one, but she’d never missed a shift in the six months she’d been working with me. Since she had no qualifications as a mixologist, only Sienna and I really worked the bar, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be taught. She’d shown interest.
I poured a jug of Dirty Screw and threw some extra orange slices into it.
Maybe I should give Katie more hours. There was no doubt how helpful it would be to have one more person around.
I’d also get a little time off.
“Your grandmother wants a Slick Lovestick.”
I blinked and looked at my dad. “I’m starting to rethink the names of my cocktails.”
His grimace said it all.
And there I was, thinking the names would have been too much for Yia-Yia. Apparently, she was embracing my list. She’d already had herself a Ball Buster and a Tit Toppler.
I didn’t know she could hold her liquor as well as she could.
“What does she think of the food?” I asked Dad as I reached for the Chardonnay bottle.
“She thinks it’s pretty damn good, not that she plans on telling Parker that anytime soon.”
I hid my smile. Yep. That sounded like Yia-Yia. She’d spend the next few days telling him how to make his food better, make him recook her the exact same dishes, then tell him they were just fine the first time—but who wants just fine?
I wanted to bet that he knew exactly what she was going to do and was going to humor her, but she didn’t know that.
It was always fun to watch her torture someone other than me.
I topped the Slick Lovestick—named after a dare—with lemonade and handed my dad the glass. “Do you need anything?”
“A ride home.” He took the glass and disappeared.
I laughed. I knew he was going to say that.
The next two hours passed in a blur of drinks, food, and orders on top of orders. There wasn’t much to do except run back and forth constantly, including fulfilling my family’s orders for what I was starting to think of as my inappropriately named cocktails.
Nobody wanted their slightly tipsy, fifty-something aunt asking for a pounding for her pussy. No matter how many times my uncle told her it was a Pussy Pounder and she had one, she insisted it was a pounding for her pussy.
She wasn’t wrong. She just rearranged the words.
Aunt Alexa came to the bar, her arm through my mom’s. “Thank you for pussy pounding,” she slurred, grinning wildly. “You must share recipe.”
“You got it, Aunt Alexa. I’ll write it down for you.”
“Now!” She threw her arm in the air, almost punching the guy next to her in the face. “Oh!” She turned and cupped his face and apologized in Greek.
My mom managed to pull her away in a flurry of apologies and a high-pitched scream that she planned to call me.
Oh, joy.
I, meanwhile, turned to the guy my aunt almost punched. “I’m so sorry. My aunt just got in from Greece yesterday, and I don’t think jet lag and cocktails mix,” I said, leaning forward slightly.
He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Can I get a Slutwhisperer for my friend’s girlfriend?”
“Sure. Normal or sexy?”
“I’m sorry?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “A Sexy Slutwhisperer has vodka as well.”
“Oh.” He looked over his shoulder but apparently not finding his friend, shrugged. “Make it a sexy one. I’m sure my friend won’t complain.”
“Sure.” I grabbed a shaker.
“Are you still serving food?”
“Sorry, the kitchen closed an hour ago. There are some great little places around here, though.” I talked through mixing.
“It’s all good. I heard you were looking for kitchen staff. Is the owner around?”
“You’re speaking to her.” I flashed a small over my shoulder.
He laughed. “Well, that was easier than I thought. Are you still hiring?”
I held up two fingers as I blended the raspberries and threw in the other ingredients. I grabbed a tall glass and scooped ice into it before answering. “I think we’re actually good right now, but I know the two guys my chef hired are on a trial, so there’s always a chance. Twelve-fifty, please.”
He handed over fifteen dollars. “Keep the rest. Can I leave my name and number with you in case a position opens up? I’m staying in Key West with family, so I’ll be around all summer.”
“You can leave it with me.” Parker stepped up beside me and held his hand out to the guy. “Parker Hamilton, executive chef. Raven, do you have a pen and paper?”
I hit the button on the register for some plain receipt paper and handed it to him with a pen. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” He winked at me and put the stuff down in front of the unnamed—yet cute—guy. “Write down your details and I’ll get in touch.”
I side-eyed him. Why would he be in touch? Was there a problem with one of the guys in the kitchen?
Parker and the guy exchanged a few more words before the guy grabbed the drink he’d ordered and held a hand up to me in goodbye. I smiled and returned the gesture, then immediately gave Parker my attention.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I told him. I walked down the bar and grabbed Sienna. “Are you good for five minutes?”
She nodded, a shaker in each hand. “It’s quieter. Everything all right?”
“Fine and fucking dandy,” I answered, leaving her staring after me with her eyebrows shooting up. “You,” I said to Parker. “With me.” I didn’t wait before I stormed into the kitchen and caught a shocked Wes’s eye. “You’re good to go, Wes, thanks.”
He nodded and headed out to the bar. He’d changed and had his stuff nearby, so he met Parker on the way through.
“What,” I said the moment the door shut, “Was that?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “That was me taking details for a section I hire.”
“And he couldn’t give me his details because?”
“Because he was making an obvious play to give you his number.”
My eyebrows shot up. “And you know this how?”
“Because it’s the oldest trick in the fucking book. Give your number to the hot girl behind the bar and hope she calls it and invites you for a job interview,” he said, his tone flat. “Pretty sure I made that up before I’d even fucking graduated.”
“Why does it matter to you if he gives me his number? Did you consider I might have wanted it?”
He stops with his mouth open. If he had a response, he changed his mind about saying it. Instead, he stared me down. He locked his gaze onto mine and holds it, the intensity of his dark eyes too much to keep looking at, yet too compelling to turn away from.
We stayed like this, a silent battle of wills, for a good minute. Neither of us moved or spoke, almost as if time had frozen, suspending us in it. There were plenty of places to move to, but no room to go. I was locked entirely on him, held in his space by nothing more than one stare I couldn’t help meeting.
“You want his number?” Parker’s voice was low, yet it sliced through the silence as if it were a scream. “Here.”
My heart skipped as he closed the distance between us in a few long strides. He stopped only inches away from me and held the small, torn-off sheet out for me.
I didn’t want the guy’s number.
But I took it anyway. Just to make a point.
His eyes searched mine with the closer distance, and I couldn’t help but notice the amber flecks that speckled the dark brown of his irises. They glinted gold when the light caught them right, and momentarily, I was struck by how handsome he actually was. Not only was the color of his eyes mesmerizing, they were surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes I’d give my left ovary for. Even the mole just below his right eye, in the corner, added to the perfection when it had no right to.
My heart didn’t just skip. It sprinted, beating wildly against my ribs, trying to outrun itself even though there was nowhere to go.
I wanted Parker Hamilton.
I wanted him to kiss me just so I could see if his lips were as soft as they looked.
I wanted him to fist the back of my hair just to know if his grip on it would be as firm as it was when he held a knife.
I wanted him to sit me on the edge of the goddamn counter to see if he’d keep his word.
And it was wrong. It was so, so wrong.
“I can tell you all about him,” Parker said, his voice still low. “Call him, Raven.”
I hated the way my name rolled off his tongue.
“He’ll fuck you to get a job. Then he’ll tell you he doesn’t mix work with pleasure.”
I hated the way he said pleasure, with a low inflection at the end.
“And when he’s bored, he’ll move on until something challenges him.”
I hated the smugness that tinted every word he said.
“The woman or the kitchen—it doesn’t matter. He’s not a career chef. If he were, he wouldn’t be buying drinks for his girlfriend and chatting you up at the same time.”
“His friend’s girlfriend,” I finally said, clearing my throat.
“I watched him walk to the bar. He was alone at a table with a girl who, seconds before, had kissed him.”
Shit. He had me there.
His lips curved into a smug little smirk I wanted to pluck right off his face.
“Don’t ever undermine my authority again,” I said, my voice matching his. “You won’t like what happens when you do.”
Parker took my chin in his hand, his thumb brushing the underside of my lower lip. “The next time I undermine your authority, you’ll be on your goddamn knees in front of me with my hand print on your ass.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.”
I smacked his hand away from me and forced myself not to look at his mouth. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t. “Get yourself the fuck out of here before I listen to the voice telling me to fire your ass for overstepping the line again.”
His hand fell to his side, and I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t what he said next. “If I didn’t respect your brother so much, you’d have a fucking good reason to fire me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that your brother is the only reason you’re not against that wall with your legs wrapped around my fucking waist.”
The words were a warning.
A threat.
Maybe even a promise.
“Try it,” I bluffed despite the shiver that tickled my spine. “See what happens if you do.”
He grabbed my wrist and pushed me to the wall right next to us. One hand fisted as he rested his knuckles on the wall near my hip, and the other flattened just above my head. He wasn’t touching me, but his breath fanned across my lips, making it seem as if he was.
I held his gaze. I wanted to look away, to stop this from happening, but I couldn’t. I refused to back down from whatever the hell this was. I didn’t know if his heart was beating anywhere near as fast as mine or if his stomach was flipping the same way mine was, but I could see what I wanted to see in the twitch of his jaw.
He was barely holding onto his self-control.
It was hanging by a thread, and one more word would snap it.
One more word, and it wouldn’t matter how much he respected my brother.
He’d kiss me anyway.
I didn’t give him the word.
He didn’t say it either.
He pushed off the wall, away from me, and stormed away without another word.
Heaviness lingered as I watched him go. A heaviness I didn’t want to feel. One I had no right to feel.
It was because of the situation. That was what I was going to tell myself. It wasn’t because his mouth had been inches from mine. No way.
I took a deep breath and headed back for the bar. Getting out there was the only thing I could do. It was busy enough that it would keep my mind off whatever the hell had just happened.
The noise and busyness of the bar hit me like a freight train. It was almost as if being inside the kitchen had been like another world. An alternate universe, actually.
“Raven?” Sienna asked, catching my eye. “You good?”
With a firm nod, I headed back to work.