I feel like a fucking tool.

The last time I wore a damn dress shirt and tie was for my grandfather’s funeral.

I nearly chickened out when I caught sight of my mottled reflection peering back at me in the metal of the elevator door on the ride up to Callie’s apartment. It seemed to mock me, reminding me that I’m just a damn bartender.

I hesitated to ring her doorbell moments earlier, questioning why I volunteered for this.

Because Callie cares about this. And you care about Callie.

The past few weeks have been great. More than great. I’m fucking Betty Sunshine over here walking on a cloud and shit. Grayson’s given me grief over it, but I honestly don’t care.

And now I need to keep it all in check and meet the two people who terrify Callie. Even if I can’t take my eyes off her.

Because holy shit. I felt myself weaken at the sight of her in the dress that’s so clearly not her style. I don’t like the fact that she has to change herself just for her parents, but I don’t mention this.

Callie pastes a smile to her face and tugs open the door. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” She backs away to allow them to enter.

Her parents stride in, bypassing Callie, and don’t appear to register my presence. I’m not certain her mother can turn her nose up any higher in the air. A look of distaste crosses her face. Damn. Callie wasn’t kidding.

“Callie, dear. Why did you not insist on your landlord repainting this place a more pleasant shade of taupe?”

“I’ll get right on that.” Callie’s spine visibly stiffens, but she grips my hand and says, “Mom, I’d like you to meet Reid.”

When the woman turns to face me, I falter for a beat. She’s a near carbon copy of Callie, albeit a slightly older version.

“Is this the boyfriend you mentioned was accompanying us, darling?”

My gaze flies to Callie’s, and she has that deer in the headlights look. “Uh…”

We haven’t talked labels. Although I can’t say I dislike the sound of Callie being my girlfriend. It has a nice ring to it.

Later, I muse internally. I’ll give her shit for it later. God knows, I enjoy getting Callie riled up.

She sidles up to me. “Reid, this is my mother, Clara.”

Callie’s mother holds out a hand to me, and I’m not entirely sure if I’m expected to kiss the top of her hand and bow or what. I choose to give it a simple, gentle shake and quickly release my grasp.

Her father steps up. “Reid, son.” He reaches for my hand, and we shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Martin.” His handshake is firm, and his gaze is as hard as granite. He’s already decided I’m not good enough for his daughter.

This is going to be a hell of a long night.

“Let’s get downstairs and take the car over to Denofrio’s, shall we?” Callie’s tone is full of faux perkiness, but I’d bet my life no one notices it aside from me.

My brain snags on the words “the car,” as in her family has a car service?

“Yes, let’s.” Callie’s mother looks at her husband, and I swear, the woman raises her nose in the air. “Shall we?”

Shall we? Jesus. And I thought I’d served my share of uppity patrons.

We file behind Clara and Martin, but just as we approach the door, Callie tugs on my arm. When I peer down, her attention is fixed on her parents who are now stepping into the hallway.

“I just remembered something. We’ll meet you two downstairs. I’ll be quick.”

Clara purses her lips in obvious distaste. “Do be quick, darling. We don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, Mother.” Callie closes the door and carefully, quietly, turns the lock.

Slowly, as if marching to execution on death row, Callie turns to face me, the door at her back. Her gaze starts at my freshly shined wingtips, trailing up my tailored pants to the front of my button-down shirt that’s stifling as hell since I’m not used to wearing a tie. Beneath the weight of her silent perusal, uneasiness and insecurity edges its way in, making me wonder if I pass muster. I smooth a hand down my sleek tie.

The only tie I own.

“Is my—”

Callie wraps her fingers around the tie, abruptly cutting off my question. She lifts to her toes and gives one swift tug to bring me close to press her lips to mine.

My hands instantly fly to her hair, and I can’t withhold the groan that sounds in the back of my throat at how silky her mahogany tresses feel as I twine my fingers through them. I cage her in against the door and fit my body to hers, angling my mouth to deepen the kiss.

The instant my tongue sweeps inside to sensually spar with hers, I wonder how long her parents will wait downstairs. How long they’ll give us, and if I have enough time to slip my hands beneath her dress and touch her once again. If I can make her cry out my name as she rides my fingers.

The sound of a cell phone buzzing breaks through the haziness of lust that surrounds us, and our lips part. We stare back at one another, both still a touch breathless, and she reaches up to place her hand over the one I still have in her hair.

“I need to answer that.” Her voice is muted, but she doesn’t move. Her gaze volleys back and forth between my lips and my eyes. One corner of her mouth hitches upward slightly. “Otherwise, they’ll come up here, and we don’t want that.”

I untangle my fingers from her hair and quickly try my best to smooth it. Her sable hair is down in soft, touchable waves, caressing her shoulders lovingly, and at once, I’m jealous.

I’m jealous. Of her fucking hair.

I’m so screwed.

Finally, with a grateful smile, she moves around me to grab her cell phone from the small entryway table beside a small clutch purse.

I focus on the small scratch on the top left of the door, attempting to will away my hard-on. Vaguely, I hear Callie murmur something, speaking quickly on the phone. Once it falls quiet again, her heels sound as she approaches me.

“Ready?”

I don’t know what I dislike more. The way she acts around her parents or her tentative, unsure tone with me right now.

Dragging in a fortifying breath, I turn and hold out an upturned palm. “Shall we, Rainbow?”

This is the moment her expression transforms. At my teasing and poking fun at her parents as well as the mention of the nickname I’d given her, her lips curve upward into a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. There are no shadows within them. Instead, they’re shining, alight with amusement. And that—all that—is so damn beautiful. Not the dress, not the makeup, not her hair. Just...her.

And it fucking robs me of breath.

“We shall,” she murmurs before placing her hand in mine.

We head down to meet her parents, and a small thought niggles in the back of my mind.

Tonight, things will change.

I’m just not entirely certain it’ll be for the better.

* * *

“So tell me, Reid.” Martin casually swirls his three fingers of scotch, leveling his stony gaze on me. “Is bartending fulfilling?”

My eyes flicker to his glass. Scotch on the rocks—with multiple ice cubes, no less. His pretentious attitude is getting on my nerves. Not to mention, Clara sent her blackened salmon back three times because it was either “not blackened enough” or “too blackened.”

Tonight has been enlightening. To say that this night has served as further proof that Callie and I are lightyears apart and come from opposite worlds is a vast understatement.

I lean back in my chair, confident for the first time tonight. Because fuck it. These people don’t matter to me. I have nothing to prove to them. The only person’s opinion that matters at the moment is Callie’s. And she’s been staring at her risotto for the past fourteen and a half minutes.

“It is. I’ve learned a lot and not only about beer.” I nod toward his glass. “Take your scotch, for example. You’re never supposed to drink it with ice; only a splash of water to open the flavors of the scotch itself.”

Martin’s features tighten because I’d bet not many people dare to correct him. He glares at me and lifts his glass to his lips. “I’ll take that into consideration, Reid.”

Meaning: Fuck off.

“Callie, darling.” Clara moves her salmon around on her plate. “When are you going to come to work for your father? What about our arrangement?”

Callie visibly stiffens beside me at that word. I don’t know what the hell her mom is talking about, but it’s obviously a big deal. “I’m holding up my end of the deal. I still have my management position at the bar.” Her lips press together firmly, and she lowers her gaze to her barely eaten plate of food. “I’ve told you about this numerous times.”

“But you can’t possibly enjoy it,” Clara scoffs. “I mean, do they offer a 401K? Do they have the reputation that your father’s firm has?” With that, she tosses her head back in a laugh that grates my nerves. “Surely not.”

“They do for those who are vested after a year and are full time.”

All eyes swing to me. Dammit. The words just spewed forth. I couldn’t bear to sit here and have her mother ridicule her one more minute.

“And you, Reid,” Martin starts. Fuck. Now I’ve painted a damn target on my chest. “You own a house of your own? Any properties?”

I know exactly what he’s getting at. But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to let some stuffy suit who thinks his shit don’t stink put me down in front of an audience.

“I live in an apartment because I’m saving up to eventually open my own place.”

His eyebrows rise and nearly hit his hairline. He turns to his wife, and his tone drips with sarcasm. “Did you hear that, dear? He’s saving up to open his own bar.”

The way he says the word “bar” makes it sound like I plan to open a damn whorehouse.

Clara flashes an empty smile. “That’s…lovely.”

I finger the butter knife at my place setting and clench my jaw so hard I expect my damn molars to crack.

You know what? Fuck this. I’m doing this for Callie, but that doesn’t mean I have to put up with being talked down to and disrespected.

My lips part to say so, but much to my surprise, someone beats me to it.