She’s not subtle.

At all.

Callie probably thinks she’s being covert, but when you work in a small place like On Tap, people pick up on things. Like when co-workers are whispering but immediately shut up when you turn the corner.

Or when a co-worker is standing near said corner and eyeing you analytically. Much like the way Bert got all squinty-eyed when he swore he could determine the secret ingredients in Tony’s special wing sauce.

Fail. Total fail.

Same goes with Callie.

Bert is currently sitting in his regular barstool at the corner of the bar. “How are those business classes going?”

I haven’t told anyone but Bert that I took an online business course to test out the waters with potentially opening my own bar someday. I finished up a few weeks ago, which was about the same time I was passed over for the raise.

“Done. Straight As.”

He smiles, displaying every tooth in his buckteeth dentures. Since my dad passed, Bert’s taken a special interest in me, always making sure I’m doing well and keeping up with things going on in my life. He claps his hand on the bar and says, “That’s my boy. Just make sure there’s a good stool for me to sit on at your new bar.”

“I’m a long way off from that. The bank isn’t too keen on giving me a loan.” I’ve saved a good chunk of change over the years, but nothing that I’d need to break ground on a new business.

“Time flies, my friend. Just make sure you’re doing something you love.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. Do I love it at On Tap? Well, the customers are great. My co-workers are more like family. But over the past year or so, I’ve wanted more than to just be the bartender. I haven’t told anyone, but I want something more of this, something to call my own.

I reach for a bar napkin and realize we’re almost out. After handing the guy his Jack on the rocks, I make my way to the back room to restock. Callie’s working on paperwork when I make it to the storage room.

“Hey, Reid?” she asks.

The corners of my mouth hitch upward at her sugary sweet tone. “Hey, Callie?” I parrot.

“I try to go to hot yoga on Wednesdays after work.”

I whip my head around and eye her warily, unsure of where she’s headed with her random comment. At her far too innocent smile, I refocus on the thick stack of napkins in my grasp, preparing to refill the dispensers on the bar.

“Sounds fascinating.” I have no clue what hot yoga is, but I assume it has something to do with the room temperature and is just as undesirable to me as the regular yoga.

“Well,” she hedges, “maybe you can join me sometime.”

I don’t bother to look over. “Think I’ll pass.” I lift weights at the gym with Grayson and run a few miles throughout the week. The idea of being in a hot studio while bending like Gumby doesn’t sound the least bit appealing.

She makes a derisive sound. “That’s not very nice. I’m trying to extend an olive branch here.” At the sound of her footsteps approaching, damn if my body doesn’t tense in anticipation of having her near me, closer, and within my arm’s reach.

Dammit. The memory of her coming all over my fingers, of sliding them inside her, her pussy slick for me, is swirling on an erotic replay in the recesses of my mind.

The way her breath hitched when she found her release will forever echo in my ears.

“Reid?”

I jerk with a start, realizing I’ve tuned her out, so lost in my own musings. “What?”

“Pretty sure you won’t be able to fit that many napkins in there.”

Shit. I mash my lips together, and my eyes drift closed as I pray for her to go away or, at least, to put more distance between us. My eyes flash open, and I toss the extra wad of napkins, my movements abrupt, on the sleek bar top before I slam the container closed.

Spinning around, I cross my arms in part to prevent the urge to reach for her and also to maintain a standoffish air.

“Look.” I lower my chin and arch an eyebrow. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. Thursdays are my day. No amount of sweet-talking or you wearing spandex bent over in whatever positions you do in yoga is going to change that.”

She holds my gaze, and I notice the way her shoulders deflate before she gives a huff. “Fine.” Callie spins around, and I barely decipher her mumbled response. “Send me to suffer and be sacrificed to the wolves.”

Wait, what? What is happening three weeks from now that has her so keyed up? Something in her defeated mumbling irks me. “Callie.”

She draws to a stop but doesn’t turn around. A long exhale spills past my lips before I gentle my tone. “What’s the deal with the Thursday you need off?”

“Nothing.” She releases a sigh. “Don’t worry about it.” She starts to walk away, heading to the back, but I stride over and snag her wrist.

The contact elicits a reaction from both of us. Within the quiet confines of the storage room, our indrawn breaths mingle.

My eyes glance at her wrist and how delicate it appears within my grasp. Riveted, I barely register that I’ve begun to lightly skim the pad of my thumb against the soft skin along her pulse point.

“Tell me what’s going on.” I keep my voice low but firm. I can’t explain this dire need I have to simply know. Because whatever it is, it’s causing this beautiful woman distress.

Her chin drops to her chest, and she lets a long sigh loose. “My parents are coming to town in a few weeks.”

My brow furrows, and just as my lips part to question why this is such a big deal, she adds with a laugh devoid of any humor, “They make it a point to come into town to visit me, have dinner, and proceed to remind me what a failure I am.”

Callie turns slowly, but I don’t release her wrist. The moment her brown doe eyes lock with mine, I swear I feel the ricochet of pain visible in the depths. She breaks eye contact, averting her gaze to where my fingers are wrapped around her wrist, where my thumb is still grazing her skin. “They remind me that I should just come to work for my father because it’s easier.” Her lips twist derisively. “Because I surely can’t hack it on my own in the real world.”

“And you wanted me to switch shifts with you because...?” I prod gently.

She exhales loudly. “To have work as an excuse not to see them.” Callie tugs at my hold of her wrist. With a start, realizing I need to let go, I release my grasp and step back.

I cross my arms firmly, attempting to further resist the urge to reach for her, and fix my eyes upon her. “You’re an adult, Rainbow. Isn’t it about time to stand up for yourself?”

Her hands fly to her hips, and she lets out a huff. “Look here, wise guy. They’re my parents. They have some sort of sick detection system that zeroes in on the cracks in my self-esteem. But noooo”—she draws out the word, sarcasm dripping from her tone—“you’re so secretive about your damn Thursdays and can’t bear to switch your schedule and be a giver for once.”

Her lips smack shut, pressing thin, as though she knows exactly what she’s just implied.

And recalls exactly how giving I can be.

With narrowed eyes, I cock my head to the side, my tone challenging. “You want to know about my Thursdays?”

Her eyes widen a fraction, as though I’ve caught her off guard. “What?”

Stepping closer until her back is against the bar, I brace one palm on her right side and lean in. “You want to know about my Thursdays?” Her eyes flicker from my lips to my eyes. “What I do on my day off?”

There’s a millisecond pause, and when she responds, her voice is a touch breathless. “Yes.”

The corners of my mouth lift upward ever so slightly before I shove away from her. I turn to finish stocking the napkin dispensers. “Text me your address. I’ll be out front tomorrow at five p.m. sharp.” I shoot her a pointed look before returning my attention to my task. “Don’t be late.”

Callie doesn’t respond with more than a subdued, slightly stunned, “Okay,” before she turns and heads to the back.

And I’m left packing the goddamn dispensers with napkins and wondering what the hell I just agreed to.

* * *

“What. The. Fuck?”

I’ve been questioning myself repeatedly as I navigate through Miami’s usual gridlock at rush hour. When I pull up to Callie’s apartment building two minutes before five, it takes me more time than I’d like to find an open spot. Once I put the vehicle in park, I text her to let her know I’m here.

Why the hell did I invite Callie? I’ve never told anyone or brought anyone along with me on Thursdays.

Ever.

It’s not that I’m ashamed. That’s the furthest from it. I cherish my Thursdays because it’s time I get to spend with the one woman who’s always had my heart.

I focus on my left hand as I strum my fingers against the steering wheel. Maybe she’ll text me back to say she can’t make it and—

A knock on the passenger side window startles me, drawing me out of my thoughts. Turning to look, I’m faced with an additional reason this is a terrible idea.

Callie pulls open the door and slides onto the passenger seat, her features cheerful. “Hi!”

She’s wearing a dress. Dammit. I raise my hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, grateful my sunglasses disguise my eyes. Because, make no mistake, it’ll be a losing battle to keep my eyes off her.

Her dress isn’t as form-fitting as those pencil skirts she wears for work, but it’s more snug across her breasts. And I detect the instant the air-conditioning I have cranked in my truck elicits a reaction from her.

Or, to be more exact, from her nipples.

“Fuck.” I practically grind out the word between clenched teeth and drag my eyes away to stare blindly out the windshield.

She gives a little huff of exasperation. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I—” Yeah, there’s no explaining that one without getting slapped. “Buckle up, Rainbow,” I manage to utter.

“Yes, sir.” Out of the corner of my eye, she primly salutes me.

Smartass.

I wait until I hear the telltale click of her seat belt before I carefully pull onto the street and navigate the familiar route I take every Thursday. I thumb the button on my steering wheel to adjust the volume of the radio currently playing a catchy song.

“Ooh, I love P!nk,” Callie comments softly before she begins to sing along in a subdued voice.

Why can’t she be tone deaf and rude? And less attractive while we’re at it? Anything?

I turn into the drive and when Callie spots the sign, I feel the weight of her gaze resting on me. Questioning. Curious. Possibly confused.

Once I park, I turn off the ignition and release my seat belt but don’t immediately move to exit. I sit, staring straight ahead, finally realizing the magnitude of my actions.

I’m bringing a woman here with me.

“Reid?” Her tone has threads of hesitance in it.

I release a long, slow breath before I turn to face her. “Look. There are a few things you need to know before we walk in there.”

Her sable eyes are wide, and I can practically feel them drawing me in. “Okay…”

“I’ve never brought...” I break off to rephrase. “I’ve never had anyone tag along before. So this means there’s a good chance you’ll be bombarded. But there’s one thing you need to understand.” My tone turns cooler, more steely. “This is something you don’t mess with. This is personal.”

Meaning: Don’t fuck with me about this and throw it in my face at work.

Slowly, she nods. “Got it.”

I nod perfunctorily in return and abruptly exit the vehicle. I drag a hand roughly through my hair and wait for the sound of Callie’s footsteps to draw near. Once she approaches, I lift my chin in the direction of the building with the sign marking it as the Social Hall.

“There’s likely a decent-sized crowd in there tonight. Usually it’s around fifty or so. They always love Thursdays.” The corners of my mouth tug upward with fond memories that always wash over me from my times spent here. “Especially since they hate the other person who comes on Tuesdays.”

Without waiting for Callie to respond, I set off for the paved sidewalk that splits the neatly mowed lawn. Various flowers are planted here and there to give it color.

“Um, Reid?” Callie speeds up to maintain my pace as we near the building’s entrance. “So...what exactly are we doing here?”

I reach for the handle of the door, then turn slightly, using my other hand to slide my sunglasses up to rest on top of my head. Peering down at her, I tug open the door and gesture for her to enter.

“You’ll see.”

It doesn’t take her but three steps inside before she stops dead in her tracks with what appears to be an expression of shock lining her features.

“Bingo?”

I stride right past her. “Bingo.”