The woman stayed far longer than I expected. Marley. Wait, no. Marla?

Shit. I’m an asshole for not remembering, but in my defense, I’ve been pretty damn preoccupied tonight. By Callie pointedly ignoring me all night. Then, when I accidentally spilled beer on her blouse, the way it soaked the fabric, I’d have given my left nut to help her undress.

It took a shit-ton of self-control to walk her back to the employee locker area and hand over my shirt. To step out the door and wait for her to change, knowing she was shaken up. Knowing that I did this to her. I’ve been acting like a complete dick, and it needs to stop. I’ve never done the whole relationship thing—honestly haven’t been interested in it since I’ve been busy with work and my grandma—but there must be a way I can make this work with Callie. Except nothing exactly comes to mind—especially if I plan on taking her job.

Her fluid movements as she navigates her way through the bustling bar would normally not be anything to write home about. But her doing so while wearing my shirt made some primitive feeling wash over me. I liked her wearing my shirt, as though it served as a signal to others that she was mi—

Shit. I can’t let my mind go there. That’s off-limits. She’s off-limits.

I breathe my first sigh of relief when I spot Grayson walking in, praying he’ll rescue me from this woman who seems great—don’t get me wrong—but she comes on a little too strong.

My sigh of relief transforms into a low growl of disapproval when my friend makes a beeline for Callie. I watch him gesture to her shirt in question, and even with her back to me, I can imagine her animated explanation of how things went down with the spill. They’re standing far enough away that I can’t quite make out their conversation.

While I finish closing the bar and ensure it’s ready for tomorrow, I attempt a polite response to the redhead and her blatant hinting at my plans for tonight.

“Sorry, but I’m beat.” I flash an apologetic smile. “I’m ready to head home and get some rest.”

Her expression falls, but she recovers quickly, grasping her small purse. “Well, you have my number, Reid.” She offers me what I’m sure she believes is a sexy wink. “Don’t be a stranger.” She slides off the barstool, gives a little wave, and heads to the exit. I exhale a slow sigh of relief because it’s damn hard to walk the thin line between being professional while also partaking in bantering and innocent flirting with the customers.

But my sigh is cut short once I hear Callie’s words, clearly spoken and loud enough for me to hear.

“I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

My head snaps to their direction.

What. The. Fuck?

What the hell happened to the code? Grayson knows better. I slam the sliding door closed on the chest cooler that houses the bottled beers. I’m practically burning a hole into my friend with my glare. My friend who’s currently smiling down at Callie. When he reaches out to finger the collar of her—my—shirt, that’s when I lose my cool.  

I flip the switch beneath the bar to kill the music playing throughout and stalk over to the door with my keys in hand, prepared to lock up.

With Grayson on the other side of the door.

“Time to head out, man.”

My eyes lock with his, and I swear his are shining with amusement.

As if this shit’s funny.

He winks at Callie. “I’ll catch up with you when I stop by tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Why the fuck does Callie’s voice sound all breathy and shit?

I shove the door open for him, but when he brushes past me to exit, I shoot my arm out in front of his chest, flattening my palm against him.

I fix him with a hard glare, lowering my voice so Callie doesn’t overhear. “What the hell’s your deal?”

His eyebrows rise quizzically. “Not sure what you mean.” He shrugs, giving a pointed glance at my hand on his chest, and I let it drop. “Just asking a pretty woman out.” He cocks his head to the side. “One you obviously aren’t interested in anymore.”

“I never s—” I break off, internally cussing my slipup.

One my best friend immediately picks up on. He slips past me and turns back, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You need to figure your shit out, Reid. Because we both know she’s not going to stay single forever.”

He spins around and walks to his car in the parking lot. I lock the door and stalk back over to the control panel for the lights to turn off the brightest ones, and it leaves the bar area ensconced in a softer glow. Callie’s moving the high-top barstools in preparation for mopping the floor when Lea emerges from the back.

“Hey, guys? Do you mind if I cut out early? My sister just called, and she needs me to watch my nephew. She’s not going to finish her shift in time, and the sitter has to leave.” Lea appears concerned, her fingers twisting nervously.

“Go.” I wave her on. “I’ll help Callie.”

Lea’s eyes dart back and forth between Callie and me, uncertainty etching her features. Finally, she exhales and offers a grateful smile. “Thank you! I owe you one.” Then she’s gone, rushing down the hallway toward the back exit.

“I’ve got this covered.” Callie’s hushed tone still carries steely undertones. “You can finish your own stuff.”

Her meaning is clear. She doesn’t want my help.

Well, too damn bad.

I start hefting up the stools, placing them upside down on each of the cleaned tables, to prep for mopping.

“Reid, I said—”

“I know what you said.” I grit out the words but don’t turn to face her. “I heard you.” I set another stool on the table with more force than necessary and grumble, “Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

This is part of it—part of the job. If I want to prove to Tom that I’m the better candidate for management, then I need to show it. And this is another way.

Once I lift the final barstool and set it on top of the table, I head to the back to get the mop and bucket ready. What I don’t expect is for Callie to match my strides.

She shoulders me when we approach the cleaning supplies. “I’ve got it covered.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “I was here first.”

Her look is incredulous as she stares at me. “What is with you?”

I scowl but take advantage of the fact she’s distracted to begin filling the bucket with hot water and disinfectant cleanser. With my focus on the forming suds, I add, “Just trying to prove that I’m good enough for management.”

“What are you talking about?” Confusion laces her tone.

I eye the rapidly rising water level in the bucket. “I’ve got to make sure I get this management position.”

Silence. That’s all I get in response.

Swiftly turning off the flow of water, I grab the mop and shove it in the bucket before I turn and finally brave a look at Callie.

Her expression immediately causes the pit of my stomach to churn because dismay, anger, and hurt are etched upon her features.

But it’s the last one that acts like a devastating gut punch. Because I never wanted to hurt her. I just don’t know how the hell to navigate my way around...us.

Not that there’s an us anymore.

She slowly schools her expression into one of utter calmness and nods thoughtfully. “I see.” Callie takes a step back, folds her arms across her chest, and her eyes regard me carefully. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me this?”

I grip the wooden handle of the mop so tightly my knuckles turn white, not wanting to answer that question. Without thinking, the words spill past my lips. “When the hell did you decide you wanted to date my friend?”

Her hands fly upward, and she makes a sound of disgust. “Are you kidding me right now?” Her narrowed eyes flame with anger. “You kick me to the curb, but you think you can dictate who I date?” She clenches her jaw. “After you weren’t man enough to let me know we were both competing for the same job?”

“Look”—I cringe at the defensiveness in my tone—“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly.” She cuts me off with that single word. “You didn’t think. You didn't think to have the common courtesy to talk to me. Especially after we…after what’s at stake.” Her words lose heat, fading off, and she averts her gaze to the floor. “I see how it is.” Her voice is subdued.

My throat is uncomfortably tight, and I swallow hard past the sudden lump. “Callie, I’m—”

She stops me with the palm of her hand before stepping forward, jerking the mop from my grasp and wheeling the bucket away to go mop the front.

Leaving me standing here, she makes me feel like she just kicked me in the gut. And I want to call out to her, but I don’t.

Instead, I force myself to finish up my usual tasks, and Callie and I studiously avoid one another for the remainder of the evening.