“I’ll be right
back with your drink,” she mumbled.
As she turned
away, the stain caught her eye again and her unease tipped into foreboding. The
power of the feeling on the heels of her embarrassment gave it a disproportionate
weight that made it all the more disturbing. What the hell was wrong with her
tonight?
She served the
man’s drink quickly, avoiding his eyes and returning to the safety of the bar
like an awkward teenager with a really bad crush.
A minute later her
twin brother pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen. “Eighty-six the
meatloaf,” Reece said, eyeing the deserted bar and tables. “We should just
close up for the night.”
“Ryan says not
before midnight.” Ryan was their older brother and the boss.
“Ryan says,” Reece
mocked.
He caught sight of
the man sitting in the corner and paled.
“Who’s that?” he
demanded, turning his back as he filled his cup with ice and soda.
“A customer?” she
answered.
He scowled at her.
“I don’t think so. He looks like a cop.”
Surprised, Roxanne
gave the man in question a glance. He didn’t look like a cop to her, but he had
this dark, sexy as sin, if George Clooney were Latino thing going on that lent
him a mysterious, dangerous air.
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