Her eyes flick to the coffee machine at the end of the bar and then back to me.

“You know what, I’m gonna make a coffee instead. You want one?”

“I’d love one,” she answers. “I’m in serious need of caffeine.”

I busy myself trying to figure out how to work the machine. Jordan, one of the bartenders, has shown me at least four different times and each time I’m sure I have it until I need to use it again and realize that I don’t. It’s not even a fancy, complicated machine; I think it just hates me.

“Zane mentioned that you were asking about making some extra money serving tables when you’re not dancing. You trying to pay your way through college or something?”

“Or something.”

I turn from wrestling with the lever that lets you insert the little coffee pods and look at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It’s a long story.”

“Hmm…if only we were stuck inside with nothing to talk about waiting for the rain to stop!” I deadpan.

She lets out a small chuckle before standing and walking towards me. She rounds the bar and I watch in confusion and a sorry state of arousal as she comes to a stop only inches away. She smells like coconut. Jesus, I hope she didn’t notice me sniff her.

She leans in close.

What the hell? Damn, she’s coming in for a kiss.

I’m about to oblige and murky the waters of what’s sure to be a short-lived working relationship, when she grabs the coffee machine handle and does some weird voodoo trickery that everyone in this place seems to know except me. I stand back stunned as the machine pops open and say a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t lean in and kiss her.

“You looked like you were struggling.”

Yep, I’m struggling all right, and it’s definitely not in the way you’re thinking.

“I have a love-hate relationship with this thing. I love coffee, but the machine hates me.”

She smiles, passing me a coffee pod, and I set the machine to work…I think.

“Do you have any extra availability for another server? Zane was right, I did ask about more work. I could really use the cash right now. From what the girls have told me, the customers tip well, and I’m a hard worker.”

She’s flustered. I can see from her expression that she’s doesn’t like asking and I’m intrigued as to why.

“Have you waited tables before?”

“Sure, through college. I’m no novice,” she grins.

“I suppose we could put you on the roster, then. The pay isn’t the same as what you’ll get for dancing, but all the girls keep their own tips. There’s no pooling the cash at the end of a shift. If you work hard, treat the customers well and are attentive, you’ll make more. It’s as simple as that.”

Her sigh of relief is audible, and I give her a quizzical look.

“That something else I mentioned,” she begins. “My boyfriend ran up some debts and skipped town. I need the extra work to pay them off.”

I don’t know who her boyfriend is, but I have a sudden urge to kick the shit out of him.

“You don’t need to explain,” I tell her, and it’s the truth, she doesn’t. I’d like to know more, but I’m not about to press her for the information. We’re still standing close. Too close and there’s a mad chemistry between us that I’m not comfortable with at all.

“You take sugar?” I ask as the coffee machine beeps, and I take a step back.

“No, I’m sweet enough.”

“You sure are,” I say under my breath as I pass her a cup. “Take a seat, I’ll make mine and join you.”

She practically skips back to the table, the earlier signs of stress retreating with each sip of her coffee. I have a feeling there’s more to the story of her needing extra work. I just need to be patient and let her tell me in her own time.

“AFTER YOU,” CALLUM says, holding the door open for me. I step outside and rub my arms in an effort to ward off the chill from the rain. I wait for him to lock the doors, and then he points over to a black and chrome Harley parked at the side of the building.

“Is that yours?”

“She is. You ever been on one before, Tweet?” he asks with a boyish grin. I love how he’s nicknamed me. I’ve never really had one before. People often shorten my name to Robz, but that’s not the same. It’s laziness on their part that they can’t be bothered with the extra syllable. The whole cute name thing he has going on is at war with his appearance. He’s a tall, lean, muscular man with just the right amount of scruff on his face, piercing light blue eyes and messy dark hair. He looks anything but soft, all sleek hard lines visible under his tight black t-shirt. But when he says Tweet it’s smooth and quiet and sweet. Not at all what I was expecting. I can see the attraction all the girls seem to harbor for him; he’s a ridiculously good-looking man. There’s a familiarity to him that I can’t quite place.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle. To be honest, they kind of scare the crap out of me. You know, the whole insane speeds and nothing to protect you.”

“That’s maybe more true of a superbike. They’re built for an adrenaline rush; this baby’s built for cruising. You want to hop on? I promise to drive slow.”

When he offered me a lift home, I almost said no. Now I wish I had.

“Come on, you’ll love it,” he urges, and I figure he’s going out of his way to help me, the least can do is accept.

“Okay.”

He tosses me a helmet and puts my bag under his seat as I fiddle with the strap under my chin.

“Jump on behind me and hold on. If you really don’t like it, just tap me and I’ll pull over and let you off. Sound good?”

“Not really, but I’ll trust you anyway.”

He laughs and pats the space behind him. I’m not laughing, though. The thought of being pressed up behind my hot boss is almost as flustering as the thought of how embarrassing it’s going to be when he sets off and I squeal like a little girl and cry to get off.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” he smiles as I climb off the back of his bike and stretch like a lazy house cat.

“It was fun…well, it was after I opened my eyes. You said you wouldn’t go fast,” I scold jokingly.

“I wasn’t! We didn’t breach the speed limit once. In fact, I don’t even think we managed to reach the limit.”

“Is it normal to walk like John Wayne after dismounting a bike?” I say, bending my legs a little and exaggerating the ache from having them spread for so long.

“That’s what all the women say after I’ve been between their legs!”

“Oh my God, you’re my boss! You didn’t just say that!” I can feel my face flaming and I can’t look him in the eye.

His laughter rings out above the busy streets, and the stir it provokes deep inside is unnerving.

“It’s a joke, Tweet. I’ll see you at work later.”

With a loud rev of his engine he speeds away, leaving me at the door to my apartment complex with Mrs. Heckles sitting at the entrance smoking.

“Robyn, sweetheart, how are you?” she asks, patting a spot next to her.

“You heard anything back from that darn boy of yours?”

“Daniel? No, not a word. I’m not going to hold my breath—I’d suffocate.”

“Well,” she says shaking her head. “More fool him, I say. Stupid boy will regret it, I’m sure. A nice pretty young thing like you doesn’t stay single for long.”

She blows out a puff of smoke and the scent of pot hits me full force.

“Um, Mrs. Heckles, are you smoking marijuana?”

“It’s medicinal honey, for my arthritis.” She giggles and scrunches her eyes up. I can’t help but laugh. “It’s wonderful…I have a little smoke and then when Stanly from 4b comes to play bridge, I can just about tolerate his jokes. I wish I’d started smoking these years ago. It would have made my Arthur, God rest his soul, so much more interesting.” A slow smile crosses her face, and I return it, knowing full well how in love Mrs. Heckles was with her late husband.