“I take back the princess comment,” I called out to her. The bar was crowded tonight. I had other customers, but they were just going to have to wait.

Her eyes narrowed with confusion. “What?”

“Before…I called you princess,” I explained. “That’s my thing, working this bar, it’s hard to remember names so I give people nicknames instead. And I tend to recycle them. ‘Princess’ is too generic and overused for you. I take it back.”

“Okay…” she pondered. Her eyes darted to the exit and for a split second I thought she was going to make a run for it. But instead of bolting, she moved closer to the bar, dropped her bag on the floor, and asked, “So if princess is no good…what nickname would you give me?”

“Let me think.”

I blew out a breath and made a slow show of moving my eyes over her body. I knew on the outside I looked cocky and smug as I did this, a typical guy checking out a fine female, but on the inside my heart raced about a million miles an hour.

She’d changed from the girl I met briefly two years ago. Still a beautiful face, still stunning green eyes, but her hair was dyed lighter, her freckles covered with makeup, her glasses gone, and her lips were deep red. The scariest thing in the world to me was going to bed with a beautiful woman and waking up to someone completely different the next morning. I guess that meant I had a thing for natural beauty, for uniqueness—something I had yet to find. I hated carbon copies. That was why when I first saw her a moment ago, I hadn’t actually seen her.

I saw her now.

“I got nothing,” I admitted, feeling a shiver run through me. Not a single nickname seemed good enough on the spot here without knowing her better, and for once the game I played with all other women seemed juvenile. “How about you tell me your name instead? I’d rather call you that.”

She smiled. “Nope. Not happening. Not after that horrible Piña Colada insult. I’m not sure you deserve to know now.”

“Okay, we can play that game,” I teased. “But I promise I will get it out of you by the end of the night.”

I hadn’t meant for my words to sound sexual. But fuck if she didn’t take them that way. I knew it too, because color crept up her neck and touched her cheeks. I also knew without a doubt, even though she’d been exuding nothing but confidence, sexiness, and lack of fear while joking around with me, she was still that innocent girl I’d met beside the dumpsters. And holy shit if that didn’t turn me on. It shouldn’t have, since I was the exact opposite of innocent, but it did.

“Do you want to know my name?” I asked, in an effort to change the subject and to keep our conversation light. Luce, my friend and the other bartender working tonight, had called my name three times. I was vaguely aware that she needed my help at the moment, but nothing could distract me away from this girl.

“I already know it,” she said. “Rhett Morgan. And don’t you have other people you need to serve? I don’t want to monopolize all your time.” She gestured to someone behind me, but all I could think about was the fact that she already knew my name, and if she knew my name, what else did she know about me? Because, in all honesty, there was very little good that went along with my name.

“Dammit, Rhett,” Luce suddenly shouted in my ear. Coming up behind me, she pinched my side and kept bitching. “Help a girl out, would you? Flirt while you work. You’re usually really good at that.” She scolded me and then hurried off to help one of my customers. I didn’t listen to her. I stayed put with my eyes still locked on the only customer I cared about.

“What time do you get off?” this girl suddenly wanted to know.

“Soon,” I lied. “Why?”

“Well, I was wondering…would you—” She took a breath midsentence, maybe thinking over her words or probably being careful not to let that innocence she was working so carefully to hide show. “Would you like to do something after you get off?”

“As in tonight?” I asked.

“Yes, as in tonight.”

It was only a little past nine. The bar didn’t close until two in the morning. I was supposed to close tonight but with an offer like that suddenly on the table, getting out of here early was all I could think about. “Yes,” I answered quickly, too quickly. I didn’t want to sound like the over-eager jackass.

“Okay. Cool. I’m here with a friend. Come find me when you’re ready to leave.”

I nodded, stunned by how easy that was. My green-eyed girl grabbed her purse and disappeared into the crowd before I had a chance to say another word. Picking up girls came naturally to me, I was an expert at it, but I was pretty damn sure she’d just picked me up.

* * *

Four phone calls and three more threatening jabs to the ribs from Luce later, and I finally found someone to come in and cover my shift. My boss, Chris Chancy. The man who owned this bar. As a last resort I’d called him and was shocked off my ass when he agreed to come in.

“You’re actually going to come cover for me?” I shouted into the phone. “For real?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. The man came into the bar as little as possible. I couldn’t believe he was about to do this for me. “Rhett, you’ve never asked this from me before. Plus, it’s my bar. I’m gonna come. Just don’t leave before I get there.”

“But I’m leaving for a girl. You got that part, right? I’m not sick. It’s for a girl.”

“Can you just shut the fuck up and get back to work? I don’t care what your reason is. Obviously she must be important so I’m on my way. Like I said, in all the years you’ve worked for me you’ve never asked something like this before. I’m hanging up now. Goodbye, Rhett.”

The phone line went dead, and I hooked it back on the wall. In a bit of a daze, I stood still for a moment. I knew Chris Chancy liked me, but I was kind of touched by his willingness to come help me out—especially on a Saturday night. He was a good dude to work for, and I suddenly appreciated that a whole lot more. With that thought, I snapped back to life and started slinging drinks, helping Luce catch up as efficiently as I possibly could.

I’m not sure why, but bartending came very naturally to me. Maybe I had the memory for it. I couldn’t remember names, but I could remember what a person ordered from a week ago. Take for example the cougar at three o’clock. Before my green-eyed blast-from-the-past had entered the picture, I figured I’d be taking her home tonight. Blue Motorcycle. Before that, Lemon Drop. Before that, Screaming Multiple Orgasm on the Beach. Those drink orders were burned onto my cortex, not because I had planned on giving her an actual orgasm on the beach later, but because my mind seemed to store up that information like a computer storing up data.

To add to the memory thing, I was personable when people wanted it, but I also knew when to leave people alone. I could up-sell anyone. I moved fast. My hands moved faster. And I genuinely liked working here. So all in all, this was a good job. It would probably be my job for life, and I was perfectly fine with that.

Time flew. Before I knew it, Chris had arrived and was back behind the bar with Luce and me. I was getting him up to speed on everything that had been going on.

“So who is she?” he wanted to know, whispering so Luce wouldn’t overhear. Luce and I used to mess around, so I appreciated his hushed tone.

“She’s at table forty. The blonde.”

I’d been keeping tabs on her this whole time. She hadn’t left yet, which I took as a positive sign.

“She’s hot,” Chris said. “I hope she’s worth it. You’re using your only ‘get out of jail free’ card. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate this.”

“I know. Now get out of here.”

Not about to wait for him to change his mind or anything, I headed back into the kitchen and towards the office. I had a change of clothes in my locker that I never used. I guess tonight, for the first time ever, I felt the need to use them. My work shirts always smelled like fried food whenever I left this place, so it was the least I could do.