Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1) Page 12

Georgia throws Carrie a death glare. “He’s also off-limits. Don’t speak to him and don’t look at him, or I’ll break your fingers.” She gives her a tight smile, and the table goes quiet. She perks up as if she didn’t just go Cujo on Carrie. “Anything else I can get you guys?”

  We do a mixture of shaking our heads and telling her no.

  “That girl will scratch your eyes out if you talk to that bartender,” Kelsey warns Carrie. “Find another guy to hit on because I don’t want her to spit in my drink or have my birthday ruined by you getting beaten up. I love you, but I will not be stepping in.”

  Carrie rolls her eyes. “Whatever. There’s more fresh meat around here.”

  I sip on my Georgia and engage in conversation as the TVs roar around us. People cheer, groan, and argue at game calls. My gaze flashes to Cohen every few seconds, and even though I’ve tried to stop it, no one is as intriguing as him.

  He’s in his zone.

  Jealousy wraps around my heart anytime a woman talks to him.

  Maybe this is what hurt Heather, what ruined their relationship—Cohen working in bars. She hated his job, and if there’s anything I can understand about Heather, it’s that. Seeing girls flirt with him sends a wave of insecurity through me as I compare myself to each one of them.

  Heather did attempt to work at a bar with him but couldn’t handle it. She got into a fistfight with another waitress. My sister isn’t a fan of working, and I blame my parents for that. While I focused on studying, Heather focused on partying and Cohen. When she wasn’t with Cohen, who worked, she was with her friends, talking about him.

  There was a time my sister was obsessed with the gorgeous man behind the bar.

  A time he was obsessed with her.

  A time I had the biggest crush on him.

  I know the moment Georgia tells Cohen I’m here when they turn in my direction. When his eyes hit mine, I glance away, acting as if he hasn’t been my main focus of entertainment. I rest my hands in my lap, innocently looking around the place in an attempt not to appear to be the stalker that I apparently am.

  After my third Georgia—two of them I hadn’t ordered, but Georgia kept dropping them in front of me—I’m in need of a restroom break. I scope out the sign on the wall signaling toward them and head in that direction. Since there’s only one way, no matter what I do, unless I climb the walls, I have to pass Cohen.

  “Jamie,” Cohen calls out, waving me over to the bar.

  I halt, not wanting to be rude, and walk toward him. I force my best shocked expression while timidly waving at him. “Oh, hey.”

  An awkward silence passes between us.

  We’ve briefly spoken since the barbeque, and hell, even that wasn’t much of a conversation.

  He gestures to the bottles of liquor lining the shelves behind him. “What can I get you?”

  I play with my hands in front of me, a slight buzz zipping through my blood. “Your sister has already loaded me up on Georgias.”

  “Oh hell, be careful. Those babies will sneak up on you.”

  I nod in agreement. “Pretty sure I tasted the alcohol bleeding through my veins with every sip.”

  “Cohen!” a waitress yells, stalking our way. “I need your help.”

  “Archer or Georgia will take care of anything you need.” He shoots me a sympathetic smile before walking around the bar and following the waitress.

  Perfect timing.

  No weird convos with him.

  Just my luck.

  I don’t bother asking Archer for anything, but I pay a glance at him before continuing my journey to the restroom. That’s when I see Carrie flirting with him.

  So much for her looking for fresh meat.

  Georgia leans over the bar, snags a piece of ice, and throws it at them. It hits Archer’s cheek, and he whips around, glaring at her.

  Whoa.

  We’re all definitely missing something there.

  I need to ask Georgia what’s up with her and Archer.

  “I’m waiting on drinks, asshole!” Georgia shouts.

  “Make them. You know how,” he says dismissively.

  Her hands park on her waist. “I thought you didn’t want me behind the bar?”

  Archer ignores her.

  “All right then.” She throws her pen down, jumps over the bar, and starts grabbing an alcohol bottle.

  He swings around and storms toward Georgia before attempting to pull the bottle from her hand. “Chill out.”

  She jerks away from him. “Screw you.”

  I’m probably the only one paying enough attention to notice her voice breaking in the end and the defeat on her face.

  Archer tips his head down and whispers in her ear, but no anger leaves her face. It only mixes with hurt, and she slams the bottle onto the bar before walking away from him. Archer’s head hangs low for a moment before he gains control of himself. Carrie perks up but then frowns when he walks to the other side of the bar and yells for Silas to switch sides with him.

  Maybe I should come here more.

  This shit is better than Netflix.

  I scurry to the restroom, check my appearance, noticing the flush in my cheeks, and on my way back to our table, a man steps in front of me.

  “Hey, baby,” he slurs, his breath smelling like stale beer and chicken wings. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I bite into my lip, reading his shirt, and cringe.

  It says Orgasm Donor.

  His black hair is gelled back, and too much is happening with his cologne.

  “No, thank you,” I say as politely as I can.

  His shoulders square up. “Why?”

  “I have a full drink at my table.”

  He leans in closer, causing me to stumble back and smack into someone. She gives me a dirty look and shrugs away from me.

  “How about I join you?”

  “Table is full, too, actually.” My throat constricts, the bar swallowing me up and feeling ten times smaller than it did minutes ago.

  When I move to step around him, he blocks me.

  “I’ve been watching you all night. There’s plenty of room for me to slide in and get to know you, darling.”

  I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “I have a boyfriend.”

  He makes a show of eyeing the bar. “I don’t see a boyfriend here.”

  Jesus Christ, dude, take a freaking hint.

  Fed up, I decide to take the blunt route.

  “Look, I’m not interested.”

  His stare turns icy. “Why the fuck not?”

  I tense when an arm wraps around my waist, but as soon as I hear his voice, I settle against him.

  “Hey, baby,” he says loudly, nearly in jackass’s face.

  “Cohen,” the man stutters, his gaze shooting back and forth between Cohen and me. “You’re her boyfriend?”

  Cohen drags me in closer to him, my backside hitting his thigh. “Yes, so leave her the fuck alone. Don’t even look at her.”

  “Shit, sorry, man. No disrespect.”

  “You need to apologize to her, not me.”

  “Sorry,” the guy says, wide-eyed, before scurrying away from us.

  Cohen’s arm doesn’t drop from my waist when I turn to face him.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He gives my hip a gentle squeeze. “I got you.”

  When I turn around and head back to the table, I’m shocked that he stays behind me.

  “I’m on break,” he explains, taking Ashley’s abandoned stool.

  Her boyfriend showed up, and they’ve practically been sucking face all night.

  “Are you having a good time?” Cohen asks, shifting to face me.

  I nod. “It’s been forever since I’ve gone out.”

  “And you decided to come here? I’m honored.” He places his hand over his heart and bows his head.

  I sweep my hand toward Kelsey, who’s standing between her boyfriend’s legs as they whisper sweet nothings to each other. “It’s her birthday.”

  “Ah, so you didn’t come here for me?”

  I laugh. “She’s my cover. I’m actually here because I’m obsessed with you. I’ve been peeking through your windows at night, but I’m taking my stalker-ship to the next level and creeping on you at work.”

  “Finally! The truth comes out.” He rests his elbow on the table, placing his chin on his knuckles, and looks pleased as he stares at me. “Have you been here before?”

  I shake my head. “Twisted Fox virgin over here.”

  “I’m happy I was here when you popped that cherry, but I am disappointed you haven’t been here before.”

  “I didn’t want it to look too weird, me showing up here after finding out you owned it.”

  “It wouldn’t have been weird.” He chews on his lower lip, and his gaze clings to mine. “I owe you an apology for what happened with Becca.”

  “What do you mean?” I reach across the table, steal Ashley’s half-full Georgia, and suck it down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He lifts his head to level his eyes on me. “Don’t bullshit me.”

  “There’s honestly no need to apologize.”

  “I also want to apologize for whatever drunken shit I said the night I called when you had Noah.”

  I glance around the table in search of another drink to swipe. All the glasses are empty around me, leaving me with nothing to chug down to give me the liquid courage I suddenly need.

  “Now, I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” I finally say, my eyes darting to the table next to us.

  He chuckles. “I saw in my call log that I called you that night and vaguely remember what was said.”

  “New subject.” I hold up my empty glass. “This was so good! I’m going to need another if you want to talk about awkward conversations that will only make this conversation as awkward as they were.”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “I’m absolutely positive I would rather talk about anything else in the world but that.”

  “Amuse me.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “Tell me how big of an idiot I made of myself.”

  “You didn’t make an idiot of yourself.”

  “Does that mean I made myself sound cool?”

  I slap his shoulder. “You definitely sound like a dad. Made myself sound cool? I can’t believe I used to crush on you.”

  He cracks a smile. “You’re not giving me much to work with here, babe.”

  Babe.

  He called me babe.

  Good thing there’s a dim light in the bar, or he might notice the heat creeping up my cheeks.

  “It was an”—I search for the right word—“entertaining conversation.”

  You asked why you couldn’t have chosen the other sister.

  There’s no way I’m going the honesty route.

  “You admitted to loving Hawaiian pizza,” I say, a smile playing at my lips.

  “I call bullshit on that.” He smirks.

  “I am going to kill your bartender,” Georgia snaps, storming toward our table. “Like, legit kill him—or at least slice and dice his balls.”

  Saved by the little sister.

  She halts when her eyes focus on us—our bodies facing each other, close enough that our shoulders slightly brush when we move, and we’re in our own little world, half-whispering in the corner.

  “I’m definitely interrupting something. You two get back to … whatever.” She stops to snap her fingers. “And tomorrow, you can bail me out of jail for coworker homicide.” She whips around and stomps away.

  “Heather did always call Georgia a cockblocker,” Cohen says with a shake of his head.

  “Ah, I bet.” I heard her complain about how much time Cohen spent taking care of Georgia all the time.

  “Georgia didn’t like Heather.”

  “Not too many people do around here.”

  “Georgia likes you, though.”

  “She hardly knows me.”

  He fixes his stare on me. “Georgia reads people well, and with that, she’s guarded with who she lets in. Sure, she was concerned the first time you came over, but after that, she’s had nothing but good things to say about you. According to her, she likes your vibe.”

  Georgia saying she likes my vibe doesn’t surprise me.

  She talks and dresses like a nineties hippie.

  “Too bad it took you so long to like my vibe.” I cringe after the words leave my lips. “That was so lame. I did not mean for it to come out that way.” I point at the empty glass. “Blame it on the Georgias.”

  “It wasn’t your vibe I didn’t like. It was concern.” He rubs the back of his neck, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “Your sister, she fucked me up, and I saw her as the root of your family. The further away from her life, the better.” His hand brushes mine. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I squeak out. “I understand.”

  “That’s why you were always my favorite.”

  “Oh, cut the shit.” My eyes harden as a spike of jealousy darts through me, and there’s no stopping the change in my tone. Maybe it’s the liquor or him saying favorite or that I want to return to the friendly, flirty conversation we were having before this. “I wasn’t your favorite when you were screwing my sister. She was.”

  He dips his head down, his peppermint breath hitting my cheek at the same time his lips brush against my ear. “Did I love your sister, Jamie?” He pulls back, not fazed that he’s nearly giving me a heart attack with his lips, his proximity, this conversation. “Absolutely. We had our issues, and at times, I knew she wasn’t the best person. What I also knew was, she was by my side through everything when I was growing up. My mom issues, my fucked-up family life, all of it.”

  I set my attention on the straw in the empty cup and play with it. “She was.”

  Heather was once a decent person who was head over heels in love with Cohen.

  I stay quiet, unsure of how to reply.

  “What about you?” he asks. “I remember you had a terrible date and had a thing with Sprinkles boy, but anyone else in the picture?”

  “Nope,” I quip, biting into the straw.

  “Really? Come on.”

  “My job is my orgasm.” Oh God, my response is too similar to Orgasm Donor dude’s shirt. I shudder.

  “Kinky.” He grins. “Mine too.”

  I hold up my hand. “Can we stop talking about orgasms? I have a big mouth when I drink, and I tend to make an idiot out of myself.” I throw my head back and laugh. “At least I’m not trying to make out with you this time.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Please, you were a terrible kisser.”

  He chuckles. “I like Tipsy Jamie.”

  That only makes one of us.

  “Tipsy Jamie makes a fool of herself.”

  “Tipsy Jamie is more open.”

  I cross my legs. “Drunk Cohen is also more open when he calls me.”

  He clicks his tongue and points to me. “Tipsy Jamie won’t tell me what Drunk Cohen said.”

  “Tipsy Jamie is officially going to stop referring to herself in the third person. Drunk Cohen should follow her lead.”

  “All right, you crazy kids,” Ashley says, hopping off her stool and pulling the bottom of her dress down as Jared stands behind her. “Time for me to go.” Her attention whips to me, a smirk playing at her lips. “Are you going to hang out here and call an Uber later, or do you want a ride home?”

  I peek a glance at Cohen, whose eyes are crestfallen while he waits for me to answer her. He doesn’t want this night to end as much as I don’t.

  “I’ll call an Uber,” leaves my mouth at the same time, “I can give you a ride home,” comes from Cohen.

  Ashley grins. “You heard the man.” She kisses my cheek. “Smoothies tomorrow, okay?”

  “If you aren’t hungover.”

  She laughs and uses the same tone as she did before. “Hungover smoothies tomorrow, okay?”

  I point at the bar after she scurries away, my attention on Cohen. “Do you need to get back to work?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m off for the rest of the night. I was about to head out, but then I saw you and thought I’d stop and chat.”

  “You’re not on break?”

  “It was an excuse to sit down and talk to you since you’d been avoiding me.”

  “As I’ve said many a time, I was not avoiding you.”

  “You bought Noah an iPod.”

  I throw my arms up. “What kid doesn’t want an iPod?”

  “You bought it to avoid calling me.”

  “I didn’t want what had happened with Blondie to happen again. It wouldn’t look good if one of your girls caught me calling.”

  His face contorts in disgust. “Whoa, Becca is not my girl.”

  I flick my hand through the air. “You know what I mean.”

  His voice turns serious. “I forgot my phone on the table while hanging out with her and some friends. I hadn’t wanted to go out with her, but Silas begged me.”

  I can’t stop myself from snorting. “I’m so sure he had to beg you to go out with a hot girl.”

  “I have nothing to hide. She shouldn’t have answered my phone, and for that, I’m sorry.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “You can start calling us again whenever.”

  “I actually FaceTimed Noah earlier.” After getting the heads-up from Georgia that Cohen was at work.

  He frowns. “Don’t you miss seeing this face too?”

  I pout out my lower lip. “Are you feeling left out, Mr. Fox?”

  “A little bit, yes. Here I thought, I was a good time.”

  “I’ll think about calling your phone next time.”

  “Oh, you’ll think about it? That’s so kind of you.”

  I playfully flip my hair over my shoulder. “I’m super nice.”

  “And gorgeous.”

  I wince, and he catches me before I stumble off the stool.

  My response comes out in a stutter, “What?”

  How dare he pull that out on me.

  When I’m sitting on a stool and tipsy nonetheless.

  He draws in a long breath before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, sorry.”

  “Uh …” I do another once-over, searching for a drink, wishing Georgia would randomly drop one in front of me like she has been doing all night.

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