J. Critch - In Her Best Friend's Bed

“Yeah, what the hell?” he said with a smile. He took the shot she offered before he turned back to the cash register and began counting the money.

Abby took her shot, as well, and then she glanced around the bar. He knew she was looking for something else to clean. “Why don’t you go sit down?” he told her. “I just need a couple of minutes here.” It was a rule that the staff always leave the club in groups at the end of the night. He didn’t want any of them vulnerable late at night in the parking lot. Who knew what kind of drunks or weirdos were out there?

“Sure.” Abby shrugged her shoulders and, taking the tequila bottle, she walked to a nearby table.

Trevor removed the money from the register and looked up briefly to see her pour another shot, a frown taking over her entire gorgeous face.

“You’ll find something, Abby,” he told her. Her eyes rose from her bottle to hit his directly, her gaze cutting a path straight to his belly. “Just keep at it. You’re a catch. Any business would be lucky to have you. I know I am.” A swell of melancholy rose in his chest, for her sadness and his own. He would miss her like crazy if she worked anywhere else.

“Does that mean I can use you as a reference?” she asked with a mirthful smile, before raising the shot glass to her mouth and knocking back the tequila.

Trevor laughed, but the sound died as he watched the muscles in her delicate throat bounce as she swallowed the liquor. When she brought the glass down to the table, it hit with a heavy clink. How much time did he spend watching Abby while she looked absolutely sexy doing completely mundane things? “Pour me another?” he asked, shoving his glass across the bar. She did as he asked, and then she poured her own.

“You trying to get me drunk?”

“I would never think of it,” he said with a wink. “Plus, I’m not the one pouring.”

“Well, I can’t let you drink alone,” she explained carefully.

“How generous of you,” he said, laughing, and lofted his shot glass. “Sláinte,” he said. He felt the second shot hit his belly, not as harsh as the first. But he was glad that she’d selected a smoother, higher-end tequila for their bingeing. Trevor didn’t think he could handle the burn of a cheaper brand.

“What’s that?”

“An Irish toast. A cheers to good health. My old man used to say it a lot before he took a drink.”

“Sláinte,” she repeated. “I like it.”

“I’m pretty certain that neither of us can drive home now,” he took a breath, the tequila starting to hit him in the pit of his empty stomach.

Abby shrugged as she sauntered back to her table. Trevor couldn’t help but notice the sway of her hips under her short skirt. She threw a look over her shoulder. “I don’t live far. I’ll walk. And I’m not quite ready to head home to an empty apartment just yet. Plus, I’m having fun relaxing right here. It’s been a long time since we’ve hung out.”

“It has been far too long,” Trevor agreed, closing the register with an authoritative slam. He finished with the cash duties by printing off the sales receipts and totaling the nightly deposit. He could officially call it another great night in the books, as he looked over the numbers. The bar was doing well in his capable hands, if he did say so himself.

He picked up a stack of bills and left the bar to sit with Abby at the booth. He cut the stack in half and passed over her share of the tips.

Abby took her money. “Nice. Thanks.”

“Pretty good night, huh?”

Abby flicked through the stack of bills with her thumb. “It sure was.”

“What are you going to do with your vast riches?” he asked her, joking, pocketing his own share.

“Well, I think I’m going to splurge on some grand luxuries.” She sighed wistfully. “You know, things like electricity, cell phone bill—ooh, there’s some really fancy bread and milk that I’ve been dying to try,” she finished with a laugh.

Trevor laughed with her, but she worried him. He frowned. “Are you doing okay, financially? I can schedule you for more hours, or I can float you a loan, if you want.”

She shook her head and put a hand on his arm. Her light touch made his heart stutter in his chest. “Trevor, I’m fine. It was just a joke. Ha-ha. Sure, it’s a little harder to pay the rent with Maya gone. But I am fine. See?” She picked up the stack of bills in front of her and waved it in Trevor’s face.

“Thanks to you, I’ve got a job where I make fat stacks of cash and I can drink for free.” For emphasis she poured two more shots. After she swallowed, she giggled. “I’ll be fine until I find a real job.” She smacked a palm to her forehead. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I know this is your job. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, Abby,” he assured her, sweeping a hand through the air of the empty club. “All of this is my kingdom.”

“You certainly get your pick of the ladies in the kingdom, that’s for sure.”

Trevor frowned again. He didn’t normally use the club to pick up women. He never overserved them to make them bend to his will, and he never went for the college girls, who were always trying to get him in bed... And he never let his staff see him go home with a woman. He didn’t want to set a bad example and have them to think it was okay or an acceptable business practice. But he wondered where she got the idea that he did.

“What are you talking about?” While he had been a bit wild in the past, he wasn’t the man whore that she seemed to think he was. He hadn’t even been with anyone in months. While Trevor didn’t normally care what people thought of him, it stung that Abby had a negative opinion of him. What she thought mattered to him.

“You know,” Abby said, with a slight slur. “That woman last night, that girl in Vegas...”

When Abby trailed off, Trevor was surprised. “What girl?” It was the first time either of them had mentioned their trip to Sin City.

“That girl at Jamie’s party,” she went on. “After we parted ways, I went back to my room, you met her at the bar.”

“You came back to the party?” Trevor narrowed his eyes at her. He barely remembered the woman who had sat beside him at the bar in Vegas.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She scoffed. “Why does it matter? You were otherwise occupied.”

“That’s not how it was, Abby—” He wanted to clear the air, explain that he wasn’t the complete horndog player that she apparently thought he was. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I didn’t spend the night with her. I finished my drink and went to bed. Alone. And that woman last night? I called her a cab and waited here until she was in it.”

“It’s okay!” she insisted. “You’re a guy. You have those typical male urges. And you’re hot. I see how women look at you and how you talk to them. You’re smooth. I’m surprised you don’t have to beat the women off with a stick every night.”

Trevor leaned back, away from her touch, and cleared his throat roughly around the lump that had formed there. Abby wasn’t far off. He was often on the receiving end of female attention, but what he couldn’t tell her was that, since that night in Vegas, he hadn’t been interested in any other woman who came on to him. They were quiet for a moment. “So, any new fellows on the scene?” he asked her, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself.

Abby poured another shot, knocked it back and laughed bitterly. “No,” she said. “There are certainly no fellows—new or otherwise—on the scene. Oh! I haven’t told you, have I?”

“Told me what?”

“Well, after I ended things with Luke a few months back, I decided to give up men,” she said, slamming her glass to the table with a loud thud.