Ryan glanced up, and our eyes met across the bar. Even with the distance between us, I could tell that he was looking right at me as I watched him. A crooked grin brightened his face, and I couldn’t help but smile in response.
“Stop flirting with the enemy.” Grant slapped a hand on top of the table, jerking my attention to him.
“I wasn’t,” I lied, but my dreamy smile gave me away.
“See, you do like him,” Grant said, calling me out.
I turned my smile into a frown. “I don’t even really know him.”
“That’s why we’re here,” he said as if I was the most naive person in the room, then pointed with his chin.
I looked in the direction he’d pointed and watched as Ryan maneuvered his way through the crowd, a drink in each hand. Women tried to stop him, but he continued right toward us without so much as a glance. They grabbed at his shirt, pulled at his pants, but he kept moving like nothing was going on around him. I almost felt sorry for him before I decided that he probably liked being manhandled by women every night.
His bright blue eyes met mine as he smiled. “Adios Pantalones for the angel, and a Guy Hater for the grumpy old man. Seemed fitting,” he said as he placed the drinks in front of us.
“Guy Hater? Stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Grant grumped as he took a cautious sip.
“Good?” Ryan asked, clearly wanting approval.
Grant took another swig. “Damn good. But next time I’ll take a plain whiskey on the rocks. I don’t need anything froufouing it up for me. I can drink whiskey like a man.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Ryan said with a mock salute before turning to me. “What about yours?”
“You really made me a drink that means good-bye pants?” I asked, curious about his beverage choice and wondering if I should be offended or not.
“It’s the best tequila drink in the house. Ladies love it,” he said with a shrug. “If you want something different, I can make it.” He reached for my drink, but I pulled it toward me.
I sniffed at it before taking a cautious sip, allowing the liquid to caress my tongue before it traveled down my throat with a slight burn.
“This is amazing,” I said, impressed.
Ryan puffed out his chest a little. “Thanks. Are you having a good time?”
“Yes. The company is wonderful.” I sent a glance Grant’s way before asking Ryan, “Are you?”
“I’d be having more fun if you ditched this zero and got with the hero.” He pointed at himself. “But, of course I’m having fun. I love my job.”
Ryan’s pride and genuine joy was as infectious as it was attractive. Seeing him in his element was sexy as hell, the way his confidence radiated from him.
“Is it always like this?” I asked.
“Always,” he deadpanned.
“And you want to do this forever? Tend bar, I mean?” I wasn’t sure why I felt the urge to ask him personal questions about his future plans, but I decided to blame the alcohol. Instead of the tequila making my pants come off, it had clearly shut off all logic and reasoning, and destroyed my filter.
“I don’t know. I guess that all depends. I mean, I enjoy it, but I’m sure one day it won’t fit in with my plans.”
“What do you mean? What plans?” I finished the rest of my drink as I waited for his answer. I’d downed the entire thing in less than a minute, I realized. That couldn’t be good.
Ryan picked up the empty glass and twirled it between his fingers. “I want a family someday. I don’t think I can bartend every night while my wife and kids are at home without me. I won’t want to be here then. I’ll want to be with them.”
My heart shot into my throat, and I tried to swallow around it as he looked at me and then back at his brother tending bar.
“I gotta get back over there.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Talk to you later?”
I nodded, unable to speak as his words played in my mind over and over in a loop. He wanted a family someday. He wanted to get married. He wouldn’t bartend while his family sat at home without him.
Oh my God. Ryan Fisher was one hell of a romantic.