“Look at me.”
Her eyes were ice as they shifted from the colorful taps to him. The sound of her blood racing through her veins roared in her ears. She hated him for having this effect on her, and she used that emotion to chill her stare. He’d led her on, made innuendo, teased her; nothing had indicated he would rebuff her at the last minute after she’d exposed herself. That heknewthat about her sickened her.
“Sweetheart, what—?”
“I’m not your sweetheart, and my name isn’t Day. Now, what the fuck do you want to drink?” she snapped.
Mac’s eyes narrowed in assessment as he tilted his head. “Start pouring the IPA,Day. I named you that, I’m gonna call you that,sweetheart.”
Cassidy stuck the mug under the tap and pulled. She concentrated on the task in front of her, grateful for the break from his eyes. Instead, the amber liquid received her visual wrath.
She could berate him further, but sparring with him would give him what he wanted—a form of communication with her. She didn’t want to talk to him, look at him, or think about him. He had the upper hand; she was well aware of it because she had given it to him.
No judgments, Darlene had promised. Well, maybe Mac didn’t need to judge her. She was judging herself hard enough.
As though reading her mind, he said loud enough for her to hear over the sounds of an old The Chicks song, “Talk to me.”
Well, that hadn’t worked out so well for her the last time, so no, thank you.
“Another word, and you’ll be wearing this beer.”
He chuckled. “You might get fired for that.”
“I don’t care. Don’t talk to me again.” She knocked foam off the head before slamming the mug on the counter in front of him. She unceremoniously tossed a cocktail napkin after it and turned on her heel, walking away.
She checked on her other customers at the tables and in the booths, an eye on the clock. She talked to three people in one of the stalls, helping them decide between a pitcher or a bucket of beer when the songStupid Boyby Keith Urban came on. She paused; it hadn’t been one of her selections. This was Mac’s pick.
She refused to read anything into it as she calculated out the ounces of beer in a pitcher versus the ounces in a bucket. She discussed the bonus of the variety, as well. They went for the bucket. “Good choice,” she approved as she walked back toward the bar.
The bar door swung open, a flood of light coming in with Darlene in a tight denim dress. Cassidy nearly threw herself into the woman’s arms.
“Hey, darlin’,” Darlene greeted.
“Hi. I have a bucket to prepare, but the rest are yours—all yours. Then I’m heading out.”
Darlene gave her a look. “Sure. You good?”
“Right as rain.”
“You’re talking in clichés.”
“I’m fine. I just have a few things to get back to.” That was a complete lie. It would have been more appropriate to say,I have one thing to get away from.
They rounded the bar together; Cassidy began preparing the bucket of beer.
“Hey, Mac,” Darlene greeted in her sexy voice.
“Dar,” he responded in a neutral tone.
“What d’ya think of the IPA?” she asked.
“It’s got alcohol in it,” he responded.
Darlene laughed, her dimples peeking out. “Sure does, darlin’.”
Mac turned his attention to Cassidy, who was studiously ignoring him as she shoved the beer bottles into the ice for her last customers of the day. “Day.”
Cassidy cast him one last icy look as she jerked the bucket off the counter and walked away. Bucket of beer delivered, Cassidy had to stop herself from running to the back office to retrieve Fred. She’d already run from him at the Trading Post. She didn’t need to look like a lunatic again. Instead, she headed toward the back, informing Darlene, “I’m out.”