twenty or so more people just waiting to get in. Unbelievable.
Practically humming with excitement, I leave Slim at the door and push through the crowd to hop back over the bar. I nearly trip over a box of cups on the other side, and Colton reaches out to steady me. His arms go around my waist, and on instinct, I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. Our eyes meet as he sets me down gently, and I curse the warm feeling that shoots through me.
Damn, has it just been a long time since I felt a set of strong arms around me, or is this a Colton-specific phenomenon?
Because if this is really about Colton, I need to get myself in check. Fast. I don’t date bartenders, and I certainly don’t date employees. I learned that lesson a long time ago. One bad apple was enough to spoil the bunch, so to speak.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling away as fast as I can.
“Anytime, short stuff.”
I glare at the cocky smile that seems to reach all the way to his eyes. Why does he have to be so ridiculously charming and happy all the damn time?
“How are things looking at the door?” he asks.
“Amazing,” I say, unable to contain my own smile now. “This is going to be our best night ever.”
“Told you so,” he says.
Several women are standing impatiently at the counter, cash in hand. I nod to them. “Are you planning to stand here making chit-chat with me all night, or are you planning to serve some drinks in your spare time?”
He laughs again and grabs a couple beers from the cooler. “Guess you better stop flirting with me, then,” he says. “I have work to do.”
I shake my head and watch as he glides over to hand the ladies their drinks. All frustration melts from their faces and they lean over the top of the bar, smiling.
It’s a scene I’ve watched a thousand times since he started working here a few months back. There’s no doubt hiring him was the right move, and I have my friend Jenna to thank for that. I may have poached him from Brantley’s, but the guy definitely has a way about him. One flash of that smile of his and the ladies are ready to sit at the bar all night just to get another glimpse.
Realizing I’m still staring instead of helping get these people their drinks, I tear my gaze away and start back toward my side of the bar.
But I stop short, frowning. Daddy is struggling with a credit card at the machine, his hands curled awkwardly around the plastic and his eyebrows cinched together. He tries to run the card and drops it to the floor. He’s kind of a big guy after years of drinking his own wares, and he struggles to bend down to retrieve it. After a couple attempts, he can’t seem to get his fingers to work around the small card.
I rush over, my heart racing. “I’ll get it, Daddy.”
I grab the card and run it through the machine.
“Thanks, Jojo,” he says. He shakes his hand and curls his fingers into a fist a few times, letting them open and close. “My hands aren’t working right tonight for some reason. This crowd has me all nervous.”
He says it with a laugh, but the hint of concern in his eyes sends an uncomfortable zing through my stomach. He’s been having a lot of problems with his hands the past week or so. Just last night he dropped a couple brand new pint glasses on the floor when he was trying to fill them from the tap. I thought maybe he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, but this is something else.
I place a hand on his arm and lean close. “Everything okay?”
He shrugs and touches my hand. “I’m fine,” he says. “Maybe my age is just catching up with me.”
“Not getting enough sleep is what’s catching up with you,” I say. I hear those late-night infomercials at two in the morning. He’s had a problem with insomnia ever since Mom left us back in the day, but I thought it was getting better for a while. Maybe he’s just tired and overworked.
“I thought I was supposed to be the parent in this relationship,” he says.
“Someone’s got to look out for you,” I say. I grab his shoulder and go up on my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “We’ve got it