With a huff, I turned away and finished the dregs of my whiskey.
Rhys laughed again. “I bet you a hundred bucks Cade just wanted to see what Rory would do to that guy.”
“If that’s true, I’ll fire his ass myself,” I said shortly.
“Relax,” Rhys said. “I’m just kidding. That guy’s probably already stuffed in the back of a cab. You’re so touchy about Rory.”
“What?” I threw a scowl over my shoulder, then poured another finger of whiskey into my glass from the decanter on my desk. “I’m just trying to make sure there’s no trouble going down in my club.”
“Come on.” Rhys grabbed a clear glass off the bar cart behind my desk like this was his office and then held it out for me to pour him some whiskey, too. “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t want him just because you got your pride hurt once. Or twice. Or a handful of times.”
I poured Rhys a finger of whiskey, even though I really wanted to turn him away just for being an asshole. Yeah, I wanted Rory, and at this point pretty much everyone who worked at King’s Gambit knew it. And it was my own fault that it was such a spectacle—I’d propositioned Rory twice, and been turned down both times.
Admittedly, I wasn’t used to getting turned down. I was tall, in good shape, and I cleaned up pretty nice. But it’d been shockingly easy for Rory to scoff at me and brush off my advances like I was a nerdy teenager chasing after the most popular girl in school. He’d been working as a bartender here for a year now, and after two rejections, I was done trying.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said curtly. “I know how to take no for an answer.”
“You sure about that?” Rhys teased. He raised his glass to mine.
I sucked my teeth, irritated, but tapped my glass against his anyway. “I’m sure. And anyway, you know I’m not the type to give someone three chances. Two strikes and you’re out.”
“I know,” Rhys said. He leaned against my desk, kicked his feet out, and crossed them at the ankle. “You still watch him like you want to eat him, though.”
“I was making sure he was okay,” I insisted. “He’s a part of this establishment, first and foremost, and I’m not going to stand idly by while an employee gets hurt on the premises. Under my watch.”
“Riiiight,” Rhys said. “That sharp eye of yours has nothing to do with how stretched out his shirt is.”
Behind the bar, Rory fiddled with his shirt, like he could hear us. Yeah, it was really stretched out—the neckline falling beneath his collarbones, showing the constellation of freckles across his chest. How many times had I imagined tracing those freckles with my tongue?
Countless, but desire still rocketed through me at the thought.
Down on the floor, Rory huffed in exasperation, then tucked the hem of the shirt into the front of his tight jeans and got back to work.
Rhys was staring at me with a knowing quirk to his lips. “See what I mean?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I said, turning away from the window. “Wait, what the hell are you doing up here, aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I’m on break,” Rhys said demurely.
I snatched the glass of whiskey out of his hand. “Like hell you are. Go sell some more champagne to those private rooms.”
Rhys smoothed out of the front of his shirt, then pouted at me.
I sighed and handed the glass back. “Fine. But at least sell a bottle of liquor to one of them.”
“Don’t you worry about the sales for tonight,” Rhys said, then swung his arm around my shoulder and gave me a companionable squeeze. “Just try not to dote on Rory too much when we’re closing up.”
I shoved his arm off. “Get out of here,” I said, but I couldn’t stifle my laugh. Rhys was a dick sometimes, but only because he knew me too goddamn well. He grinned, took a final sip of his whiskey, and hurried out the door to tend to the customers with the fattest wallets.
Once he was gone, I turned my attention back to the window. Behind the bar, Rory was navigating around the other bartenders trying to serve customers as he cleaned up the mess of liquor and glass.
I’d meant what I’d said to Rhys. Two chances. Never a third. And Rory had made it clear he wasn’t interested in me.