Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Already rolling up his sleeves, he grins and winks. “Got it, boss.”
I butt my hip with the bar and wait when he disappears down the cellar’s creaky steps, anticipating him to reappear at any moment. The cart for the kegs is in the owner’s office, and he’ll need that.
Instead of a crash or a curse, minutes later, Giovanni reappears, carrying a keg on each shoulder. He sets them down near the taps, wipes the condensation from his hands, then crouches under the bar to connect the lines.
All I do is stare. I’ve worked with five male bar staff over the past three months. Four complained that the purpose-built stair cart should be replaced with an internal keg lift that would deliver the kegs from the cellar to the bar with the push of a button. The other one whined the entire time that he wasn’t built for manual labor. He quit mid-shift.
Giovanni doesn’t cite a single gripe. He gets on with it like he’s worked here for years, and I’m tempted to check if he’s real.
How can you look like him, fuck like him, and understand hard work like he does?
I stop wondering when he pops up a handful of minutes later. As he dusts his hand, he strays his eyes to me. “All done. Do you want me to prime the lines, or do you want to check the connections first?”
I take a giant step back. “This is your baby, Vanni, so if you’ve made a mistake, you’ll be the only one wearing beer-soaked clothes today.”
He gleams, loving that I called him Vanni, before he grabs a glass from the rack, tilts it at the desired forty-five-degree angle, then pulls a beer like a pro. He even straightens the glass slowly as it fills so it gets the ideal foam head, and he doesn’t spill a drop when he sets it on the countertop next to me.
“Is that up to your standards, boss, or shall I try again?”
His molten lava voice makes me want to melt like a popsicle on a hot summer’s day, but I hold my ground—scarcely.
“Try again.” Hating that he mistakes my reply as being snarky, I quickly add, “It’s never fun drinking alone.”
By the end of my shift, I’m utterly spent. My feet are aching, but the buzz of our commute hasn’t dulled a smidge. That probably has more to do with how often I’ve caught Giovanni’s hooded gaze over the past eight hours than anything else.
He’s still here, working pro bono alongside me.
I wasn’t rostered for today, but the pub was the only place that popped into my head when I sought somewhere to think without reminders of Giovanni constantly entering my head. My boss was surprised to see me, but he protected my secret after he learned who had connected the kegs and stacked the shelves behind the bar.
He shook Giovanni’s hand, mumbled a brief introduction as if they hadn’t already met, then retreated to his office, leaving the brunt of the workload to Giovanni and me.
Giovanni didn’t mind. He chatted with the regulars and replaced the empty kegs before I could ask. He even charmed Mrs. O’Malley into leaving a bigger tip than usual.
I catch him staring as I wipe down the bar, his gaze lust-filled but attentive. “You good, dolcezza?”
I nod, though I have no idea why I bother. Giovanni seems to have a four-dimensional paradox directly to my soul. He barely arches a brow, and I cave.
“I’m tired. For some reason, I haven’t gotten much sleep the past week.”
Smirking, he rests his elbows on the counter I just cleaned, then says, “Why’s that?”
When I throw my dishcloth in his face, his laughter bellows around the nearly deserted space.
After dumping the cloth that smacked him upside the head, his demanding tone slashes through the haze swamping me. “It’s time to go home, dolcezza. If you’re a good girl during the drive, I might even let you sleep tonight.”
I laugh at his obvious lie while pushing up the sleeves of my shirt. I need to cool my skin before I beg him to make true on his threat when he told me he won’t hold back the next time I call him Vanni. He said he’ll fuck me on the closest surface he finds—witnesses or not.
I snap my eyes to Giovanni when a gargled groan rolls up his chest. With his eyes glued on my arm, he stands perfectly still. Too still.
I follow the direction of his gaze, and my happy mood circles the drain.
The marks I tried to hide from him earlier stand out like a nun in a brothel. Four deep crescents from Valeria’s nails glow as vividly as the anger on Giovanni’s face. I could feel the sting of her ironclad grip hours later, but as my shift continued, I pushed aside the pain as one of the effects of a long day.