Unplanned Luna

"Hot bartender!" Emily held up her empty cup. "There's definitely another bastard in here."

If she didn't drink the third glass, she definitely wouldn't scold the barkeep anything. Sometimes she or he will lean over the bar and show a little cleavage, but she's not too bad in that category. But the name of the drink, Tangerine Vodka Orange Juice, and the fact that she was dumped by her fiancé two weeks before the wedding, they seemed very fitting. , she won't analyze it tonight. Her sexy bartender looked at her and nodded slightly. Emily slid off the bar surface and plopped down on the bar stool with a sigh.

What are you waiting for? She examined the empty cup, disappointed by his lack of concern. She often visits fair moonlight . It's the favorite hangout of her best friend, Caitlin. During the past ten months, she came here often, but she barely had the courage to look at the sexy bartender. Of course, there were also times when she was with her fiancé, oh, her ex-fiancé, Grant, so she didn't really get any male attention. The sexy bartender was on a different level than men, but she was sure that his attention span was on another level as well. However, his male attention was not attracted to her. He barely acknowledged her every time he placed his glass in front of her. Emily knew she wasn't his type, or anyone else's, in a place with a high percentage of tall, muscular men and women who wore underwear. Pale moonlight is famous not only for its beauty but also for its severity. The frighteningly handsome men and women who owned and operated this club were famous for not allowing fights, unwanted attacks (obviously usually wanted assailants) and illegal translation. In any case, the club is very loyal to the local public. Much of that loyalty involves a back room called “The Den.” Emily had heard rumors about what happened in these rooms. Indeed, she had seen enough to confirm the whispers: muscular men leading eager, scantily clad women from the dance floor to the rooms that made up The Den. He disappeared into the hallway. She watched with interest as those men led the women out, supporting them on their weak, unsteady legs. Emily calls them Jelly Girls because of their rubber feet. The women still seem to be in a state of post-coital bliss, with their rumpled clothes and hair in their rooms. They are assigned to staff to receive their bags and return them to their group or escort them out of the club. She watched in shock as the men turned their backs on her and disappeared down the hallway, waking up another beautiful, scantily clad woman the men were paying attention to.

She is a psychologist and sometimes she forgets that she was just shocked. They all seemed to be in complete agreement. Emily sniffled internally. At least tonight someone will agree, and maybe several times. “What's for the drinks tonight, Tinkerbell?” » she asked in a gentle and deep voice.

Startled, Emily opened her eyes and she realized the sound of panties coming from the hot bartender. There was a new glass in front of her and he was leaning his arm against the counter. The alcohol had strengthened her courage and she took advantage of his closeness to let her eyes wander over his body. When she first came here a few months ago and saw him across the bar, she was so embarrassed that she didn't dare look at him, but her first impression was of pure masculinity. He was probably about 6 feet tall. She is quite imposing considering her height of five and a half feet. She knew his eyes were a cold blue and his head was shaved, but up close she could see the dark beard covering his scalp and his angular jaw. I did it. Thick, short, and black eyelashes surround his eyes, and he also has dark, arched eyebrows.

She traced the intricate work of art etched into the muscles on the side of his neck and down to his form-fitting shirt. Hmm...judging from the cut of his shirt, his body must be a work of art. It should just have muscles, ink and more muscles. How far can squid travel? Is the scar under the tattoo? Hot weather.

"Tinker Bell?" he repeated. Emily's gaze returned to his face. He raised his eyebrows and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. A feeling of shame rose from his neck to his face. Oh, she took it and swallowed it. “Oh what?” Absolute Screwdriver Drinks is more precise than ever. The hot bartender just gave her the side eye and that's another thing fair moonlight can't stand, pissing off her staff. It happened (duh! Look at them), but when the leggy woman, with messy hair and high heels in a painted dress, they got away with more. Emily is average height, too curvaceous to wear anything tight - well, she could (and she will, thank you very much), but whores' radar is on men things start to go wrong and she's going to have to slap someone 'A. That's why she often wears her work clothes; They were just as silent and bored as she was. Adding to the look is her undyed, plain brown hair in a low-maintenance pixie cut. Speaking of that...

“Did you just call me Tinker Bell?”

The other eyebrow raises to meet the first raised eyebrow. “Yeah, that suits you.”

"Really?" » she said, a bit stunned. Hot Bartender is flirting with her. Hopefully...almost yes...no, that's his job. She shrugged. “Well, I guess there are worse words for it. Can I have another Absolute, please?

“There's one more to come. But that's it, Tink. When they hit you, it will be fast and hard.

“Well, I like that, Hot Bartender,” Emily said, a little annoyed. Did he cut ties with everyone after she became an adult woman? He was just left on the altar, nothing more, nothing less. Hold. Surname. Future. "Do you know?" Hot Bartender's eyes sparkled with warmth that disappeared when his mind realized the insinuation she had just said. Then he went down to the bar to make her a drink.

How many bad sentences does he have to hear? Now Emily Dawson 's name can be added to the list of desperate, lonely women who attack me at work.

I'm not desperate, damn it! Emily reassured herself. Trying her best not to be noticed, she watched him work, his actions quick and confident, his muscles bulging through his black shirt. She'd been there once, maybe twice, a month since Kaitlyn had found the place, but she was still so afraid of being kicked out that she looked at it as if she were studying her new book How to Stalk the Hot And she can still go there. deportation. if she doesn't stop gawking. She looked away from him and went onto the dance floor to find Kaitlyn.

The hard rock music that echoed throughout the club wasn't really her thing, but the beat made her stomp her feet. It's the closest thing to dancing. Kaitlyn, on the other hand, was there with a guy Emily had never seen here before. Kaitlyn's tall, thin body slid up and down the Mystery Man, all the while sitting on his knees. The mystery man removed Kaitlyn's long bronze locks. Her hair fell down her back as he placed his hands on her slim hips and whispered in her ear. Emily probably didn't know what he was talking about, but it can be assumed that his words were intended to entice Kaitlyn to strip naked by the end of the night. And maybe they will work.

“You haven't answered my question. What are these difficulties? Hot bartender is back. And you still try to talk to him?

She turned around on her stool to face him. Damn it, the room was spinning with her. “Well, if you must know. I was supposed to get married in two weeks and I got dumped two hours ago. So here I am, completely exhausted and drinking my new favorite wine. Emily downed the rest of his glass of wine.

He remained in front of her as before, leaning against the counter, watching her throat tighten as the lemon-like liquid burned. Warmth returned to his eyes as he watched her hand wipe away the remains of the drink. It was a busy night at the club, but he still hung around like he had all the time in the world. The guy behind the bar, also extremely handsome, has a bad boy image similar to Hot Bartender, responding to all drink requests, willing to accept that he has to handle the crowd himself. But no one will complain about the service from these two tall, almost sinister-looking men.

He nodded once, his pale eyes still looking at her. His heart beat a little faster and it wasn't because of the vodka. The rest of his body became warmer, focusing on his heart.

“He wasn't made for you,” he said simply.

"What?" Unbelievable, Emily half-screamed her question out of surprise. "Why do you think so?"

He leaned a little further toward the bar. “Tinkerbell, you've been following him for months and I've never once seen him enlighten you.”

"Enlighten me?" She shook her head, surprised by the conversation with this man. This man made her heart skip a beat just by looking at him, made her insides melt when he looked at her, made her squirm in her chair when she heard his voice.

“The two of you didn't dance. You weren't sitting on his lap. "We hardly held hands," he said, nodding toward the dance floor. "Your friend got more action between you and your ex during that song than I've ever seen."

Emily opened her mouth. She usually took a breath and analyzed the situation before saying anything. She has been paying a lot of money for this for years. Tangerine vodka fueled her angry words. "What do you know about it? We loved each other and respected each other. "All I see here is desire," she said, gesturing around her. Nothing more. "

The hot bartender moved even closer to her. "So you didn't feel like him?" His deep voice vibrated inside her, making her shiver. When he got very close, she noticed his scent - very masculine, like he was hanging fresh laundry out to dry in the woods. Her core, already warm, pulsed to his music, and her breasts swelled and became heavy.

"Tell me, Tink," he continued. “Have you ever sat here and mourned your lost love? Or have you gone through all the formalities of canceling the wedding and calculated exactly how long you'll be out for in the end? ”

He had enough courage to ask her that. She was heartbroken, damn it! Grant was a nice guy. they loved each other. Well, until he once came to her house and asked her to give him her ring back because she "felt this all was wrong" and she "needed to find herself." believed so. Not only did she not want to worry about getting her money back from all the things she had put her own money into, she also didn't want to think about the arrangements that would come with canceling everything on her. Her mental list of calls to make on Monday, grew longer and longer. In front of her stood a florist, a travel agent, and a wall of damn men.

``There are five stages of grief.'' ``Right now I'm working on quelling my anger.'' Emily took a quiet breath. Her thoughts became vague, as she was not used to exceeding the limits of a glass of wine. If she had a particularly bad day at work, like getting into an argument with her overbearing colleague Dr. At this time she was at her home wearing flannel pajama pants and a tank top. “Another drink, please, hot bartender.”

Still leaning against the bar, he pointed to the glass of clear liquid and ice that was already sitting next to her. "Please drink water."

"Oh my god..." she stammered, "I only had about three drinks."

"four. In an hour. You need some water.” He slid the water in front of her. “Drink.”

“Uh, Hot Bartender, I plan to drink ’til I forget tonight. And water won’t make that happen. I even have a driver lined up.” Despite her bravado, she picked up the water and sucked on the straw. His eyes darkened as he followed the straw, watching as her lips wrapped around it. "First of all, my name is Drake. Second, your driver may be sober, but he's probably going home with someone tonight."

"Drake," she tried his name, watching the look of pure male satisfaction on his face. "Nice to meet you, Drake. "I'm Emily." She took another sip through her straw. "I'm glad, Emily," he murmured, staring at her mouth again. She watched him stare at her, fascinated by his reaction to her drink.

"Oh, Emily!" Kaitlyn jumped next to her. ``You'll never believe what happened.'' She sped ahead of her. “I met Tyson on the dance floor. He had a roadster and offered to give me a ride. ”

Emily rolled her eyes. Typical, impulsive Kaitlyn . She flits from adventure to adventure, visiting the men caught up in each situation and moving on just as quickly.

"So, when are you coming back?" Emily asked. When she got drunk at a bar with her friends after getting dumped, she didn't feel as awfully lonely as when she got drunk alone at a bar after getting dumped. Kaitlyn giggled. “You’re ready to ride. Have I ever let you down?

Emily raised her eyebrows. She said that while Kaitlyn was initially a willing dance partner, she was usually at the table and often left with Grant, so she either drove herself or accompanied Grant to interviews. I was so attached to it that I learned to go. Why does tonight need to be different? "Go on. I'll call a cab." Hmm, she hated that idea. What else happened? Would she be the third wheel while Tyson took her for a ride? Or worse, Tyson said: "Hey, you guys are friends. . . . do you have each other? "Have you ever kissed?" This probably wouldn't be the first time Kaitlyn's date came up with this brilliant idea. "I'm going to make sure you get home safely," Drake said.

Surprised, Kaitlyn finally realized that he was still standing there. "Oh," she breathed, staring at Drake, "I'm sure I'll do it," she turned to Emily with her big smile on her face, a mischievous glint in her eyes.