kind of place—it’s mostly men.”
“And men tip better.”
“To certain people.” His gaze darted to her breasts and back up.
So it was her bust line again. Her heart sank and then her blood boiled. “So, this is like a Hooters place? You have to be big chested to get a job?”
“It helps.” His eyes were twinkling at her. He thought this was so funny. Oooh, that burned her.
“What counts is serving skills, not cup size.” Her voice cracked with frustration. She was tired of nothing working out. “I’m good at math, I can keep an order in my head and I can handle a cash register—”
“Calm down, would you? I’m just telling you that you won’t be comfortable at Moons. Moons is a men’s club and—”
“And I’m telling you I want the job.” She folded her arms under her breasts, instead of over them, as she wanted to, and shot him a determined look. Then she remembered her manners. She couldn’t exactly force him to hire her. “You said you’re shorthanded, Jackson, and I’m glad to help out. It would mean a lot to me. I won’t let you down.”
He just looked at her, his eyes twinkling as if he was busting to tell a joke. “If you’re sure, but I’m telling you—”
“Just because I come from a small town doesn’t mean I’m small-minded.” Of course, the extent of her food-service experience was one summer at the gift shop at Cactus Confections, so there’d be a learning curve. “A bar is a bar and I need the money.”
“Come in with me tonight and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Excellent,” she said. Something about the look on Jackson’s face made her wonder if she was making a mistake, but there was no stopping her now, inexperience and tiny boobs be damned.
5
“L ET’S GO ,” Jackson called to Heidi that evening, rattling his keys in his pocket, smiling to himself. The woman obviously didn’t know what a men’s club was. He could have explained about the strippers, but he decided she’d just accuse him of trying to scare her away.
Maybe it would be good for her to realize she wasn’t quite as worldly as she thought she was. She’d meet Duke, who was coming in early tonight, so the man could recommend her for a restaurant job. She’d be a great hostess. She was organized and energetic. And so damn cute. Once she caught onto the joke, Jackson would take her home and not even say I told you so .
Now she bounded out of her bedroom in the most god-awful outfit he’d ever seen. Very Salvation Army. She’d borrowed some cash to pick up some work shoes and must have dredged the back racks of a used clothing place for the baggy white blouse, long, shapeless skirt and cloddish brown shoes. She looked like a fifties missionary lady.
“Interesting outfit,” he said.
“I thought it looked professional.” She smiled smugly at him.
“Sure.” For a nun in street clothes. Besides, it was better for him when she hid her tight little figure. Every minute that passed with her in his house raised his stress. Itbothered him to think of her sleeping in his Hawaiian shirt, the moon through the blinds lighting her hills and dips under the sheets. Worse, in this heat, she probably shoved off the sheet—maybe the shirt, too, leaving moonlight as her only cover. Moonlight and maybe those daisy-dotted panties he’d pictured. He thought about running his fingers over her sweet nipples, tasting her soft mouth, sliding his hands over the fabric where it passed between her legs, making her moan, making her wiggle.
Stop it.
“Let’s go,” he said and yanked open the door to the garage for her. She stopped and stared at the van. “Tasty Cakes?” She turned to him.
“The band needed money to cut a CD, so I bought their van.” The name and three futuristic Amazons in skintight space suits were airbrushed on both side panels, which made the van a good promotion for the group, who had a nice garage salsa sound. “We’re taking the other car.” He led her to the Aston
“And men tip better.”
“To certain people.” His gaze darted to her breasts and back up.
So it was her bust line again. Her heart sank and then her blood boiled. “So, this is like a Hooters place? You have to be big chested to get a job?”
“It helps.” His eyes were twinkling at her. He thought this was so funny. Oooh, that burned her.
“What counts is serving skills, not cup size.” Her voice cracked with frustration. She was tired of nothing working out. “I’m good at math, I can keep an order in my head and I can handle a cash register—”
“Calm down, would you? I’m just telling you that you won’t be comfortable at Moons. Moons is a men’s club and—”
“And I’m telling you I want the job.” She folded her arms under her breasts, instead of over them, as she wanted to, and shot him a determined look. Then she remembered her manners. She couldn’t exactly force him to hire her. “You said you’re shorthanded, Jackson, and I’m glad to help out. It would mean a lot to me. I won’t let you down.”
He just looked at her, his eyes twinkling as if he was busting to tell a joke. “If you’re sure, but I’m telling you—”
“Just because I come from a small town doesn’t mean I’m small-minded.” Of course, the extent of her food-service experience was one summer at the gift shop at Cactus Confections, so there’d be a learning curve. “A bar is a bar and I need the money.”
“Come in with me tonight and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Excellent,” she said. Something about the look on Jackson’s face made her wonder if she was making a mistake, but there was no stopping her now, inexperience and tiny boobs be damned.
5
“L ET’S GO ,” Jackson called to Heidi that evening, rattling his keys in his pocket, smiling to himself. The woman obviously didn’t know what a men’s club was. He could have explained about the strippers, but he decided she’d just accuse him of trying to scare her away.
Maybe it would be good for her to realize she wasn’t quite as worldly as she thought she was. She’d meet Duke, who was coming in early tonight, so the man could recommend her for a restaurant job. She’d be a great hostess. She was organized and energetic. And so damn cute. Once she caught onto the joke, Jackson would take her home and not even say I told you so .
Now she bounded out of her bedroom in the most god-awful outfit he’d ever seen. Very Salvation Army. She’d borrowed some cash to pick up some work shoes and must have dredged the back racks of a used clothing place for the baggy white blouse, long, shapeless skirt and cloddish brown shoes. She looked like a fifties missionary lady.
“Interesting outfit,” he said.
“I thought it looked professional.” She smiled smugly at him.
“Sure.” For a nun in street clothes. Besides, it was better for him when she hid her tight little figure. Every minute that passed with her in his house raised his stress. Itbothered him to think of her sleeping in his Hawaiian shirt, the moon through the blinds lighting her hills and dips under the sheets. Worse, in this heat, she probably shoved off the sheet—maybe the shirt, too, leaving moonlight as her only cover. Moonlight and maybe those daisy-dotted panties he’d pictured. He thought about running his fingers over her sweet nipples, tasting her soft mouth, sliding his hands over the fabric where it passed between her legs, making her moan, making her wiggle.
Stop it.
“Let’s go,” he said and yanked open the door to the garage for her. She stopped and stared at the van. “Tasty Cakes?” She turned to him.
“The band needed money to cut a CD, so I bought their van.” The name and three futuristic Amazons in skintight space suits were airbrushed on both side panels, which made the van a good promotion for the group, who had a nice garage salsa sound. “We’re taking the other car.” He led her to the Aston
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