“The new hire.” She swiped the dishrag on top of the worn, brown countertop, and didn’t look like she’d be offering up any more information.
If she knew me in my heyday, that’d never been her response. He raked her form up, down, then up again while he tried to decide if she were old enough to be inside a bar. Her hair was the color of a strong glass of cognac. The sides were short and neat, giving the air of a responsible adult. But the front had an ‘I don’t give a shit’ tousled effect that made him wonder again if she was legal. The style made her oval face more interesting than it really was, but when his gaze flitted over her high cheekbones and past her feline-shaped eyes that were the color of molten pewter, he concluded she was attractive, in a strange sort of way. And he liked the way her pointy chin stuck up in the air with defiance, or maybe it was confidence.
“Are you done eye-fucking me or do you need another minute, old man?” the bartender asked. Her question was matter-of-fact, and didn’t hold a lick of reprimand in it.