Behind Closed Doors by Ashelyn Drake Page A

tips from his female customers. The thought sends jealousy coursing through me. He’s not mine, but God do I want him to be.
     
    “Do you see him?” Noelle asks, still trying to look around people.
     
    “Yeah, he’s at the bar.” That poses another problem. I don’t recognize most of the staff tonight. They aren’t the same people who worked the other night when I was with Darren. And without him at my side now, I’m bound to get carded, which means I’m not getting anywhere near that bar.
     
    “Just tell the hostess you’re here to talk to Darren.”
     
    “He’s swamped. He’s not going to leave the bar to come talk to me, and she’s not going to let me sit a the bar without showing ID.”
     
    Noelle looks at me, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. “What would you do if it were Andy at that bar and I needed to see him?”
     
    I think for a moment, and a laugh escapes my lips. “I’d distract the hostess so you could slip past her and get to the bar.”
     
    Noelle smiles. “Done.”
     
    “What?” She’s never pulled a stunt like this. It’s my thing, not hers.
     
    “Count to ten and get ready to walk up to that bar like you own it.”
     
    I have no idea how she’s going to distract the hostess, but I hug her, thankful that she’s even willing to try this for me. She turns and walks up to the hostess, her arms flailing all around her. What the hell?
     
    “I’ve been waiting for an hour. The whole point of making a reservation is that you don’t have to wait.”
     
    “But you never even—”
     
    “The reservation is under Peterson. Don’t pretend like we haven’t already had this conversation,” Noelle continues, making it up as she goes.
    The hostess frantically searches the reservation book in front of her. “I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on my list.”
     
    “Then get me your manager,” Noelle yells.
     
    The hostess turns and walks off toward the kitchen. I don’t waste time. I head straight for the bar, my eyes locked on Darren. He looks up briefly before pouring a shot, but he does a double take and winds up spilling the Grey Goose all over the bar. He quickly mops it up, giving me a chance to squeeze myself at the end of the bar next to the same guy who gave up his seat for me the other night.
     
    “Hey, it’s you,” the guy says with a smile.
     
    “Hi.” I smile back. “Crowded in here tonight, huh?”
     
    “Where are my manners?” He hops off the stool. “Please, have a seat.”
     
    “That’s so sweet of you,” I say, sitting down.
     
    “Hey, Darren, this girl of yours needs a drink,” he calls down the bar.
     
    Darren looks up at me. He’s not going to serve me now that he knows I’m only nineteen.
     
    “Actually, I’d love some coffee.”
     
    He nods and heads to the coffee pot on the side of the bar. When he returns with my cup, he leans close and whispers, “What are you doing here?”
     
    “That was my line, remember? When you showed up yesterday?” I leave off the part about my dorm, not wanting anyone to overhear. “How did you get out, by the way?”
     
    Darren wipes the bar with the dishcloth, most likely because he has built up nervous energy. “I took the stairs to the laundry room and waited in there until the coast was clear.”
     
    “Clever. You could’ve stayed though. It wasn’t like we were finished talking.”
     
    “You shouldn’t have come here.”
     
    “Then you should’ve texted me back.” Now I’m getting angry. He’s calling all the shots, like he’s the only one who gets to make the decisions. Show up when he wants to. Ignore me when he wants to. I’m done with it.
     
    “I’m sorry. Please don’t get angry with me.”
     
    “Too late.” I stare into his eyes. “I need to know what you’re keeping from me. It’s not just about your job.”
    “Murray!” Darren yells, tossing the dishtowel onto the bar. “I’m taking ten. Cover the bar.”
     
    Th e guy who gave me his