Married One Night. Amber Williams Leigh

your way, you’ll have the immense pleasure of having one of your score of admirers haul me out of the tavern,” he promised. “But if I out-tip you by night’s end...you agree to go on a date with me tomorrow night.”

      She shook her head. “You’re terrible about making bets you can’t win, you know that?”

      “Do we have a deal, love?”

      Pursing her lips, she watched him roll up his sleeves. “Sure. But when I win, you have to agree not to step foot back in the tavern during your three weeks here. Got it?”

      It wouldn’t come to that. Gerald was determined to make that a reality. “You drive a hard bargain. But I’ll accept those terms.”

      She grinned widely and meant it by the light in her eyes. “Good.”

      As soon as they both ducked behind the counter, an eager face emerged from the crowd on the other side. “Hey, Liv!”

      “Hey there, Skeet,” Olivia greeted fondly. “You back for more?”

      “Sure thing,” Skeet said. Gerald saw his eyes dart in the direction of the waitress.

      Apparently, Olivia did, too, because her smile grew into Cheshire cat terrain. “Monica’s a little occupied at the moment. What’ll it be?”

      “Something hard and straight,” Skeet replied absently, keeping Monica in his peripheral.

      “Hard and straight it is,” Olivia said, reaching for a brown liquor bottle.

      Gerald stopped her with a hand on her arm, flashing her a smile. “Allow me.”

      After a hesitant moment, she stepped back, hands raised. “Knock yourself out, Shakespeare. But remember—you break it, you buy it.”

      Gerald grabbed the bottle by the neck, lifting it from the shelf under the counter. He set a shot glass on the bar. In the other hand, he flipped the bottle over the back of his hand, caught it nimbly and poured the liquor into the glass. With a wink at Skeet, he passed it over the bar. “Liquid courage, my friend,” he said before facing Olivia.

      He was pleased when it took her a moment to find her voice. “Well, I’ll be.”

      * * *

      “LIV, YOU GOT yourself a challenger?”

      Olivia rolled her eyes in the direction of one of her regulars, Freddie. “Settle down, settle down. This doesn’t concern you.”

      “Too rich for your blood, eh, Liv?” Clint added.

      Olivia scowled at him but before she could open her mouth to retort, Gerald replied for her. “The lady and I have ourselves a little arrangement, gentlemen.”

      “Uh-oh,” Monica muttered behind them.

      Olivia narrowed her eyes on him. “Making a show of it won’t help you. These are my customers. They’d side with me any day of the week.”

      “I made a living off tips for four years,” Gerald explained, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “I know how to work a crowd.”

      Olivia blew out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?”

      He moved quickly to toss a bottle her way. The gleam in his eyes deepened as she sucked in a breath, catching it before it shattered on the floor. “You like that about me, love. Admit it.”

      “Careful there, pretty boy.” Olivia tossed the bottle up once, caught it smoothly, then flipped it and set it down easily on the bar. “Now I’m going to have to embarrass you in front of an audience.”

      Gerald offered her a come-hither motion with his hands. “Let’s go, Mrs. Leighton,” he added in an undertone.

      “Stand back, Mon,” Olivia warned, then raised her voice over the noise and spread her arms wide. “Who wants to buy me a drink?”

      Men rushed for the bar. Gerald turned to the women who’d already moved forward in curiosity, and offered them a charming grin. “Ladies?”

      The bet went on for several hours. Their tip jars began to flourish with wrinkled singles. Bottles flipped in the air with an encore of shot glasses and bottle caps. Blenders churned and the beer taps flowed as Gerald and Olivia tirelessly worked the Friday night crowd.

      He impressed her, Olivia thought. He didn’t once falter, tire or hang back for a sip of water. However, Olivia didn’t begin to worry about losing until she realized that the women in the crowd were starting to outnumber the men by a hair and she caught Monica sneaking a five-dollar bill into Gerald’s tip jar.

      Olivia watched the smug grin spread over his face, his dimples and sexy crow’s-feet digging deep. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his pricey oxford shirt and untucked it from his suit slacks. His rich laugh rose over the din, beckoning her.

      If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he’d fallen from heaven right at her feet.

      Yeah, let’s not go there, she thought, stifling the stirrings she was beginning to feel more and more toward him.

      It was close to midnight when the crowd thinned and finally dispersed, leaving behind the lone form of Skeet Bisbee. Olivia had counted out her tips as Monica cleaned up and Gerald offered to wash glasses. After he’d worked as hard as he had, Olivia was stunned to see him still on his feet, much less cleaning up after her customers. She wouldn’t argue, though. It was nice to put her feet up for a few moments after the record rush.

      Word of the challenge had spread from her customers to their friends and family. Olivia couldn’t remember a busier October night that didn’t involve a football game or holiday. Tonight’s challenge would go a long way toward her sales quota for the month.

      Olivia eyed Gerald, elbows-deep in suds at the sink. She’d have to thank him for that. However, she had no plans of telling him that she’d sent Decker home early and disappointed.

      Skeet’s head was down on the bar and he was tonelessly crooning along with Bad Company’s “Ready for Love.” Olivia got up from her stool and went over to pat him on the back. “You all right, slugger? It’s past your bedtime.”

      Skeet lifted his head to reveal a crooked smile and bloodshot eyes. She’d cut him off an hour ago, but he’d remained, mooning after Monica. “I’m a’right,” he slurred. “And I love you, Liv. Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

      “I love you, too, honey,” Olivia said, kissing his puckered lips briefly before exchanging looks with Monica. “Come on now. Monica will take you home.”

      “Monica.” Skeet gazed, awestruck, at her. “Liv, isn’t she the purtiest thing?”

      “The purtiest,” Olivia replied, trying to haul Skeet to his feet.

      “Allow me.” Gerald stepped in. The scent of his aftershave teased her nostrils. “Come on, son. Let’s get you back on the wagon.” He hooked an arm under Skeet’s shoulders and all but dragged him to the door with Monica and Olivia in pursuit.

      “So?” Monica whispered, bumping an elbow into Olivia’s ribs. She admired Gerald’s rear as he bent over to help Skeet into the passenger seat of her old, beat-up, two-door Saturn. “What’s the skinny on Mr. Shakespeare?”

      Olivia shook her head. “It’s complicated. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

      “He’s all over you.”

      “You think?” Olivia asked, curious despite herself.

      “Like white on rice,” Monica informed her. She dug her keys out of her purse. “I’m gonna take the little boy home.”

      Olivia stopped her before she could get behind the wheel. “Take it easy on him.”

      Monica chuckled. “I’m going to get him some hot coffee, give him a cold shower, then a religious experience.”