I was seriously beginning to wonder if she really did have super stripper abilities or something. But I was not discussing this with complete strangers sitting right next to us. “You on break, Katie?”

“Nope. Heading into work. Thought I’d pop over and make sure you weren’t rocking in a corner somewhere, whispering to yourself out of trauma or some shit.”

“I’m totally okay,” I told her. “But thanks for checking on me.” And I really meant that.

She started to say something, but then Jax appeared at the end of the hall, coming from the recesses of the office. He glanced over at me and winked. I felt a stupid grin curve on my lips.

“He totally got in your pants,” she stage-whispered, and the guy sounded like he choked on a chicken wing.

Jax moseyed off, and before I could even figure out how to handle that statement, Aimee turned to us, displaying an elegant twist of her neck.

“He’s so hot, isn’t he?” she said, batting big eyes at me. “Jax, that is.”

Rolling his eyes, Nick turned away from her and moved to the bottles at the back of the bar.

I opened my mouth, but Katie beat me to it. “Bitch, are you on the crack? Because I’m pretty sure that hot boy named Jax was just all winking at Calla over here and didn’t even see you sitting there. Just FYI.”

I pressed my lips together so hard I thought they’d split as Aimee’s face reddened. She stared at Katie for a moment and then whirled around, flouncing off in the direction of where Jax was grabbing empty glasses and baskets off the table.

I sighed.

Katie turned to me. “I’m gonna yippie-ki-yay that bitch out of this bar one of these days. Mark my words, hand to God, and all that jazz.”

Why did I suddenly have visions of Bruce Willis?

Then she flounced off in the opposite direction, toward the door.

My gaze drifted to where the young couple sat, their eyes wide and their mouths slightly agape. They looked at me in unison.

“Welcome to Mona’s,” I said dryly.

Twenty-four

Roxy stood behind the bar Saturday night, slim arms folded across her chest and her legs widespread. Her black frame glasses were slid up, resting just under the perfectly messy bun.

Her eyes were narrowed into thin slits and the bitchy jut to her chin was cute. I’d told her that a few minutes before, when I’d hit the bar to get beers for the group of guys in the back, and she hadn’t thought that was cute, which made her look more bitchy.

And cuter.

The victim of her death glare was Aimee with two e’s. For the fourth night in a row, Aimee was here, sitting at the bar with a friend who sort of looked orange. Roxy had nicknamed the friend Oompa One.

I had to grin because the death glares were for my benefit. Aimee was actually pretty nice to Roxy and even me, but she made it obvious why she was here, and Roxy was so not down with that.