It was hard to think straight with Adam Marcellus anywhere in the vicinity. To keep her hands busy—and to keep from staring—she ran her rag over the mahogany bar one last time before tucking it into the back of her pants. It was Saturday night, but Mad Dog’s Bar & Grille hadn’t picked up yet. Seven was still too early, but in an hour, they’d be three deep at the bar and she’d be working her tail off. And hopefully making enough to cover this month’s rent and groceries. It was hard to think about bills though when Adam, with his impossibly broad shoulders, was headed her way. He definitely had that tall, dark and handsome thing going on. She wasn’t positive, but she guessed he was six foot two at least. She was five eight and he stood a little taller than her even when she wore heels. Something she enjoyed immensely. “Hey, Izzy.” Adam ducked under the bar hatch. “Hey yourself.” She wiped sweaty palms on her black pants as he scooted behind her.
