"Seriously?"

"Not exactly, but that room's often trashed by the time the acts clear out, so it's no one's favorite job. Pete gives whoever does it a bonus, though, so that helps."

"Could I do it sometime?"

Eric frowned. "Why would you want to?"

"I'm trying to save up for an apartment. I'm not above cleaning up after a party to make a little extra money."

"Well, then, I guess. Just tell Pete you're interested. See what he says."

Which reminded her about a conversation she needed to have. "I will, thanks. Do you need me for anything else?"

He grinned, his cheeks going curiously pink. "Nah. Go do your thing. I'll catch ya later."

With a wave, she set off in search of Pete.

The bar was like a goddamned cage.

Marco paced back and forth, taking orders and delivering drinks in a way he knew was barely civil, but unable to force even the cursory niceties he usually managed.

Ever since Alyssa had cornered him in the hallway, peered up at him with those imploring brown eyes, and cupped his face in her hand, Marco had felt raw and exposed, like his skin no longer protected his insides.

Jesus. If Van hadn't interrupted them, Marco wasn't sure what he might've said, what her gaze and her touch and her very presence might've drawn out of him.

"What'll you have?" he asked a woman who pushed through the crowd to the bar.

She perfected her posture and smiled from under her eyelashes. "Two Coronas with limes, please."

Marco ignored the offer in her too-broad smile and too-deep cleavage and concentrated on the mechanics of retrieving the bottles, popping the caps, and placing the wedges of lime into the necks. He'd just turned to the next customer when he heard a voice call for an order at the side counter.

As his hands worked through the motions of the customer's drinks, he cut a quick glance to the waitstaff counter and found Alyssa standing there, smiling in a way that looked too much like hope for his sanity. Just what was it she was hoping for? I'm your friend-that's what she'd said earlier in the hallway. But that wasn't the story her gaze told.

He traded the man his drink for money and called to Alyssa, "What do you need?"

Her smile wavered. "Two chardonnays and a Sam Adams."

He kept his back to her as he worked. With no intention of making eye contact, he settled the drinks on her tray.

"Thanks. This band is really good, isn't it?"

He felt her expectant gaze on him but didn't return it. "No time to pay attention."

Disappointment washed off her and made him feel like a total asshole, especially given how much they'd always connected over music, but her eyes were too damn full of concern and affection. His plan to keep his distance couldn't afford even a single slip, no matter how awkward, tense, and long the dinner service felt.

Because he'd wanted to slip. Wanted to open his mouth and let her help him shoulder the living nightmare of the last year. Affection and acceptance burned in her gaze, and he couldn't let himself give in to it. The last thing she needed in her life-all fresh and shiny and just starting out in the world-was the burden of someone as fucked in the head as he was.

And that wasn't even taking into consideration the shitstorm that would likely be Brady's opinion.

When he glanced back, Alyssa was gone.

"Order in," another voice called.

Marco found Kim standing on the far side of the bar, tapping on the countertop to the beat of the current song. She rattled off her drink order and Marco got to work filling it. "I'll be right back," she said before darting through the Staff-Only door.

Marco settled the drinks on her tray, but by the time he'd taken care of two more customers, Kim still hadn't returned. Scanning the bar, he found everyone satisfied for the moment, so he checked Kim's tickets on the computer connected to the register and found the table to which they belonged-close enough he could run them out before any fires erupted behind the bar. He scooped up the tray and walked onto the floor.

Without permission, his gaze sought and found Alyssa two rows over. She was crouched down next to a table with a man's arm around her shoulders. She sidled out from under the guy's grip, but then he grabbed her hand. Blood roared through Marco's ears and his head throbbed. As she freed herself, Alyssa offered the man a polite smile that Marco knew was uncomfortable, not genuine.

A hand settled on his arm and he flinched.

"Thanks, honey," Kim said with a smile, pulling the tray out of the death grip he had on it. Though they didn't talk much, Marco respected the older woman. She did her job, avoided the drama some of the other waitresses engaged in, and was always kind.

"This been going on all night?" he asked.

She followed his gaze. "She's fine. Handling everything like a real pro. I'll keep an eye on her, though."

Marco dragged his eyes away from where the man continued to hold Alyssa's attention. He nodded and swallowed a thick knot suddenly filling his throat.

"You go on, now, before there's a mob scene at the bar."

"Right." He stalked back to work, restless suffocation morphing into a head-splitting ache and murderous fantasies every time his brain very unhelpfully resurrected the image of the man groping Alyssa.

And damn if the thing most likely to trigger the memory wasn't Alyssa herself. Each time she came into the bar, Marco's blood pressure spiked. It took every ounce of discipline and restraint he had to keep from making a big scene of the beating-the-shit-out-of-a-customer kind. And now he couldn't not look at her, because he had to be sure she was all right. And that meant he couldn't avoid noticing her beautiful smile, the column of skin that ran down her throat and continued somewhere under the V-neck of her shirt, the full mounds of her breasts pushing against the white cotton. It wasn't long before lust joined the rage flowing through him and he found himself fighting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and drag her the fuck out of there. Away from the eyes and hands of that man-of any other man.

Problem was, right at this moment, Marco couldn't promise to let her go once he had her in his arms.

The dinner service turned out to be a total madhouse, proving Pete's insistence that Alyssa complete three training shifts before she waited her own tables probably made sense. The venue was sold out, the bass of the band pounded through the hall, making it so loud she had to lean close to the patrons to hear them, and the drink orders flowed in steady all night. It was so crazy, Kim needed her to run a big table with a party of ten largely by herself.

All those drink orders necessitated a constant back-and-forth to the bar, where Marco filled her tray with an alternating cycle of grunts, glares, and dark expressions that made her body hot, no matter how unfriendly they seemed on the surface. At one point, he sloshed the foam off a glass of beer, slamming it down too hard in front of her. And it wasn't just with her-Marco didn't seem to be playing well with anyone. The men around the bar eyed him with a hard-edged respect and the women with something that made her a whole lot less comfortable, but none of them tried to chat him up. Marco was far from the outgoing, gregarious bartenders she knew from her old waitressing jobs. If this was what Van and the others were seeing, no wonder they questioned Marco's character. He was downright surly. Still freaking gorgeous, though, and wasn't that annoying.

She needed to talk to him but was just too busy to do it during the dinner service. By the end of the night, her feet were tired, her ears were ringing, and she longed for a hot shower-or another dip in the pool. But at least Kim had let her keep the tips from the table she'd managed, putting fifty dollars in her pocket and ensuring she had enough for another hotel room.