Griffin was vaguely aware of the pool players who stopped their game to watch Indy. She was a performer. The words of the song didn’t matter. The one she sang now had no sexy innuendo to it. She sang about taking a baseball bat to a man’s car, but her voice got to him.
And that mouth.
He hadn’t been able to get her mouth out of his mind for days.
She finished the song and turned to walk away. He caught up with her and asked, “When do you get off?”
“Closing. About an hour.”
“Can you leave early? Or do I have to sit here and wait?”
“Wait for what?” She wiped down the next table in line and he followed.
“For you.”
Her long blond ponytail bobbed and swooshed with each swipe. The bartender kept a close watch on him. Griffin stared back, but the bartender didn’t budge.
“The bartender’s
