Twenty-One
By the time Bash stepped onto her deck, she had her bare feet propped on the railing and a bottle of lemon soda balanced on her chest—her usual after-work relax mode. She wore loose drawstring pants printed with little yellow ducks and a cotton crop top that bared her stomach to the midnight air. She always got overheated working at the bar. Sitting on her deck in the night breeze was her favorite way to unwind.
Until Bash.
“Hey foxy lady,” said Bash in that deep voice that worked magic on her nerve endings. He looked weary as he hauled himself up her steps. He sank into the glider with a sigh, and she handed him her lemon soda.
“Hardworking man,” she murmured as he took a long sip. “Want something else to drink?”
“Nah.”
“It’s right here.” She gestured to a mini Igloo cool
