Abby stomped away from the table. Or rather, tried to stomp. The actual process of slamming her feet into the ground made the pain unbearable, so she settled for a hobbling scuff. The fact she couldn't stomp only pissed her off more. Here she thought she only needed to deal with beeshey businessmen, not the Queen of Bitchery herself. Her distinct condescending tone echoed through Abby's head making her see red. Normally, obnoxious women didn't bother her and she was surprised when this particular one managed to worm her way under her skin so easily.

Reaching the bar, Abby threw her empty tray up and took a moment to massage her temples. The earlier threat of a headache now bloomed into a full blown reality. She closed her eyes and was immediately assaulted with visions of him. Adam Steele...even the name sounded as sexy as the man. Images of those broad shoulders, thick chest, lean hips and long legs silhouetted by a three piece suit so tailored 007 would have been envious, flashed through her mind. Abby never pictured herself the kind of woman who would find a suit hot, but that magnificent specimen dressed all in shades of black damn near made her hyperventilate.

It was a dream. He must be a figment of her imagination. Turning slightly, she peeked under her lashes over at the table she'd just left. Nope, sure enough, there he sat in all his gorgeous glory. Slamming her eyes shut again, she moaned. There was no comparing him to anyone famous, he was just too beautiful. Those smoldering amber eyes made her feel as if she were drowning in a shot of Jack Daniels. Like the drink, she could feel the scorching burn taking her breath away. He excluded power and magnetism with a glance and she'd been drawn to the pull. If it wasn't for Trevor, she might have relented to his touch.

She shivered. Something sparked between them in that brief moment. For those few seconds when their eyes connected, it felt as if an invisible thread tied them together. Weaving its way around and tugging them closer though their bodies remained standing. Abby glanced back at the table. The beautiful blonde was leaning in, possibly to whisper sweet nothings in his ear and she felt a strange pang of jealousy. Any closer and she'd be in his lap, she thought grumpily, her face heating with anger.

Frowning, she turned back towards the bar. What did she care anyway? Of course a gorgeous, self-assured, worldly, sex god of a man such as him, would have a Bitch Barbie on his arm. Men like him didn't go for short, awkward, quirky girls with a great sense of humor. Why drive a sensible car with a little rust on the bumper when you can drive an exotic sports car? She laughed a little at her analogy. It's not like he couldn't afford the maintenance. That suit he wore would probably pay her rent for a half a year.

Why was she even thinking about it anyway? She snorted. So what if he possessed a body built for sin, eyes the color of amber and thick, dark chocolate hair which made her fingers itch to run through it. He was so far out of her league they weren't even in the same zip code. Hell, she scoffed; they weren't even on the same planet.

Whatever she was feeling when he looked at her, was nothing more than a fantasy she concocted in her head because she was attracted to him and because she was utterly exhausted. It was bound to happen eventually. It was hormones, period. A normal female reaction to running into a good-looking guy. She was probably one of thousands of women to be dazzled in his presence. Besides, it wasn't like she was in the position to be dating anyone, or even contemplating it for that matter. Not after her last relationship had ended so...no...she wasn't even going there.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she set her shoulders and refused to waste one more moment thinking about Mr. Adam...

"OMG! Did you see that marvelous piece of man flesh?" Scotty fanned himself feverishly with a stack of bar napkins. "I think my panties are moist."

"Dios mio!" Abby whipped around at Layla's exclamation and watched shocked as she reached over and grabbed a shot off her tray. She downed it in one smooth motion, never taking her eyes off the man seated at the table. Gasping slightly, she slammed the empty glass on the bar. "He is muy caliente!"

"You're paying for that." Scotty pointed a finger at the grinning Layla.

"Jew can put it on my tab."

"Along with a dictionary," he mumbled while he poured a new shot.

"Sorry I'm late to the party, but those birthday girls took forever to get poured into taxis," Steph complained as she joined the group. "What are you two looking at?" she asked, following the direction of Layla's and Scotty's gaze. Abby kept her eyeballs firmly focused on her hands fidgeting on the bar top. "Damn! If sexy was a crime, he would be guilty as sin and I'd sentence him to life in bed!"

Abby gulped in astonishment. "Steph!"

"What?" she shrugged innocently. "Just because I'm married to the most wonderful woman in the world, doesn't mean I can't appreciate what the other team is playing with."

"Jew don't know what chore missing."

"I don't think any of us need to worry about it," Abby muttered. "He already has a seasoned player on his team." Was it her voice that sounded so pouty?

"Adam Steele can have his pick of any player, including me if he ever swung his bat my way." Scotty winked.

"You know him?" all three women asked simultaneously.

"Seriously?" He gasped. "Don't any of you ever look at the society pages?" He shook his head in mock disgust. "Look who I'm asking, a lesbian, a throwback of Ricky Ricardo and a hetero."

"Scotty, there are certain things I can do with hairspray, Nair and superglue. Unless you want to find out, I suggest you start talking." Steph narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

"Alright, alright...no need to threaten me with your DIY tactics." He held up his hands in surrender. Although Abby sort of wished he hadn't. One, she didn't want to talk about Mr. Adam Steele and two, she was curious as to what Steph would do with those three things. "That gorgeous hunk is one of the richest men in the world and the owner of Steele Industries. I think Forbes did a spread on him last year." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, his company is pretty much technology based, but he dabbles in shipping and real-estate. He owns a bunch of trendy clubs, restaurants, hotels, spas...you name it." He sighed and looked dreamily across the room. "He's gloriously single and rumored to be a bad boy. It's too bad he's straight."

"He doesn't look very single at the moment," Abby grumbled. She'd been purposely keeping her back to the man, but temptation finally won out and she took a quick peek over her shoulder. Intense brown eyes locked on hers like a homing beacon and for the space of a few pounding heart beats she felt completely connected to him. Again, she sensed a strange responsiveness. It was if he was calling to something deep inside her and her body was answering. It made her weave unsteadily in her boots and she shut her eyes for fear she would do something stupid, like actually walk over to him. Swallowing hard, Abby forced herself to turn back around.

"Oh her," Scotty turned up his nose as if he'd sniffed something offensive. "That's Jillian Ross, supermodel extraordinaire."

"The Jillian Ross?" Layla's mouth popped open. "Chee is my churro!"

"Churro?"

"Si, churro."

"What does deep fried pastry have to do with Jillian Ross?" Steph asked.

"Not churro! Churro! Chew knows, like Superman."

Steph giggled. "Oh...you mean hero!"

"That's what I said!" Layla stomped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Whatever you say, Charo," Scotty shoved her tray towards her. "Go deliver your order, the margaritas are melting." He watched as Layla picked up her tray and huffed off. "I sell more Jose Cuevro when she's on duty than any other time."

"It must be the accent," Steph mused.

"That's not an accent. That's a speech impediment!"

"Stop being bitchy and pour my round already!" Abby snapped angrily. Immediately she wished she could have taken it back. The hurt puppy dog face Scotty directed at her before moving off to mix the order, was killer. Her nerves were frazzled. Between the pounding in her head, the burning pain of her feet, Bitch Barbie and having to deal with Hanover and his buddy...Pippy? Pezel? What the hell was his name?

Abby sighed and decided she really didn't give a shit. He still was a weasel and she was not looking forward to having to encounter any of them. Not to mention she would see him again. A tiny shiver tickled along her spine. Flicking the unwanted feeling aside like a pesky piece of lint, she focused straight ahead. He's just a man who probably dribbles on the toilet seat, she told herself sternly.

"Who lit the fuse on your tampon?" Steph teased shoulder bumping her.

Abby gave her a small smile. "It's just been a long night."

"Yeah, I saw some of it before I got distracted from the Girls Gone Bad crew." She wrapped an arm around Abby's shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. "You okay sweetie?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Well, I believe somebody else thinks you're mighty fine too."

Abby frowned. "Who's that?"

Steph nodded over to the table she was avoiding like the plague. "Mr. McHottie hasn't taken his eyes off you since you've been over here."

"He's probably wondering where his drink is." It took all of her willpower to not turn around and see if it was true.

"Well, he must be one thirsty man then," she laughed as she walked off to tend to her own customers.

"Here." Scotty plunked down her order and turned to leave. Reaching out, she grabbed his apron strings making him stop.

"I'm sorry Scotty. It's been a bad night and I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Instantaneously, the pout disappeared. "Girl, don't worry about it. Now sashay away with you," he laughed waving his hand towel.

"Somebodies been watching way too much Ru Paul," she murmured under her breath. And doesn't it just say something about you, that you would even know that. She really needed to get a life one of these days. As much as she loved Jo Jo and her other roomies, all she really wanted was a place to herself. At this rate, she'd settle for a room with a door. Allowing her mind to trip across fantasies of having her own space, she started off towards the table of doom.

"What the fuck kind of answer is that?" Hanover's furiously spewed inquiry made Abby pull up short. The lovely thoughts of lavender mist and sea foam green paint she was toying with, vanished like a puff of smoke. Her eye's skirted over to the tall dark and disturbing man she'd been trying in vain to ignore.

"It's the only answer I am going to provide you. I have no interest or aspiration to explain myself further." His response was cool and aloof as if he was simply discussing the weather. The richness of the sound made her knees go a little weak.

"You!" Hanover bellowed. Whipping her head at the shout, Abby realized he was pointing at her.

This can't be happening. Not again. What were the chances she would be caught eavesdropping on two of his conversations in one night? "I have your drinks," she faltered uncertainly, setting the tray on the table for fear of dropping it.

"You're to blame for this!" he accused vehemently shoving his chair back so hard it ricocheted off the stage. "You little fucking cunt! You told him everything didn't you?" He stalked over to her until she could smell the rancid odor of stale booze from his breath. "You ruined me you fucking bitch!" His arm snapped back for an instant before he swung, sending his palm rocketing towards her face.

That little flex backwards was all the warning it took to click on her years of self-defense training. Gasping in surprise, she instinctively threw her left arm out and blocked the blow while she cranked her right knee up hard into his crotch. His pained exhale her only indication she'd hit her target. As he started to crumple, she flung an elbow which connected with a satisfying crunch to his nose. Blood fountained out, spattering all over the both of them.

Adrenaline ran hard through her and nothing penetrated her conscience over the need to protect herself. The music faded, the other yells and screams where nothing more than a blur over her single minded focus. Before he fully dropped to the floor, she snagged a beer bottle off of a nearby table and quickly shattered the end leaving it jagged and lethal. Grasping it tightly, she stepped quickly back bringing up her makeshift weapon, ready to fight.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I hope to have updates every other week, so keep coming back for more.

Any comments you may have will be greatly appreciated. It helps me to see how you are responding to the story and encourages me to keep going. Also, any critiques are helpful!