Rhiannon's POV
Rhiannon leaned against the dark walnut bar. The dim bar was lit mostly by string lights hung in the rafters. Black tables and chairs littered the aged oak floors. The shelves behind the bar were ornate walnut to match the bar, a massive mirror showing between shelves.
People bustled and bumped against each other. Some danced, some talked loudly to each other over the music, and others sat in solitude nursing their drinks. It was nearing last call, but things hadn't slowed much.
It was a good spot to work at. She got her fill of drama, she got a good share of tips, and she got to watch John Hartley stroll casually through the mix of it.
He was graceful, he was gorgeous. Rhiannon could deny it no longer. She watched him drift in and out of the fray of patrons.
"You're drooling again," Lauren chided.
Rhiannon straightened and turned to Lauren.
"All I'm saying is, I'm having a dry week. One of us ought to get some action this weekend," Lauren shrugged.