I try it. It’s good. Actually good, the kind of smooth that means the aging was taken seriously and the grain was taken seriously, and I say so.
He looks slightly more interested in me. “You know whiskey?”
“I know some things.”
“Passing through?”
“I’m here for the carnival,” I say. It sounds plausible enough.
He nods, accepting the reason and has no further questions about it. He moves back down the bar.
I drink the whiskey and I roll my shoulders to relax them. I look around the room to get a read on who else is here. What they’re doing. The social geography of a space where everyone’s having a good time.
Two older men sit at a corner table playing something that involves cards and a quiet argument. A group of four in the middle, mixed ages, easy body language so they must all be good friends. A woman sits at the far table reading, which is odd. Reading in a pub at eleven-thirty on a weeknight is a bold choice and I respect it.
And at the other end of the bar…
I don’t know how I missed him when I came in. He’s looking at me now, which is why I’m not overlooking him again. He has quick eyes and a face that looks like it’s perpetually about to find something amusing. He’s been at this bar long enough to have the relaxed posture of someone in a familiar space.
He raises his glass.
I raise mine.
He grins.
“Bad day?” he asks.
He hasn’t moved. He’s still at his end of the bar, still easy, still with the grin. His dark hair is cut just a little longer than it should be. His brown eyes sparkle even under the dull lighting. I bet that smile makes all the local girls swoon.
“Excuse me?” I reply.
“Whiskey.” He tilts his head. “Not everyone’s first choice.”
I hold very still.
“I’m not—” he continues, raising a hand. “I’m just observant. Occupational hazard.” He pauses. “And mildly nosy.”
“Mildly,” I say.
“Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. It’s a character flaw.” He picks up his drink and moves down the bar like he’s decided something and is acting on it without overthinking it. He stops two stools away. Not one, not right beside me,two, leavinga buffer that saysI’m making conversation, not a move.This close, I can sense that he’s an Alpha. If he starts lecturing me about being an unbonded Omega in a shady pub at midnight, I’m going to hit him. With my whiskey.
“Jack,” he says.
“Lola,” I reply.
“Lo-la.” He says it like he’s testing the weight of it. “You drove in tonight. Dark blue hatchback, rear left tire running a bit soft.”
I glare at him. I’m not sure this is safe ground.
“I was at the carnival ground,” he says. “I notice cars.”
“You notice a lot of things.”
“It’s a gift and a curse.” He drinks. “What brings you to Sweetwater Valley, Lola?”
“The carnival,” I say. Thank goodness for the carnival being in town so I have an excuse to hang my lies on.
“That’s what everyone says.”
