“What’soffis that she’s gorgeous, and you haven’t managed to say more than, ‘another beer, please,’ to her since she started working here.” He stared pointedly at McGuire. “Five months ago. It’s sad, really.”
“You’re not any better.”
“That’s because she’s obviously only got eyes for you, brother.” Patch chuckled when McGuire flipped him off. “Please, you think I’m the only one who’s noticed? Cross and Stone see it too. Why do you think they’ve never made a play for her? Even as thick as they are, they know she’d turn them down in a heartbeat. But you…”
McGuire smiled at the good-natured ribbing. The only way they seemed to get through each day. “It’s complicated.”
“At least she’s not just a voice on the radio. Some invisible entity you’ve been pining over for months.”
“That woman saved our lives.”
“And we’ll all be forever grateful. Doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in some romantic notion that you’ll find her one day. Return the favor.” Patch leaned closer. “Riven’s exactly the kind of distraction you need.”
“A girl like her doesn’t do distractions. Besides, that not what I meant, and you know it.”
Patch sighed, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I agree she seems a bit out-of-place. Too smooth. Too observant. Like she’s not really a bartender, only playing one on TV.”
“Exactly.” McGuire watched as she flipped a knife, caught the handle on the second rotation before cutting up a bunch of lemon wedges. “I think she’s running from something.”
“Aren’t we all?” Patch tapped his fingers on the counter. “Maybe she’s just trying to find herself.”
“In the swamp?”
“Stranger things, buddy.” Patch met McGuire’s raised brow. Huffed. “Or maybe she’s hiding from an obsessive ex with a ridiculous name. Like Blade or Tank. Or, some new-age hippie who’s all show and no go.”
“It’s not an ex. It’s something darker. Something with teeth.”
“You know one way to find out? Ask her on a date.”
McGuire shook his head. The guy was relentless.
Riven either caught them staring or saw they’d nearly finished their beers and ambled over to them, her feet gliding along the weathered floor. She didn’t walk, she prowled, gaze drinking in every detail. And McGuire would bet his ass she’d be able to recite how many people were in the bar — describe exactly what they were all wearing.
She shouldered up between them, a hint of floral sweetness mixing in with stale beer and bad decisions. “Last call, gentlemen. Kitchen’s closed, but if you want another round, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before I shut down the taps.”
Her gaze locked on McGuire’s, held, something similar to kinship flickering in her eyes. As if she recognized the same tightly wound tension in him. The way one predator acknowledged another.
Patch grinned. “Actually, McGuire, here, was just working up the courage to ask you something, weren’t you, buddy?”
McGuire would kill him. Slowly. Very slowly. Then feed what was left of him to the gators.
Riven’s lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. She swept her gaze the length of McGuire, a hint of red creeping along her cheeks as she nodded. “That so?”
McGuire swallowed, damn near choked, before laughing it off, heart racing, sweat beading down his back. “Patch is an idiot. We’ll just take two more.”
She lingered for a moment, still sizing him up before she tilted her head. “If you say so.” She turned, headed around to the other side of the bar.
Patch reached over, slapped him on the chest. “Smooth, LaSalle. Real, smooth.”
“You caught me off-guard, dumbass.”
“Since when do you need practice asking a lady out to dinner? Pretty damn sure you dated before our lives went for shit.”
“Of course, I did but…” He huffed. “I’m not really in the position to ask her out, am I.”
It wasn’t a question, and Patch merely frowned.
“Why the fuck not?” He coughed as if he’d swallowed wrong. “Because we’re here? Isn’t that the point of Savvy giving us a second chance? We get to actually live?”
