Page 6 of Another Man’s Treasure

An hour goes by, and my archnemesis pays me no mind. I’d tease him a bit, but I’m lost in the planning, nearly ready to move to writing my business proposal so I can go request a loan at the bank, which is an exciting move. I can’t spend all of my time doodling the interior design portion, as much fun as that is.

The double shifts at Whiskey Business Saloon and odd pickups at Betty’s Burger Bar will be in my rearview mirror soon, and that’s a good thing. I’m not actually a night owl, and late nights at Whiskey Biz have me yawning more than I’d like, even though I love the building herself, sweet and spicy thing that she is.

I pack my bag and head for the door mid-afternoon, batting my lashes at the big green male as I pass his table. Bright emerald eyes flick up to me and narrow as he takes a deep sip of espresso. Lifting the tiny cup highlights the veins running beneath a hair-covered forearm that’d have me drooling if I hadn’t already decided to hate him for the table infraction.

“Tata for now,” I say with a smirk, waggling my fingers in a teasing goodbye. I just couldn’t help myself.

By the time I’m out the door, I’m feeling warm and fuzzy from having won this round and shown him who’s boss. It occurs to me then that I don’t actually know his name. Snorting out a laugh, I head across the street toward the Whiskey Business Saloon. I’ve got a long evening shift ahead of me and no time to think about that handsome a-hole.

“Howdy, Oz!” A big minotaur in a three-piece suit waves at me as I cross, and I wave back.

“Varek, how’s it going?”

He thrusts his hands in his pants pockets. “Can’t complain, friend, can’t complain.” He tips a big cowboy hat to me before disappearing into the Welcome Inn.

This is one of the things I love about Pine Gulch. I know almost everyone in this haven after having lived here for about eight months. Of course, going through the welcome scavenger hunt helped. I think I met most folks then… It’s how I met Bluebell and eventually our friend Lemon.

The night drags long, and the following morning, unfortunately for me, I arrive ten minutes after opening to find none other than Mister Green Butthole Himself standing beside my godsdamned table again, setting his things down on the glossy painted surface. He must have arrived just before I did, because he’s still shrugging off a thick patterned coat with leather accents. Tight jeans hug a bubbly ass I’d want to bite if we had that sort of vibe going on.

“He beat ya to it, Oz,” Meggan says with a snort as I stare at the damn troll.

He’s fashionable in a westerny sort of cowboy way, smirking at me as he turns and pulls his arms from the sleeves, which is about when I notice the shirt.

A thin white cotton tee hugs impressive pecs, his chest hair forming tiny bumps beneath the surface. And there’s giant black lettering in fancy gothic script on the front, reading “I Like to Win.”

My mouth drops open, my tail lashing side to side like the angry pussycat I am. He didn’t, did he? Rubbing my eyes, I stare again. He’s still wearing that godsdamned shirt, and now he grabs the hem, shuffling it side to side as he flashes me a shit-eating grin. It transforms his face into something stunning.

How dare he be hot and rude? I’ve had enough of that to last my whole lifetime, which is probably why I’ve taken an immediate dislike to him.

When he pulls a second monitor out of his pack and unfolds it, plugging it into his laptop, I expire and rise right back up.

This isn’t a fricking home office! Next he’ll pull out a foot heater like a real asshole.

Before I can stop myself, I stalk to the back and tilt onto my toes to get right up in his face.

“This is war,” I snark, pointing a finger at him. “You hear me? Table stealer!”

He grabs my finger and twists it, jerking my arm behind my back, which forces my body up against his. The way he stares down at me is possessive and haughty, and so, so hot if I was into this sort of brash asshole.

Which I most definitely am not. Not anymore. Not since Saint Ashbourne.

Where the hells is Ginger when I need her?!

“Bring it on, princess,” he rumbles, his tone low and snarky.

Gasping, I yank my finger from his grip. He lets go as I flare my wings high and wide, pointing the sharp tips in a defensive way.

He doesn’t bother to look up at the literal daggers pointed at his face. No. Gods forbid he actually seem threatened by me.

“Have a great day, cutie pie.” That’s all he says before he thumps me on the nose just like the day we met. Snark delivered, he drops quietly into his seat and opens his computer.

A scream nearly erupts from me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Game on. War on. Battle lines drawn. All the war-y things. I’m already thinking through my clothing options to continue this as I stalk across the cafe and find another open table. It’s getting busy already.

Meggan, the owner, shoots me a funny look, glancing between the big green male and me, scowling in the corner at a table that’s woefully insufficient for my needs. I need space for four monsters on account of my size and the size of my notebook. And Ginger when she joins me. Plus, I like to be below a heating vent so I can warm my wings. Gargoyles run cooler than other monsters, but I’m cold-natured, and I like to be warmed like a pie.

Or a lizard.

After enough glowering, Meggan comes over and sets a latte on my tabletop. “Oz, we gonna have a problem? I can’t have you hassling the customers, and unfortunately he did pay, so…”