Page 2 of Make it a Double

“That’s no way to speak to a lady,” Rich Boy hissed, putting pressure on the other man’s throat. I almost felt bad for Earl. His friend had scurried away like a little rat and didn’t seem the least bit interested in helping him out.

But my sympathy only went so far, and once you called me a bitch, I was done.

“I think you owe her an apology.”

“Get your hands off me,” Earl said, struggling against the man’s grip. The man only pressed further, cutting off Earl’s protests in a gurgled cry. The room was silent save for the slow song crooning from the jukebox.

Earl’s legs buckled as the man stepped back, releasing his hold only long enough for him to suck in a lungful of air. He gripped the back of Earl’s neck and pushed him toward me at the bar. “Go on, then.”

The man in question turned to me with nothing short of hatred in his eyes. He grabbed his coat and slammed down a twenty before spitting a half-assed, “Sorry,” and scampering from the room. The bill wouldn’t cover his or his friends’ drinks, but I didn’t care. Duke would understand when I explained the situation. He probably would’ve kicked him out long ago.

I should have, but it was surprisingly busy for a Friday afternoon. It was the last weekend of summer, and the county fair was in full swing, which meant we had our fair share of tourists getting in one final vacation before returning to their lives in the city. I’d foolishly hoped that if I ignored the man, he’d lose interest and go away. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn’t. Unfortunately for everyone here, today it was the latter.

The ecstatic applause from our regulars told me all I needed to know. Everyone else had found Earl just as insufferable as I did. Rich Boy bent forward and helped right the stools that’d fallen, joking with one of the old men who’d just walked in. I took the opportunity to quickly deliver the drinks I’d been holding with my sincerest apologies for the delay.

They gave me a twenty for my trouble.

When I returned, Rich Boy was perched at the bar with a smile on his face, staring directly at me. His deep brown eyes were soft. I would’ve even found them beautiful if they weren’t filled with pity.

“You didn’t need to do that, you know,” I said, grabbing the empty glasses and wiping away any trace of the assholes from before. “I had it handled.”

He tipped his head to the side, casually studying me. “I know you did, but you shouldn’t have had to. I may not have grown up in the south, but I was raised better than that. My mom would’ve kicked my ass if I stood by and let a woman be talked to like that.”

For some reason, it wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I thought he’d talk a big game about women not being able to stand up for themselves or whatever overly macho bullshit men like him believed in these days.

“Well, that was kind of you,” I said with a dip of my chin. “Thank you.”

He gave me a hint of a smirk. “That killed you, didn’t it?”

My chuckle ended with a groan. “And there you had to go and kill the nice moment. Way to be cliché.”

“It made you laugh, though. That was my real plan after all.”

“You think you’re being so smooth right now. Ticking off all the boxes on some stereotypical meet-cute.”

He leaned forward, smiling coyly. “How am I doing on that, by the way? I mean, we’re in a small town bar. I’m the handsome out-of-towner who just waltzed in and defended your honor—even though you totally had the situation handled on your own. You’re the cute girl-next-door who’s working at her dad’s bar to make a little extra money for college.” His smile was damn near infectious. “And now we’re making small talk across the bar about how vastly different our lives are from one another.”

“Not my dad’s bar.” My lips twitched. “And we haven’t done the last one yet.”

“Dammit. We were so close,” he laughed. “Do you think I’ve still got a chance?”

One of our regulars, Gerald, waved at me to bring him a shot.

“A chance for what?” I shouldn’t keep engaging. I had a job to do, customers to take care of, but it was like I couldn’t move. The world quieted a little as I focused on the man in front of me.

“To check off more stereotypical small-town clichés from my bucket list. It’s quite extensive.”

“I don’t even know your name,” I called, spinning around to grab the whiskey for Gerald. Without stopping, I walked down to the old man and set a glass on the table. If I had any luck at all, Rich Boy would take the hint and leave. I didn’t need the distraction right now.

“You okay, darlin’?” Gerald asked, bushy brows furrowed. “Seemed like there was a bit of a ruckus down there.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sliding the glass his way. “Just some asshole who thought he deserved the VIP treatment.” I didn’t often cuss, but sometimes you had to call it as you saw it. “Another customer stepped in and taught him some manners.”

Gerald peeked around me and huffed. “That was nice of him. Don’t look like he’s from around here.”

I glanced over my shoulder, noticing the stranger was staring at me with a note of curiosity. It should’ve bothered me that he was being so brazen, but I kind of liked it. Which was stupid because what could a small-town girl like me offer a man like him? It was clear he came from money. Something about the way he swaggered in with curated confidence and the knowledge that he could likely bribe the county sheriff not to take him to jail.

“He’s definitely not. I’m thinking California,” I mused. To be honest, I had no idea what made someone look like they were from California, but it just seemed like a safe bet. “Maybe New York.”