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She yanked the rear door to Crazy Pete’s open, kicked the block that kept them from becoming locked outside out of the way, took a brief pitstop in the women’s room, then headed back into the now eerily quiet bar.
No music was even playing on the jukebox.
The stragglers seemed to be gone.
And only two men remained behind the bar. Neither of them were Dodge.
Shit.
She headed over to them.
“We thought you left,” the prospect named Tater said.
“No, not yet.”
“Need somethin’ else?” he asked.
Yes, your boss. “Can I get a bottle of water?” They already loaded up another case that Micah had carried out to their bus when they started packing away their equipment.
With a nod, Tater dug into a cooler, twisted the cap off and placed the bottle in front of her. “That it?”
“Need to speak to the manager.”
“He didn’t pay you?”
He did. He had given the money to Nico before they broke down their equipment and removed it from the stage. “Yes, but I wanted to see if he’d put us on the schedule again.”
That wasn’t quite true. While tonight the tips had actually been decent, they were not sticking around northern Pennsylvania. She wouldn’t mind returning when the weather turned milder but that wasn’t the reason she needed to speak to Dodge.
Actually, she didn’t want to speak to him at all. What she wanted had nothing to do with talking.
When she used his shower earlier and changed into more comfortable clothes—jeans, her combat boots and her last clean shirt—he hadn’t come upstairs at all. She also made sure she didn’t fall asleep. In his bed, tub or even on his damn floor.
He had kept his distance, so maybe she had mistaken the silent conversation they had from across the bar while she sang the Mazzy Star song directly to him.
Maybe she should have made it clearer.
Too late now.
Her heart skipped a beat when the swinging door to the left of the bar opened and the man himself stepped out.
His eyes immediately fell on her and without breaking their locked gazes, asked, “Customers gone?”
“Yeah,” one of the guys answered.
“Then you two can go.”
“We’re not done—”
“I got it. Go.”
Silence swirled around them for a couple of heartbeats, then three sets of eyes burned her.
After a visible shift of his jaw, he said, “Go hang by the pool tables. Be over to play that game of pool I promised you as soon as I lock up.”
He did what?
When she let her gaze slide over to the other two men, it was like someone had pushed a switch and they began to scramble.
Probably to get while the getting was good.
Or to keep from pissing off their boss.
Maybe both.
She snagged her water bottle off the bar and headed over to the billiards room, having zero interest in knocking balls into pockets but plenty of interest in knocking balls and boots.
She slowly circled one table, grabbing the pool balls left scattered across the green felt and rolling them hard enough to bounce off the rails and crack into each other. A couple of them actually dropped into pockets.
With the furious beat of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears, her body hummed like she’d grabbed a live wire.
She hoped she didn’t regret this.
Please don’t let me regret this.
If she was smart, she would scrap this idea and hitch a ride back to the farm with Tater. That was what she should do.
Yes, this was a stupid idea.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t allowed anyone to touch her in so long. It didn’t matter that she craved the kind of touch…
The kind of touch that was wanted and welcomed. A touch that could set her skin on fire.
Since she felt safe with Dodge, if she didn’t take the opportunity to do it with him, she had no idea when and with whom she’d want to do it again.
The number of guys she’d had sex with, by choice, she could count on one hand.
In truth, with only three fingers.
Three men in the past five years since turning eighteen. And with those three men, only once each. Out of those three times, one was awkward, painful and an experience she never wanted repeated. The other two were… okay.
That was the best way to describe it. Just okay.
With the way Dodge moved, with the way he carried himself, she hoped he would be better than “just okay.” She hoped it would be memorable and he’d be able to satisfy the urge that pulled at her when she saw him or heard his voice.
She grabbed a cue stick that was leaning in the corner of the billiards area and tucked it back in the rack on the wall where it belonged. She went over and collected another one to do the same.
His, “Don’t gotta do that,” made her jump and her heart skip a beat.
