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She grabbed the first shot, salted the back of her hand, and tossed it back. As soon as she shoved the lemon into her mouth, Sweet Home Alabama, shot out of the speakers overhead and she whooped, head bobbing as she grabbed the remaining shot and repeated the whole thing over again.
Conversation started up immediately and though most eyes still strayed her way, the bar returned to somewhat of a normal state.
The waitress cleared her throat and turned back to Shane. “Well that’s not something you see every day.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
She sighed. “Look, I’ll be straight with you. You’re hot. I like ‘em tattooed and dark and dangerous.”
Shane had to give her props for being so direct.
“I saw you looking and I’m not going to lie. I’m married but my husband is out of town and he doesn’t really care what I do when he’s not around.” She winked. “Hell, sometimes he joins in when he is home…so are you interested or not?”
Shane’s gaze moved from the waitress back to Bobbi, who was reaching for a tumbler of whiskey. Bad news. Unless her constitution had changed the girl was in for a rough evening and an even rougher morning. What the hell was she doing here? Why wasn’t she at her fancy wedding reception with Dooley and the rest of New Waterford?
Why did he care? He and Bobbi were over—way over.
He didn’t give a flying fuck as to the why of it, but when she tossed back that glass of whiskey as if it was a cup of apple juice, he thought that just maybe his evening had moved from boring as hell, to plain old interesting. He didn’t want to analyze the spark of something that hit him in the gut. He was just gonna go with it.
The waitress snorted and earned another look from him. “That over there is some fancy lady who’s either a runaway bride or she’s on drugs.” She shrugged. “Probably both. Either way, you’d have to give your head a shake if you’re thinking about getting involved with someone like that.”
He didn’t like her tone, but then again, he supposed she was probably right. Still he had to ask. “Like what exactly?”
The redhead shrugged. “She’s obviously bat-shit crazy. Who the hell would come to this dump on Valentine’s Day in a wedding dress?”
Shane couldn’t disagree because the waitress was on the right track. Except that he knew someone who would do something that crazy—or he used to know a someone.
Bobbi reached for another glass of whiskey and this time, ordered a double.
Shit, if he didn’t know any better he’d think this was five years ago and none of the crap that had happened in between mattered. Except the woman in white had broken him and he was pretty damn sure he’d done the same to her. They had always been like oil and water, better off not mixing. Better off not involved.
“Honey.” The waitress leaned over the table and he frowned, pissed that she’d blocked his view of Bobbi. “Are you coming home with me? I promise we’ll have a good time.” Her breasts were nearly falling out of the low cut T-shirt she wore and with her arms pulled in tight to her sides, she was trying her damnedest to push them all the way out.
Shane’s cell phone vibrated for the tenth time since he’d been here and he reached into his jeans, eyes not leaving the back of Bobbi’s head as he retrieved it. With one glance down he saw that there were several text messages from Billie Jo Barker, though it was the last one that grabbed his attention.
Bobbi’s disappeared. She never showed for her wedding. If u hear from her let me know.
“Hello,” the waitress said sarcastically.
Shane shot her a dark look that said, hold on. He quickly typed a response—I know where she is, don’t worry—and turned off the alerts so he wouldn’t have to answer the hundred and one responses he was sure would come. He tossed his cell phone onto the table, his eyes drawn to Bobbi as he settled back into the dark corner. He should leave. He should just get as far away from this bar and that woman as he could.
But then Shane Gallagher and common sense weren’t always real tight. In fact they hadn’t been buddies in a long, long time. He propped up his booted foot on the bench across from him, decision made.
“Before you go, I’ll take another beer.”
Chapter Three
The second whiskey had tasted better than the first and subsequently, the third was so much better than the second.
Bobbi twirled her finger in the cold, wet liquid, pushing the ice cubes against the glass and watching them tumble around in a sea of amber. She stuck her finger in her mouth, slowly sucking the drops of booze off the end, very much aware that the old man at the end of the bar watched her, a look of disapproval on his face.
Which was the total opposite of the table full of rednecks just to her left. Each and every one of them watched the display as if they were picturing her mouth licking something else entirely.
Gerald would be disgusted. If he was here right now, his face would get that pinched look—the kind that said his boxers were on too tight—and he’d look down his nose at her. His eyebrows would thread together as he frowned, and he would no doubt try and lecture her on the etiquette of public displays that weren’t exactly lady-like.
Of course, Bobbi had never been on the receiving end of one of those looks. Nope. She was—or had been—the perfect girlfriend/fiancé. But she’d witnessed his self-righteous derision first hand, when dealing with her sister Betty.
No, Gerald Dooley would definitely not approve of a woman chugging whiskey like it was going out of style and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate his fiancé—she made a face—former fiancé sitting in a crappy bar, wearing a wedding dress that cost a small fortune, with his mother’s fake fur stole along for the ride.
