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To say he’d been displeased would be an understatement, and he’d made no effort to hide it. First off, there were some things he needed to say to his absent bartender, and damned if he was gonna wait. And secondly, he was pretty sure he’d scared Susie half to death and would have to deal with her later. For now, he was just happy to run the empty glasses through the washer and ignore everything but his bad mood.
“What’s up, Booker? You look like someone dumped a nasty load in your cornflakes this morning.”
Nash spied Wyatt Blackwell leaning against the bar. The former NASCAR driver nodded and pointed to the empty mug in Nash’s hand. “I’ll take one of those.” He glanced up at the flat screen and frowned. “Travis is playing tonight. Why the hell are we watching a bunch of guys doing yoga in the desert?”
Nash’s scowl deepened. Great. The Red Wings and their goalie, Travis Blackwell, meant a busy night of locals out to watch one of Crystal Lake’s favorite sons. Nash was definitely off his game, because he should have known that. Being short-staffed wasn’t going to get him home to his hot tub, which right now was the only place he wanted to be.
Wyatt twisted his head nearly upside down, eyes still on the television above the bar, and Nash followed his gaze. Yeah. No man with any pride would wear that getup and position his body like that. He grabbed the remote and switched it to the Red Wings pregame.
“Where’s your pretty bartender?” Wyatt asked, accepting his mug of ale.
“Where’s your wife?” Nash snapped, grabbing up an empty and wiping the bartop.
Wyatt snorted. “My wife is at a board meeting. What the hell does that have to do with your bartender?” He accepted a draft from Nash and took a sip, swiping at the foam on his mouth. “Just saying, she’s a hell of a lot easier on the eyes than your mug.”
A crash sounded behind Wyatt, and Nash wanted to throw in the towel and get the hell out of Dodge. Susie stood, surrounded by broken glass, looking as if she was going to break into tears.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled. He pinched his nose, feeling his temper rise and knowing there was no good reason for it. At least, no reason he wanted to think about. Nope. Not going anywhere near that one.
“I got this, boss,” Tiny said, moving past him. The big guy grabbed a broom from under the bar and headed to Susie’s side just as the doors to the Coach House flew open, letting in a swath of wind and snow and a large group of new customers.
The only person Nash zeroed in on was the dark-haired woman who’d stolen his sleep, his good mood, and, apparently, his brother. Cam bent low, listening attentively to something she said. He smiled and elbowed her like they were old pals.
Nash wanted to hop the bar and smash his brother’s perfect fucking nose.
She glanced up then, and the smile on her face slowly died as their eyes locked. For just that second, all the noise in the bar vanished, and there was just the two of them in a vacuum of unsaid things. Her hair was long and loose. It snaked over her shoulders like a dark cloak. Her cheeks were pink from the cold outside, and her eyes were luminous. She was dressed in faded jeans, his favorite pair, if he wasn’t mistaken, and a black leather jacket with fur at the collar.
A heartbeat passed. The physical thing—yeah, that was still there—he’d have to find a way to deal with it. It was the other that posed more of a problem. And he’d have to address that tonight.
She was propelled forward by the crowd behind her, a crowd that included Hudson and Regan Blackwell, Travis’s wife. The mayor, Blair Hubber, and Jake Edwards weren’t far behind.
What the hell were they all doing together?
Honey said something to Cam, and the two of them pushed their way through the crowd, heading toward the bar. She slid out of her jacket and handed it to Cam.
“Looks like you can use some help,” she said lightly, grabbing up a couple of empty jugs.
“We need to talk,” Nash said tersely.
“It can wait,” Honey replied, ignoring him as she nodded to a customer.
Cam had the nerve to snort before heading off to hang up their coats. Nash glared at him and moved past Honey, though he stopped and leaned close.
“I’ve got all night.” He let that settle and headed over to the table Hudson, Regan, Blair, and Jake had claimed. Wyatt joined them, along with a few more folks he knew casually. Andrea Lee smiled as she took off her pink woolen hat and sat down. She undid her scarf and rested her elbows on the table.
“Nash Booker. I haven’t been in since you’ve taken over from Sal, but Honey insisted we come back for a drink to celebrate.”
“Yeah?” Regan was practically sitting in her husband’s lap, while Hudson slid onto the seat beside them. “What are we celebrating?”
“Only the fact that Honey single-handedly saved not only the youth drop-in center by negotiating a generous donation, but she managed to convince the Blackwells to buy the entire building.” She shook her head and laughed. “He’s agreed to lessen our rent by half.” She high-fived the mayor. “Half! This is going to let us help so many more in our community.”
“Did she, now.” Nash looked over his shoulder to the bar. Tiny and Honey were fast at work serving drinks, while Cam was helping Susie. It wasn’t often that someone surprised the hell out of him. But Honey was making it a habit—he just wasn’t sure he liked it.
When he turned back to the table, his mood darkened even more when he found Hudson’s eyes on the woman who’d put him in the bad mood in the first place.
“I’ll buy the first round.” The mayor handed Nash his credit card, and that was the end of the conversation.
Two hours later, the Red Wings were winning and Travis Blackwell was on his way to his first shutout of the season. The bar was full, though Hudson and the rest of their table had gone home, and the music was set to his playlist. AC/DC and nothing else. “Highway to Hell” pumped in his ear, and it enabled him to pretty much gas any form of conversation between himself and Jade Daniels. The woman had shown up thirty minutes earlier, wearing the tightest pair of jeans on the planet, shiny red come-fuck-me boots, and a black top that barely contained her breasts. The woman was on a mission, and it was obvious he was the end game.
