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“Yup.” I glance at the tequila. “I’ll take a Corona and a shot of that.”
She swallows as she eyes the bottle. “It’s . . .”
“I know how fucking much that shit is,” I say with a wink, taking a seat. “And I think I’ll have one.”
“I didn’t mean . . .” She flutters a little, shooting a look to the back, where a door is open, just near where the bar flap opens. Manager is my guess.
Mia’s right, there’s a jumpiness to her that isn’t from her recent arrival at the job.
“New?”
Her shoulders deflate. “Obvious?”
“Nah, just know the look is all.” I eye her, which is something I could do all fucking day. Along with other things I’m definitely not going to think about while in public. “Nicolo.”
The blonde stares at my big hand, and then she put her slender, small one in mine.
A powerhouse flares into life inside me.
Her hand jerks in mine, like she felt it too, or maybe it’s just the fact I’m so big next to her, my hand the kind that engulfs hers. But . . . no. Her blue-brown eyes burn as her lips part in an unconscious invitation.
Oh yeah. This little tasty morsel feels it too.
I shake her hand gently.
She’s soft, bones delicate and the kind I could crush without much effort.
“I-I’m Avah. And yeah, I’m new.”
She’s got a slight sun-kissed look to her that adds to the gold of her hair. I want to push but don’t.
There are times to let things come, and a time to force them. I’m in the business of forcing, usually with brute strength and often with an end where only one comes out alive, me.
This is one of the other times, like when I’m protecting. Except I’m not doing that. This is strictly just a Mia-based favor.
I should have brought a book with me, or a paper, but I pull up the newsfeed on my phone as she pours a drink and opens my beer.
“New to town or . . .?”
“Both.” She wrinkles her nose and picks up a bar rag with the word happy printed on one side and Brother’s Shack Bar and Grill on the other.
Avah wipes down an imaginary spot on the bar.
The entire length is spotless, the two business guys move from their table to the other end of the bar. Their hands are wrapped around low-ball glasses that are almost empty, and the guys are locked in the middle of the kind of animated conversation that tells me they’re here to blow off steam rather than wheel and deal.
Plus, they don’t look like Lowlanders.
They might be criminals, who the fuck knows? But in my line of work, I find actual underworld criminals have a code that’s a hell of a lot more honest than the so-called average Joe business dude.
And if people in my world break those rules? I break them.
But Brother’s Shack is just a bar in the middle of Lowlander territory. Like the De Luca family and others there are legit businesses, as well as fronts.
Only issue is Lowlanders don’t like others poking their nose in, even if it’s a legit place.
But this Avah, I’m now interested in her deal. Not because she’s hot—although there’s that—no, because secrets lurk somewhere inside her.
She breathes in. “Do you come here often?”
