Page 49 of Roughneck

Bubba turned to get his drink.

In spite of himself, Hunter kept looking over to the dance floor. Now she was dancing with Mack. Christ, if there was anyone he’d trust a woman with less than Liam, it was Mack. “How long has that been going on?”

“About an hour.” The answer wasn’t from Bubba. Hunter swiveled on his stool and saw that Cal was sitting beside him. It would be easy to mistake Cal for a man—she always walked around in oversized men’s overalls with big flannel shirts underneath. Her hair was cropped short too, or at least, it usually was. Hunter was startled to realize it was a little longer—there was a small ponytail peeking out the back of the baseball cap she always wore.

“Hey Cal,” Hunter said. He’d known her ever since grade school. She was quiet, but a good sort.

Bubba set Hunter’s drink and must have heard Hunter’s initial question, because he looked out over the dance floor and smiled. “They’ve been livening up the joint for about an hour now.”

“And how many drinks have they poured down her?” Hunter growled

“Hey there.” Bubba braced his hands on the bar and narrowed his eyes at Hunter. “Don’t be disrespecting me in my own bar. You know I don’t put up with shit. That girl’s only been drinking what she’s ordered herself. And having a fine time of it.” Bubba’s eyes tracked back to the dance floor, his ruddy cheeks bright as he smiled. “Sure don’t make ‘em like that round here. ‘Cept for my Dottie, of course, God rest her soul.” Then his eyes flicked over to Cal. “No offense, Cal.”

Cal just waved her beer. “None taken.”

Hunter’s mood soured as he watched Isobel. He swallowed a healthy swig of his whiskey. It was biting, but he got it down without coughing. Soon his throat and belly were warmed by the liquid. His muscles relaxed. He angled his back toward the dance floor.

Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d just ignore Isobel and have a nice little drink, shoot the shit with Bubba and—

Bubba’s eyes were on the dance floor behind him and he let out a low whistle. “Damn that woman’s a firecracker. If I was a young buck, you can bet I’d be—”

“For the love of God don’t finish that sentence,” Cal implored.

The temptation was too great and Hunter looked over his shoulder.

Now Isobel was sandwiched between Mack and Liam and their hands— Christ, they were all over her. Mack was chest to chest with her, his knees slung between hers and again, her back was to Liam. They were all dancing so close together, Hunter had no idea how they were managing to stay upright. She was staring into Mack’s eyes, a wide smile on her face as she talked animatedly.

Mack was staring back like he wanted to devour her. Mack’s eyes flicked behind her to Liam and it was as if they were having the same thought.

Hunter’s hands clenched into fists and he was half off his barstool when someone came to stand in front of him. Hunter was about to order them out of the way when he realized it was Sandra, his receptionist.

“Well, it’s just selfish of her to take two of them,” Sandra said, looking toward the dance floor.

“It’s obscene,” Hunter shot back without really thinking it through.

Sandra’s eyes brightened and Hunter immediately wished he could take it back. The gossip mill could be vicious in Hawthorne, like any small town. Another reason for Isobel not to be making such a spectacle of herself.

“So, I was thinking,” Sandra leaned over Hunter to get her drink at the bar. Hunter frowned and tried to angle around her so he could keep an eye on Isobel. Who knew what those two bastards had up their sleeves. He did not like the way they were looking at her.

“We should go out sometime.”

Isobel had flipped around so that now her chest was to Liam’s. His hands were so low on Isobel’s back he was practically grabbing her a—

“Hunter?”

“Huh?” he looked up at Sandra. “Sorry, did you say something?”

She giggled a little and pushed some of her frizzy, over-processed red hair behind her ear. “I said we should go out sometime. Remember how much fun we used to have in high school?”

“Oh.” Shit. Hunter straightened on his barstool. He hated situations like this.

He and Sandra had dated briefly their junior year. Well, if you counted a drunken hook up after Matt Davies’ field party the year they won Homecoming dating. He had taken her out to eat a few times afterwards because he’d felt like a major tool once he’d sobered up the next morning. Maybe there was more to her than the vapid cheerleader she portrayed on the surface? You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, right? He’d certainly hoped to be more than just a dumb jock all his life.

Three dates and too many hours to count later with an earful of gossip about a ton of shit he didn’t care about, he decided that in some cases, the cover was a perfectly accurate representation of what was inside.

And after ten years, other than a bad dye job and skin that advertised she was averse to sunscreen, Hunter didn’t think much about Sandra had changed.

“Look, Sandra,” Hunter began, backing away from her on his barstool, “I’m really not looking to date anyone right n—”

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