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“You’re an angel, darlin’. This town’s lucky to have you.”
I hopped up, leaning across the bar to place a quick kiss to his grizzled, ruddy cheek before shooting him a wink and heading to the back to put his dinner order in with the kitchen.
Despite being so tired I was in a pretty good mood. Working both shifts in the front of house meant the tips were going to be pretty damn good. That money would make an even bigger dent in what I was trying to save so I could get that loan to buy the bar. Reminding myself of the end goal was enough to keep me going, no matter how exhausted I was.
I headed back for the bar, hoping to get back into that flow, but jerked to a stop when I spotted the person who’d just pulled up a stool two spaces down from Freddy.
“Evening, Bubbles.”
Well shit.
After nearly three weeks of not seeing hide nor hair of Beau Wade, I’d actually started to think my luck was going to hold out and our paths wouldn’t cross. I should have known better. I mean, sure, there were other bars in and around town, but Dropped Anchor was a favorite for most people. It was only a matter of time before he’d come walking through my door.
Damn it. Why does he have to look so good? a tiny voice in the back of my head lamented.
It really wasn’t fair.
He was dressed like anyone else, in a plain tee and faded jeans, but the way his gray T-shirt molded to the muscles beneath was downright criminal. I was sure if he stood up, I’d get a front row seat to the ass of the century and strong, thick thighs. But at that moment, all I had to gawk at was the arm porn on full display. Wide, veined forearms that could make a woman orgasm all on their own rested on the bar top between us. The way his elbows bent made his impressive biceps strain, testing the limits of his sleeves.
If I thought he’d looked good in that suit at the reunion, it was debatable if he was better dressed down and casual, which only worked to irritate the hell out of me.
My eyes traveled back up to his, and I knew by the pleased smile that stretched across his face and showcased perfect white teeth that he’d caught me leering.Son of a bitch.
“Good to see you. I was starting to think we’d never run into each other.”
“If only,” I deadpanned. I would have loved nothing more than to kick him the hell out of my bar, but hetechnicallyhadn’t done anything to warrant it, and the last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene. Scenes led to curiosity, curiosity led to gossip, and gossip eventually led to questions I had no desire to answer. So I kept the lid on my frustration, telling myself he was just another customer. I’d serve him and move along. It would be easy.
I hoped.
I placed my hands on the bar and cocked my hip to take some of the weight off my feet. They were really starting to hurt from standing for too many hours. “What can I get you?”
He blinked, and if I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was actually bothered by my lack of small talk.
“Deschutes, IPA if you have it on tap.”
I nodded and moved back down the bar, grabbing a pint glass and filling it with a local beer. “You paying now or starting a tab?” I asked once I placed the glass in front of him.Please pay now. Please pay now, I chanted silently. Because starting a tab meant he intended on staying, and my night had been going so well.
He lifted the pint glass and took a sip of the rich golden liquid, studying me over the rim the entire time. It was almost enough to make me fidget, but I held myself steady. This was my turf. I wasn’t going to let him make me uncomfortable on my turf.
“If I start a tab does that mean I’ll get a little conversation?”
Not if I could help it.
With one arm braced on the bar, I waved the other wide, encompassing the entire bar. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s a little busy in here. Not to mention, we’re short staffed. I don’t exactly have time to chit-chat. Sorry.”
Why the hell did he want to talk to me anyway? It wasn’t like we were friends. We’d tried that once. Or was it twice? That last time was... confusing. I didn’t know what to think of it so I tried not to think about it at all.
“I’ve watched you take time to talk with almost every person you’ve served,” he pointed out. And,shit. I hadn’t realized he’d been here long enough to see that. “So tell me, Bubbles, why not me?”
From the corner of my eye I saw Freddy’s head turning back and forth like he was front and center at Wimbledon. “You two know each other?”
“No,” I answered at the same time Beau replied, “We’re old friends.”
What the hell?
We were drawing attention, or more to the fact, Beau was drawing attention simply by existing. He was Whitecap’s very own celebrity. The hero football player. It was only a matter of time before he started to draw a crowd his way.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice so only he could hear me over Fleetwood Mac playing from the jukebox and the din of a million different conversations filtering through the air. “We aren’t friends, Beau. We’ve never been friends, and we will neverbefriends. I don’t know why you came in here, but if it was to screw with me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave my bar. I don’t have the time to deal with your particular brand of shit tonight.”
