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Part of the Lockland Distilling & Welcome to Kissing Springs Worlds
Tracy Broemmer
1
Marlowe
He wasn’t good-looking. He was striking. Marlowe had been eye-stalking him all night, sneaking peeks at him as she poured wine, pulled mugs of beer, and mixed drinks. Dressed for the blustery cold, it was hard to tell what his body looked like—he appeared slim and trim, but who knew what sort of muscular build he was hiding under the flat front gray pants and the navy sweater? More to the point, who cared?
Marlowe couldn’t remember seeing a man with such a pretty face. And that was the weird thing—pretty, yes, but angular and masculine, too. His cheekbones would cut glass; she had no doubt. Thick, dark eyebrows and long, thick lashes framed his deep, ebony eyes. And she’d already lost a minute or two wondering if his honey-blond locks were as silky as they looked.
He had come in with a rowdy bunch of guys, a bachelor party, Marlowe had guessed correctly. He was drinking with them, but he was much more reserved than the rest of them. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t talk or smile often; he just wasn’t boisterous. The rest of the guys were dressed in denim and t-shirts or flannels. By comparison, this guy looked like a model.
Mysterious.
Little bit dreamy.
Marlowe gave herself a mental shake and swung her gaze back to the bottle of cabernet in her hand. If her friends could see her now, mooning over some guy at her bar, she would never hear the end of it. Especially a guy who looked like that. There was no way he would be attracted to what he saw behind the bar.
“What about a bowling league?”
“What?” She snapped her gaze to her friends sitting across the bar from her.
“Would you do that? Like a Sunday night league?”
Marlowe eyed Summer Lockland with a smirk.
“First? We can’t, because you look like you swallowed the bowling ball.”
Bristol Miller snorted softly as she tried to sip her beer. Summer only laughed and smoothed her hand over her growing belly. “Nuh-uh. I’m not that big yet.”
She wasn’t, but they all loved to tease her.
“Second. No.” Marlowe shook her head as she poured the cab into the wine glass she had set out on the bar.
“No? What? That’s not a second. That’s—what?” Summer shook her head.
“Where I come from, winter Sunday bowling leagues were for couples. I’m not a couple.”
“You could hook up with Pierce,” Summer suggested.
“Pierce Rooney?” Marlowe turned her nose up. She liked the guy fine, but no, she had no intention of hooking up with him. Then again, she had no real intention of hooking up with anyone in the foreseeable future. Marlowe had her fun years ago when she was younger, and now, she had other responsibilities.
And she wouldn’t change a thing. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and peeked at the screen. Just before ten. Way was supposed to be ready for bed, but if she knew her son, he was asking his grandpa to let him watch one more TV show or play one more video game. And if Marlowe knew her dad, Waylen would get his way.
“Not hook up, hook up.” Summer rolled her eyes when Marlowe tucked her phone away and looked at her again. “Just for the sake of bowling.”
“No.” Marlowe shook her head again. “Do I look like a bowler, Summer?”
“Well, no, but you don’t look like a first baseman, either.”
Marlowe narrowed her eyes at her as Teri, one of two waitresses at the Iron Stag, came up to the bar to get the wine she’d just poured.
“I’m tall and left-handed.” Marlowe tipped her head. “Perfect for first base.”
“Mm-hmm.” Summer nodded. “And tattoo sleeves on your arms and a nose piercing. Doesn’t scream first baseman to me.”
Marlowe laughed and shrugged. “And still no.”
