“No, no, no,” I whisper as my feet lead me in that direction without my permission. I’ve known Shep for as far back as I can remember. My sister, Lex, and his brother, Axel, married last December after a rather lengthy hiatus in their relationship, so that makes us quasi-family. And speaking of family, it turns out Shep tragically lost his sister, Emilia, not too long ago while she was hiking with her boyfriend. She had a freak fall, and that was that. My heart breaks for the family, and for Shep in that regard, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s still an ass of the highest order.
Lucky for my sister, Axel is emphaticallynotan ass. In addition to being a successful lawyer turned restaurateur, he’s invested in my sister’s restaurant critique start-up,The Epicurean Elite. Leave it to my perennially cranky big sis to start a business that specializes in nitpicking. Okay, so maybe that’s not the point. The point is to lead the masses to quality good food—like right here at the Black Bear—where good food leads to long nights that try my sanity with the promise of great tips for yours truly.
I scowl over at the hunchbacked oaf. Okay, so I’m totally lying. Shep Collins is as far from the Hunchback of Notre Dame as one can get. He’s tall, olive complexion, dark hair, bright blue eyes that siren out like the hottest kind of flame, and, at the moment, he seems to be smoldering in my direction with acome-hitherlook that sets my thighs on fire. He’s ridiculously,unfairly, good-looking. And, when you get down to it, he’s really just ridiculous.
I march over and fold my arms across my chest, legs set in a defiant stance—I can’t help it. Something about the asshole in him brings out the angry self-righteous thirteen-year-old inme.
“Would you mind picking your stubborn self up and sitting in the rear of the establishment? And if you just so happen to find the back entrance, feel free to stroll right out into the wild. There’s a dumpster there somewhere, loaded with leftovers. I’m sure a wild boar like you can make a meal of it.”
His left brow arches into his forehead, and his obnoxious ocean-colored eyes light up as if someone just flipped a switch. Then slowly, ever so determined, he flashes that annoying grin across his demented face just for me.
“I see you’re in top form, Serena. You really are a brat, you know that?”
“What did you just have the blue balls to call me?” I pluck the pen from behind my ear and brandish it like a weapon.
“You called me a pig.” That obnoxious grin of his does a disappearing act, and I’m mildly proud of myself for inducing such a quick turnabout of emotion in him. I like him good and pissed, because that’s exactly what he does to me the instant I lay eyes on him—pisses me off without even trying. “You do realize a wild boar is a feral pig, don’t you?” He gives a slight nod. That condescending tone makes me want to smother him with a pillow or that banana cream pie Roxy is carrying across the room one-handed.
“Of course, I realize it. I know one when I see one, and I’m feasting my eyes on the most feral of them all. Now oink yourself to the other side of the room lest you risk your food be seasoned with saliva! And you won’t have the pleasure of it being mine. There are at least twenty frat boys in the poolroom willing to oblige me.” I smear a greedy grin of my own.
“I bet they are.” He pulls a menu forward and attempts to open it, but I slam it shut with the palm of my hand.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” A rush of fury explodes through every vein in my body. I’m so blind with rage, I could lift this building on its side with just a single acrid glance. I’ll make sure Shep is lying in wait while I tip it over. An image of him flat as a pancake flits through my twisted mind, and I can’t help but smile.
He glances up, his brows furrowed as if I had the ability to wear him thin. “It means you’re beautiful. And I’m sure an entire herd of frat boys would be glad to gift you whatever bodily fluids you request.” He winces at his own decidedlydisgustinganalogy.
I suck in a sharp breath. “Wow, you give pigs everywhere a bad name,” I seethe. “In fact, the more time I spend with you, the more I’m convinced your mother had a rectal delivery.”
I turn abruptly and take off for dingy, gray, wedding pastures where I see Cole has liquored up our bitter bridal party of matrimonial doom to maximum tipping capacity. It’s a fine line between happily tipping over the twenty percent line and being too drunk to define the wordtip—let alone walk a straight line to your Uber.
Tip or no tip, they look just like the bitter, jaded, She-Man-Testosterone-Haters that I’m more than willing to break bread with. I’m so sick of guys like Shep and Dirty Boy ruining my night—mylife.
Hey! I might soon add yet another nuisance to my list ifBeeBoy shows up sporting his yellow jacket. For a second there, I totally forgot about the horny hornet looking to regale me with his stinger this evening.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder and jolt to attention by way of Shep Collins’ devilishly handsome face, emphasis on the devilish, peering at me from less than an inch away.
“Geez!” I jump back, clutching my chest as my heart does its best to kickbox its way out of my chest. “You gave me a freaking heart attack. The restrooms are that way.” I toss a finger past him. “And so is the exit. I won’t tell you which is which. I kind of like the fifty-fifty odds that you’ll be leaving us.” I manufacture a deranged smile.
“Whoa.” He holds his hands out as if attempting to steady me. “Relax. I just wanted to—”
“Apologize, I know.” I shoot a brief glance to the ceiling. Shep and I have played this game far too many times for me to care anymore. “And please for the love of all things holy, take your ornery self and find another establishment to haunt. I have a big, bad date due to arrive in just a few minutes, and he’s tall, dark, and—” A bright yellow jacket snags my attention from the entry, and I choke on my next words.
Tall, dark-haired, ratted, tatted, roided out to the point he looks like he belongs in a Marvel comic and not in any good way—and, my God, he’s got the Mr. T starter kit hanging around his neck! His muscles are bulging, creating large, meaty humps as they stretch his jacket taut over his biceps. That T-shirt he’s got on underneath is stretched to capacity itself, and there are mounds and mounds of dark curly hair sprouting from his neckline. He’s a plague of a person, huffing and puffing as he scans the crowd as if he’s got a bone to pick from an unlucky body. And not a shocker, I just so happen to be the unlucky one.
I snatch Shep by the shoulders and scream as I do my best to use him as a human shield. That hulk at the door has a serious case of toxic masculinity, and I want no part of it.
“What?” He turns abruptly and shoots a glance at the entrance. “What’s going on?” He looks back, his body relaxing beneath the death grip I have over it. “Wait a minute… Is Donald Duck—is that your big, bad date for the evening?”
“Very funny. My God, he looks downright dangerous!”
“Dangerous is right,” Shep muses. “He definitely looks like he knows where the bodies are buried.”
“He knows where the bodies are buried because he put them there!”
“Come on, Serena. You’re not giving him a fair shake. I bet he’s made totally respectable career choices, like grave digging.”
“Please, I happen to know he plays video games for a living. This is probably the first time he’s seen natural light in months.”
I shimmy us to the left until we’re partially hidden by some well-placed foliage. It seems like every time the owner’s wife, Baya, comes in, she’s hauling in another silk ficus with her, and right about now, I appreciate that most about her. “Yes, that’s him. But he can’t know this is me.”
