On a good night.
When he saunters around the end of the bar, I inch towards my pistol that’s hidden under the register.
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.” His voice drops.
“Corey, leave it alone. We can go.” The blonde girl that has been hanging on his arm pulls her purse from the back of her chair and stands.
“Listen to your girl.” Sawyer appears behind the hulking man. “Call it a night.”
Well that’s a surprise. Scotty’s little bestie has a back bone.
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Corey’s dark eyes rake over me, focusing on the tattoo sticking above the hem of my tank top. “I want to see this cute barmaid’s ink first.”
I drop one fist against my hip, the other on the counter just inches away from the grip of my gun. “I think we’ll save show and tell for another night.” I purse my lips and give him an exaggerated wink. “So go on, get out of here, and come again another day.” My fingers flip to shoo him towards the door.
His shoulders hulk up and his brows drop.
Oops, that might have been the wrong thing to do.
“Listen here—”
He’s twirled in place by Sawyer’s hand on his elbow.
“Nope. Talk to me if you want to be rude.” Sawyer’s ballcap sits at a slight jaunt to the side, but he nearly pokes the asshole’s nose with the brim.
“Corey!” The remaining guys call out to him in unison. “Let’s fuckinggo!We don’t need the cops on us, man.”
Corey’s nostrils flare as he stares at Sawyer.
I gotta admit, the kid is holding his own.
Hell, I didn’t realize that he’s nearly just as big as the brute.
When did that happen? For some reason I’ve always seen him as the same scrawny teen I first met…how long ago? Ten years?
Now he’s all grown up and looking like he’d put up a heck of a scrap against the drunk asshole.
“Fine. This place sucks anyway.” Corey feigns his arms out to Sawyer.
But Sawyer doesn’t flinch.
Huh.
The girls are huddled in a ring, their eyes wide as Corey stalks towards them.
I’m relieved to see the other guys herd them out, putting themselves between the drunk and the women.
Sawyer follows a short distance behind them, then locks the door and turns off the “Open” sign.
“Thanks,” I exhale, slumping my elbows onto the bar.
His shoulders rise and fall under his worn t-shirt. “Is it always like that?”
Without asking, he starts gathering the dishes from the table.
“Not all the time. Often enough I have the sheriff on speed dial.” Fuck, I could use a shot myself. “Hey, you want a drink?”
He pauses halfway to the kitchen with an armful of plates and glasses, his bottom lip sticks out as he thinks. “Nah, thanks though. It’s like twenty minutes back to my house. Dad would kill me.”
