I believed in karma and I knew it was real because JJ had been gifted the equally troublesome name of Jedediah Judson Harniczek. The torment flowed both ways. "I'm not playing games, Jed."
"You're at my tavern without your sidekick and you're hidden away back here, watching my customers like a jaguar licking its chops before an ambush. I'd say you're playing something." He stepped into the light, turned to face me. "And I'm not interested in having it tonight."
I gave him theI'm just a sweet, innocent girl and I don't know what you meanpout as I blinked up at him. He was tall and solid with a beard that meant business, only an ax short of achieving full lumberjack status. If you liked that sort of thing.
"Annette is home with Jackson and I had a"—I paused, searching for the right word to adequately describe my experience with involuntary edging—"frustrating day, one might say. I just want to have a drink and unwind like everyone else."
He crossed his thick arms. Scowled, blinked. "I seriously doubt that."
"Doubt all you want, but you're making me a drink. I'm sure you can manage a vodka gimlet with extra lime." I tipped my chin toward the bar. "I'll be over there. Thanks in advance, Jed."
I breezed past him and settled on a stool at the far end of the bar, a prime position. From here, I could scope out everyone seated around the three-sided bar without being obvious or drawing attention to myself. If I sat somewhere in the middle, I'd have to lean forward to check out the people on either side of me and I'd lose a good view of those seated at tables and in booths. There was no greater mark of an amateur dick hunter than getting caught in the process of assessing the territory. Eyeballing men required perfecting the air of disinterested disaffection—be bored and ignore everything around you.
As much as I hated to admit it, Annette was right about the Galley. There were a number of new faces here, and the locals were busy watching some sportsball game on the big-screen television suspended from the ceiling. I could've stripped to my skin and offered lap dances to anyone interested without snapping the loyalists out of their sportsball trance.
Come to think of it, that wasn't an awful idea. It was a quick method of assessing theresponsivenessof this crowd.
"One vodka gimlet. Extra lime." JJ plunked a glass in front of me. He rocked back on his heels and spread his arms out wide, planting his hands on the edge of the bar top as if he was doing his best to keep from strangling me. He was never more than a couple of steps away from second-degree murder. "Drink up and go."
I knew that look well. Our interactions were fitting for people who'd known and teased each other since babyhood, shared one strange—and never spoken of since—kiss and some light groping the night after our high school graduation, and now found ourselves in the same small town we'd vowed to leave behind us forever.
With my gaze locked on JJ, I reached for the napkin dispenser stationed two seats to my left. One by one, I pulled out ten napkins. My collection formed a small paper plateau, a landform that seemed to anger the barkeep as it grew, if his quiet snarls were any indication. Once my supplies were in place, I made a show of mopping up the clear liquid that'd sloshed over the rim, down the glass, and all over my section of the bar. I was dainty about it too, using only the corner of a napkin as I tidied his mess.
And it worked.
"Fucking hell, Brooke, give me that." He gathered the used napkins in one hand, the glass in another. Without breaking his stare, he pitched the napkins into the waste bin and dumped the drink into the sink. "What do you think you're doing?"
I gestured to the empty—but still damp—space before me. "I was attempting to enjoy my gimlet until you ripped it away from me. Honestly, Jed. It was rather rude." He responded with a smirk that only highlighted the splattering of freckles across his face. Some were faint angel kisses, others were as dark as his hair. "May I have another?"
He nodded at the damp, empty space. "I'm short-staffed. I have pressing issues to handle. I don't have time for your games tonight—"
"Get a grip, Jed," I snapped. I drove my hand through my hair and sucked in a breath. "I'm not going to whip the townspeople into a fury and convince them to haul off and kill the beast. This obsession with my games, as you call them, is unhealthy. I take a lot of joy in busting your balls but if my presence in your tavern is truly disruptive to business, please escort me off the premises. Otherwise, I'd like a vodka gimlet, nice and limey, and a couple of moments where you aren't harassing me about my intentions. I realize I don't possess your barkeeping wisdom, but I cannot see how a nice lady enjoying a cocktail could incite the type of mayhem you're suggesting. But go ahead. Explain it to me."
JJ regarded me for a second, the hard gaze of his hazel eyes giving nothing away. At first glance, they appeared brown, but I knew they were hazel. He worked his jaw, rocked back on his heels, dropped his hands to his lean hips. He seemed poised to say something, but instead, he turned and retreated to the opposite end of the bar.
I stared at the strong, broad line of his shoulders. The dark, unruly hair gathered with a band at the nape of his neck. The jeans skimming his taut backside. It made for a pleasant, if not problematic, picture.
"Ah, the pleasures of small town living," I called after him. "I'd pay three times as much for a bartender to chastise me in Manhattan. Then again, the only time a bartender would chastise me in Manhattan was if I asked for a side of ice with my cabernet."
He didn't respond and I was content with forfeit by way of silence. It gave me an opportunity to evaluate my options. There were a handful of fresh faces, but the pickings were slim. Strategy was essential. The Galley was theatre in the round, wide and open for everyone to observe. I couldn't flutter around, visiting every guy with clean fingernails and no wedding ring like a hookup hummingbird. I needed an airtight plan of attack before my ass left this stool because I wasn't taking aim for a second shot.
That left me eyeing a late thirtysomething man who seemed promising on looks alone. No rings, no grubby fingernails, and no one seated beside him. Other out-of-towners were scattered around him, a stool or two separating them. This one was working the "dress shirt with an open collar" angle to his advantage, even if the shirt wasn't appropriately fitted. His hairline was a pair of cul-de-sacs and his brows needed a trim. But his hands were big, wrapping around his pint glass like it was a pixie stick, and that counted for something.
All things considered, my target was remarkably average. In these situations—and my entire life was composed of these situations—I always went for the average guy. The gorgeous ones knew they were hot shit and fucked like they were doing you a favor. While I was in desperate need of that exact type of favor, I wasn't interested in communicating it to anyone but myself.
A few minutes later, JJ set a fresh drink in front of me. He didn't speak, didn't look at me, didn't slow down for more than the delivery. "Thank you," I called to him.
His back to me, he lifted a hand in acknowledgment. This was how we did it: name-calling, senseless bickering, and low-key ultimatums followed by a cease-fire. He was going to his corner, I was staying in mine, all was well in Talbott's Cove.
I sipped my drink until the ice melted to the point of diluting the liquor, all while JJ pretended to ignore me. It was amusing of him to think I could miss those side-eye glances.
He circled back in my direction, busy organizing and polishing everything behind the bar as he went. When he edged toward me, his focus stayed on his work. I stayed focused on my work too. The work of poaching a man for the night.
Without glancing toward me, JJ asked, "Did you eat? Tonight?"
I swirled my glass, shook my head. "I don't think so."
His brows shot up. "How do you not know?"
