"I don't know," I answered. "I don't keep track of these things."
"For fuck's sake, Brooke." Grumbling the whole way, he bent down, reached into a cupboard, and retrieved a small bowl. He set it on the bar and motioned for me to take it. "Eat."
I tipped the bowl toward me. Pretzels. "Thank you, no. I have no idea where this has been and who it's been with and I'm sure you know how people are about restrooms and hand washing and such."
He snatched the bowl away, dumped it in the waste bin, and set a fresh refill in front of me. He drilled his finger on the shiny hardwood surface. "Eat."
With an eye on my slowly balding target, I shook my head. "I don't like pretzels."
Again, he muttered, "For fuck's sake, Brooke."
My guy glanced at his watch and that was my cue. I leaned over the bar top, snatched a cocktail napkin and pen, and scribbled my phone number.
"No fucking way." JJ reached for a dish towel. "I warned you, Brooke. No games."
"Stay out of it, Jedediah," I replied under my breath.
"My bar, my business," he snapped, wrapping the towel around his palm.
"Why can't your business be stocking more than one shiraz? That would be smart business. Interfering with my Thursday evening is not."
I hopped down from my seat and made my way to the opposite end of the bar, my gaze steady on the visitor. I slipped between him and the empty seat to his right. No one looked good climbing up onto a stool, and standing at this angle allowed me a swift exit. It also gave him a clear view of my cleavage, not that there was much to see.
"Hi. I couldn't help but notice you," I said, brushing my palm over his forearm. "Visiting from out of town?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw JJ toss his towel to the floor. He pushed through the storeroom door with force, leaving it to slam shut behind him.
"Yeah, up from Manchester," the tourist replied. "New Hampshire."
"All by yourself?" I cooed. "You must love those autumn leaves. Or is it pumpkins you're after? Maybe apples?"
"Mostly leaves, but I think we're stopping at a pumpkin patch too." He dipped his head, laughed. "I'm meeting up with my—uh, a group of people. They left for dinner before I arrived, so I have some time on my hands."
JJ didn't last long in the storeroom. He returned with a case of wine and dropped it on the bar with enough force to rattle glasses and draw the attention of everyone seated there.
"Listen," I said, reclaiming the visitor's attention and forcing my lips into a flirty smile-pout. "I think you're really hot and I'd like to get to know you better."
"I'm really—me? Yeah?" he asked. "Okay. Yeah. I'm—"
I pressed my finger to his lips and dropped the napkin on the surface in front of him. Patted it twice. "Shh. Tell me later."
I stepped away from the tourist—and JJ—and sailed out of the bar without a backward glance.
Shot fired.
Chapter Three
JJ
Fungibility: the ability to interchange one asset with another, similar asset.
I staredat the door for a solid minute.
Staring was safer than running through it, ripping it off its hinges, or throwing bottles of liquor at it. Those were the only options as I saw them.
Motherfucking Brooke Markham.
From behind me, I heard, "You saw that, right? That really happened?"
