I went in search of something to do—or break. Ice was the only thing I could shatter without creating more work for myself. I pushed back the top on the chill chest, speared the metal scoop inside. "Why the sudden interest in visitors to the Cove?"
I heard her snicker over the tumble of ice cubes. It was a halting breath that twisted into a brittle laugh. That rough, unsatisfied sound tightened my shoulders and locked my jaw. I wished I hadn't heard it because that reaction told me everything I needed to know about her in this moment. For starters, she didn't give a shit about the guy she'd tried to pick up for the night. Not surprisingly. Second, thewhowas far less relevant than thewhat. Finally—and this was the most important one—she was damn close to combusting. The only question was whether she wanted someone to light her up. Not the way that Manchester asshole would've done it, if he'd managed to fumble his way to that point. But really set her on fire. Make her burn—and glow.
"My interest in visitors is none of your business," she answered. "Since you've inserted yourself into my business, I'd like to know what you did with the gentleman I met earlier."
"'Met' is a rather civilized way of describing it, don't you think?" I snapped the chill chest shut, looked around, shrugged. "My tavern isn't your hookup pool."
She cast her gaze from one end of the empty bar to the other. "I wouldn't call it much of a pool."
"Why can't you use Tinder like everyone else? Come on, sweetheart. Get yourself some apps and get the hell outta here."
"I hate apps," she replied.
"And I hate cilantro, but you don't see me passing on the tacos, do you?"
"No, I mean Ihateapps," she said, holding up her phone. "I hate them so much that I don't have any." I snatched the device away from her and peered at the screen. "Look. No social media. No news or weather. No food delivery."
"The only delivery around here is DiLorenzo's and it's only when Denny gets tired of washing dishes and needs some walking-around money."
She sliced her hands through the air. "Irrelevant. I didn't have delivery apps when I lived in New York."
I hit her with a glare. "If you really wanted something, you'd download an app for it."
"And that's where you're wrong, Jed. If I really wanted something, I'd go out and get it." She waved her hands. "That's what I was attempting to do earlier."
I set her phone on the bar top. "You have the newest iPhone and you use it for what? Phone calls? Texting Annette?"
She tilted her head, schooling me with an expression that said I should know better than to pick at her spoiled little rich girl status. "Not that I owe you any kind of explanation, but until recently, when my previous phone met with an unlikely end, I had one of the earliest models." She pursed her lips. I looked away to keep from staring at her there. "And yes, Jed, I use it to make phone calls and text my bloodless sister."
I blew out a breath as I reached for a towel. All the glassware was dry, but goddamn, I needed something to keep my hands busy. "You come out with a lot of strange shit, Bam Bam, but that's the strangest."
"It's so great that you have opinions," she mused. "Even better that I don't give a single fuck what you think." She leaned forward, folded her arms on the edge of the bar. "Then again, I can't give a single fuck because I don't have any. Literally. I have no fucks because you cockblocked me."
Why I thought I could carry on this conversation without submitting to her like every other object in her orbit was a mystery to me. Whatever it took to stand here without wanting to fist her platinum hair and bite her bow lips and give her the kind of fuck she'd never forget, I didn't have. And I'd looked. Fuck me, I'dlooked. I'd spent the past two years searching.
"What d'you want from me, Brooke? An apology? You're not getting one. I kicked the guy out because he annoyed me. When you own the joint, you can do that."
"You kicked him out while also cockblocking me," she replied.
"Not that it'd matter to you, but I'm pretty sure he's married."
"'Not that it'd matter to you,'" she repeated. "Your dick isn't big enough to use that tone of voice with me. Check yourself, Jed."
Nothing about her words was particularly infuriating—no more than the rest of this conversation—but they sent me over the edge nonetheless. "Sweetheart, you don't know the first thing about my dick."
Her hair cascaded over her shoulders as she leaned forward. "Oh, I know more than enough."
I twisted the towel around my fist. "Big talk from a girl trying to pick up tourists."
"Funny how it's only a problem when I do it."
I blinked at her. Dropped the towel. Swallowed down the words I wanted to say to her. Rounded the bar. I closed my hand around Brooke's bicep and tugged her off the stool. "Let's go," I murmured.
"And where, may I ask, are we going?"
I gave her only a clenched jaw in response as I yanked her past the bar and into the dim storeroom. This was happening somewhere dark and private—and itwashappening. I kicked the door shut behind us and marched her toward a wall of empty kegs until her back met the cool metal.
"Excuse you," she said, glaring at my hold on her arm. "What do you think you're doing with your hand on me?"
