Sir?
Cooke nods, but his expression is still steely. “I appreciate that, mate.” He slaps Bull on the back. “Keep my girl safe.”
I’m not sure what to say about all that, so instead of overthinking it, I move on to the next customer. Everyone is having a good time, especially when Cooke rejoins the raucous rugby guys. They’re taking turns getting pictures with him, and at one point, the entire team lines up behind him for a group shot. I’m sure that’ll end up on the web. And for those people who know and love rugby, it’ll be a big thing.
I’m just finishing up making my first mule for a customer when I see Bryant walk in the door. I haven’t seen him since my horrible, terrible, very bad fucking day, and I’m okay with that. I half expect Kara to follow him in but he’s alone. He makes a beeline to Cooke, introducing himself as “one of Quinn’s best friends.” I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I’m not about to correct him right now. When he finally approaches the bar, he says, “Hey, Quinn.” Pointing his thumb back to Cooke, he adds, “How’d you get him here? Promise him homemade cookies or something?” Then he smirks.
I’m speechless. Honest to God speechless. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. I recall him referring to me as ditzy not long ago, also insinuating that I’m not a useful bartender, and now what? I had to lure Cooke Thompson from England with baked goods? What the ever-loving fuck? “No, he came to support me.”
Bryant snickers. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
I lean closer. “For your information, Kara assaulted me, then someone ran over my scooter and destroyed it, and my bedroom flooded with half a foot of water, ruining my textbooks and computer.He’smy friend. I was upset, and he came to see what he could do.”
“So, he’s going to buy you a new scooter?” Honest to goodness, I don’t think he means it the way he said it, but it still pisses me off. I mean, why he didn’t lead with “What! Kara assaulted you?” I have no idea.
“No,” I growl. “He’s here because he was worried about me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about any of that?” Now he looks affronted. “I would’ve helped.”
“You’re dating Kara.”
“Dating? I wouldn’t say dating.” He smirks again, and I want to punch him in the face.
Stepping back from the bar, I pick up the bar rag and ask, “What can I get for you?” He still hasn’t asked me about the first thing I mentioned. He doesn’t care.
“Busch Light, please.”
“Glass or pitcher?”
“Glass. I’ll bum some beer off the guys after that. Hopefully your friend Cooke is buying.”
Wow, he’s a cheap-ass mooch too. “He’s not a frigging ATM,” I mutter to myself. Pouring his beer, I place it in front of him. “Three-fifty.”
He pulls out a five and hands it to me. I ring him up and place his $1.50 on the bar. Usually, people leave at least the fifty cents on the bar. Not Bryant, though. He leaves nothing. “I’ll get ya next time,” he says with a wink and the pistol hand gesture.
“Sure.” There won’t be a next time, since he’s planning on mooching off everyone else in the bar. “What did I ever see in that guy?”
“No idea,” says Tayler. She must have snuck up on me.
I roll my eyes. “How are you doing?” I’m worried about her. She and Dylan were inseparable going on four years. That’s a long time.
“Good.” She leans closer to the bar. “We’re going to sit down and have a long-ass talk about all of this.” She uses her thumb to point behind her. “But right now, tell me how to get Luke Green’s attention.”
“I have no idea. You know me. I’m the last person to dole out advice about a guy. Besides, you’re absolutely stunning.” Especially tonight. She’s wearing a short, tight dress in an emerald green color. It looks amazing with her deep red hair.
“Introduce me, then.”
I can do that. I head toward the kitchen and yell, “Luke.”
“Yeah?” He steps out, wiping his hands on a towel. I wonder what he was doing. No matter, he looks damn hot in jeans that fit him perfectly and a tight Cy’s Roost tee. His tattoos are peeking out of each sleeve, giving us a glimpse of some beautiful art.
“I want to introduce you to my best friend. A best friend I will never give free drinks to.” Crossing my fingers, I add, “I promise.”
He walks slowly up to the bar. “Does your beautiful friend have a name?”
Beautifulfriend? “She does. It’s—”
“Tayler,” my best friend says, holding her hand out to him. “We’ve met, though.”
