My mind instantly recalls my painful history with Chris, reminding me why I must forget about Kent. Pressure sits on my chest as I think about my ex. It’s been a couple months since I’ve seen him, and I’m worried. He usually checks in with me monthly. I’ve searched the usual places, but it’s as if he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. Clay could probably locate him for me, but they despise one another these days, and Chris wouldn’t thank me for involving Clay in his business, which is why I haven’t raised my concerns with the guy who is my de facto big brother.
“Pres.” Bugger tips his head at me when I approach the door to Ramshackle. The name is fitting because the place is in a state of disrepair, and it could definitely use a makeover. The structure is sound, but inside, it’s like the seventies threw up in there. “You got a visitor,” he says.
I arch a brow.
“At the bar,” he adds, but his facial expression doesn’t change. Bugger has two looks—bored and menacing—and he never mixes it up. Right now, he’s bored, and I know that’s as much as I’m gonna get.
“Love you too,” I quip, knowing it will aggravate him, brushing past him as I enter through the narrow doorway.
Music pulses through the room from the old jukebox, and I skim the place, noticing it’s busier than usual for a Thursday night. Half the tables on the floor are full, and all the booths that line the far wall are occupied—with a higher than usual percentage of female customers. That’s the only clue I need to guess the identity of my mystery visitor.
I make my way across the scuffed, dark hardwood floors toward the bar, instantly spotting the back of Kent’s head. He’s sitting on one of the stools at the long bar, his head bent over, books sprawled across the counter, and he’s jotting notes on a pad with his right hand.
My interest piques before I swat it away.
Remember he’s the enemy, I caution myself because the only way I’ll avoid falling into his trap is to remind myself of the threat he represents and to treat him accordingly.
“Hey, Pres.” Tommy greets me from his usual perch at the end of the bar, directing his toothless smile in my direction.
“Hey, stud.” I kiss his leathery cheek. “You waiting for me?”
“Like always, darlin’.” He scrubs a hand across the patchy gray stubble on his chin and cheeks. “Just one look at your face and everything is right with the world.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Kent’s head lifting, amusement clear in his expression. I pretend I don’t see him, focusing all my attention on Tommy. He’s been coming to the bar for more than twenty years, and he’s as much a part of this place as the worn furniture. “You give me too much credit, Tommy.” I give him a quick hug before slipping under the counter.
Ford approaches with a towel draped across one shoulder and a bottle of lager in his hand. “You’re early,” he says, setting the bottle down in front of Tommy.
“My teacher had to cut class a little short,” I explain, grabbing a glass with ice and a bottle of chilled water from the fridge. “Just give me five to get ready.”
“Take your time.” Ford squeezes my shoulder, leaning his mouth in close to my ear. “I’ll continue entertaining your admirer. He’s been here for over an hour, and he must’ve asked for you at least a dozen times.”
“You should put him out of his misery,” I say in a low voice. “And send him on his way.”
Ford grins. “We’re already taking bets on you two.”
Of course, they are. I inwardly sigh. Ford, Rafe, Bugger, and Digger—our other bouncer—love making bets, so this isn’t a surprise. I shove at his chest. “I hope you bet big. I’ll enjoy watching you lose your shirt this time.”
He laughs. “My money’s on Kennedy.”
I flip him the bird.
“He’s got all the moves.” He waggles his brows. “The guy is legendary.”
“You sound likeyouwant in his pants.” My lips fight a smile. “You have my permission to go for it.”
He rolls his eyes, slapping my ass with the towel. “Get your sexy delusional butt in the back and get changed. I want to get out of here. Promised Michelle I’d take her to see that new Theo James movie.”
“Awww.” I pinch his cheeks. “You’re so romantic.”
He swats my butt with the towel again. “You’re pushing it, little lady. Be gone.”
I’m still chuckling to myself when I emerge from the staff room five minutes later, having changed into my tight, black leather pants with an off-the-shoulder ripped short-sleeved top that reveals one of my red bra straps. My hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of my head, because I was too lazy to wash it this morning, and I’ve left a few strands framing my face.
“It’s busier than usual so I called Imogen in. She’s just waiting on Kady’s babysitter to arrive.”
“Cool.” Imogen is my best friend, my only female friend, and I don’t get to see nearly enough of her. She’s a single mom to her daughter Kaydence, so she only works part-time and mainly during the day because she doesn’t like leaving Kady at home with a babysitter too often at night. Kady’s dad takes her every second weekend, so I have coordinated my nighttime weekend shifts to align with hers.
“I’m out of here,” Ford says, raising his fist for a knuckle touch.
