“We’re at capacity,” Judd says in passing, banging his hand on the bar top to get my attention. The shirt he’s wearing says,MISSIONARY SO WE CAN KEEP FIGHTING,and he’s wearing a dark blue bandana to push back his unruly sandy blond hair.
“Already?” Boone calls out, and I shrug. “Where’s Rhea?”
“Tagging the firefighters,” Judd says, nodding toward the group of men clustered around her in the back hallway. I grind my teeth, watching them crowd her as she wraps bright red bracelets around their wrists.She’s doing her job.Or at least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” I slam the fridge door closed beneath the bar and turn to Boone and Kaia.
“Because of that,” Kaia says with a wicked smile on her face, the bruise on her cheek is fading, but the sentiment of what she did for me, for Daisy, will last forever. It’s been a week, and I’ve only gotten one vague text from Riona: It’s resolved.
No thanks to your diplomacy.
I turn to see him, leaning against a booth, talking to some of his buddies a few feet from Rhea. Her shoulders are tight, and her eyes flicker occasionally in his direction when he laughs loudly or makes a comment to someone in the group.
A week after the date Boone came to me on Kaia’s behalf, throwing down a Harbor Fire association calendar and pointing to it like I was supposed to understand why.“They need a venue to host this year's competition on the calendar,”Boone said, and I shrugged. Told him that theycould fuck off and find somewhere that needed the business. But then he told me who was on the list of contestants.
Now they’re invading my bar—and her space. But there’s a reason. I need eyes on that piece of shit, and now that I’ve seen him, all I want to do is wrap my hand around his scrawny neck and squeeze.
“Right,” I mutter, turning back to them.
“Keep it together, stick to the plan,” Boone warns.
“No drinks. Dry all night,” I repeat.
“Separate him from his friends. Keep him busy,” Kaia purrs with a smile. “And the girls will handle the rest.”
“Don’t get caught, I don’t have the money to bail you out again.” I point at her with a towel gripped between my fingers and palm to steady my hand.I shouldn't have agreed to this at all but it's better than beating the shit out of him myself and then explaining why I did.
“Yes, sir.” She salutes as she slides from the stool and disappears into the crowded bar.
“I’ve got two grand in savings,” Boone says, suddenly less confident.
“We’re going to need a lot more than that if all three of them end up in lock up,” I grumble, and he agrees, “go help Rhea,” I say.
“Why? She’s fine?” Boone scowls.
“They’re crowding her. She’s uncomfortable,” I clip, not looking up at her, and just hoping that Boone follows the order.
“What about that is uncomfortable?” He laughs, leaning over the bar with his eyes on her across the room. I follow his gaze to find her laughing and flirting with one of the guys; his hand swallows her wrist while she fights the sticky backing off the bracelet. She’s wearing that tiny, shredded Hollow t-shirt and a tiny pair of black, patchwork jean shorts that stick to her thighs. If her purpose is to get attention tonight, she has it.From nearly everyone in her vicinity.
“Boone,” I snap. “Go make space.”
“Fuck me, man. You’re a piece of work,” he scoffs, but listens this time and wanders away. The crowd parts for him, and he takes his time to talk to people who say hello, but eventually he slips in behind Rhea andleans against the wall. He asks her for a stack, and she hands him some with a smile. It’s only when the firefighter breaks contact with her that my shoulders relax, and Boone smirks at me, spotting the change in my muscles from across the way.
“Hey man,” a voice calls to me, “can I get a beer?” I turn to see that scummy shit bag standing at the end of my bar with his hat pulled down over his hair and his eyes raking over the tiny, barely legal blonde girl next to him.Right.
“Sure,” I say. And walk away. I push around to the kitchen and find a moment of solace in the back. I pop open the fridge to grab a water and slam the door behind me before leaning against the counter and closing my eyes.
“Brighton?” I flex my hand around the bottle as I bring it to my lips.
“Yeah?”
She’s standing there, with a tentative smile on her face and those big, sad brown eyes as the bar rages around her in the background. It’s nearly impossible not to make note of all the intricate ways her tattoos flow together when she’s wearing so little clothing: the inky details that swirl and stain her shoulders, arms, and stomach, all like giant works of art that seem to highlight every strong muscle in her body.
How do you do that—look pretty under fluorescent kitchen lights?
“The fire guys are all tagged, Judd is just setting up the host, but I think they’re ready to start so I’m going to watch the area around the stage.” Rhea angles toward the opening of the kitchen with her arm out and her back muscles flex. It’s the most graceful part of her, almost mesmerizing to see her inky skin stretch to accommodate them.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the pen on her inner arm.
