“I’m not flustered,” I say, completely flustered.
“Sure.” He nods toward the door. “So, you’re totally prepared if he walks in right now?”
I whip around, heart suddenly pounding, but there’s no sign of Shepherd. Just a couple of regulars settling in for happy hour.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell Cal when I turn back.
He grins. “Yeah, but I’m your favorite asshole.”
I roll my eyes and finally grab a wet rag to wipe down a few tables. “You’re not even in my top five.”
3
SHEPHERD
Ididn’t plan on coming back to the Alley Tap so soon.
That’s a lie.
I absolutely planned on coming back. I just didn’t tell my brothers.
Killian would make it weird. Bishop would read too much into it. Sebastian would give me a look that saysdon’t screw this upwithout saying a word, which somehow makes it worse, and together, they would never let it go.
So, I come alone.
I time it, hoping the bar will be busy with the dinner rush, and I’m right. I slip in quietly, my cap low over my eyes so she doesn’t notice me.
She’s busy tonight, a blur of motion behind the bar, pouring amber liquids into glasses with a flick of her wrist and never spilling a drop. Her hair is down, unlike last night, falling in loose chestnut waves that catch the dim bar lights when she turns. The silky strands frame her face in a way that softens her sharp edges, making her even more striking than when I first saw her. She laughs at something a bearded man in flannel says—a sound that starts low and breaks into somethingmusical and unguarded—and the sound vibrates through my ribcage like the bass note of a favorite song played too loud in an empty room.
I take a stool at the far end of the bar and don’t say a word.
I just watch.
She works like someone who controls a room without demanding it. There’s no wasted motion, no flirting for tips. She remembers orders without writing them down and she shuts down nonsense with one smart look.
It’s impressive.
Eventually she glances my way—probably clocking a new body in her space—and stills. Not dramatically, but enough that I know she’s recognized me. Then her eyes narrow and I have a feeling I might be in trouble.
Uh oh.
I pass her a friendly smile, easy and non-threatening, the same way I did last night. She visibly exhales before she walks over like she’s bracing herself.
“You know,” she says, stopping in front of me, “most people wait at least twenty-four hours before making the same bad decision twice.”
I rest my elbows on the bar. “I like efficiency.”
She squints. “You stalking me?”
“Only emotionally,” I tease. “Professionally, I’m very respectful.”
She snorts then looks annoyed that she did. “What do you want?”
“Beer, same as last time. And maybe to not get yelled at.”
“No promises.”
She pours from the tap with practiced ease and slides the glass toward me.
