Chapter Twenty-Two Jack
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jack
I’m outside Hank’s debating whether I want to go in or not. I look at the text from Emily for the hundredth time, once again trying to read between the lines. I know her well enough now to sense there’s something deeper happening here.
It’s rude to turn down an invitation to Hank’s. Which in Emily language means I hate that you’re not here.
I was at home attempting to outline a chapter when I got this text, and I dropped everything.
Things between us have definitely changed. I like Emily. I’m attracted to Emily. And I…no, God, why am I lying even to myself? I more than like Emily. I’m quickly becoming obsessed with her. Part of me is wondering if I’ve been fighting with her all these years, resisting her, because some part of me knew…I knew she could do some real damage to my heart if I let her.
But the more I get to know Emily, the more I’m inclined to think she’d do everything she could to protect my heart before destroying it.
It’s rude to turn down an invitation to Hank’s.
I stare down at my phone and then at the doors. Bars are not attached to good memories for me—and I haven’t stepped foot inside one in a very long time. I’ve sworn to myself that alcohol will never be a part of my identity. But Emily is in there…and something happened tonight that made her want to text me.
I pocket my phone and go through the doors. The first thing I notice is how busy it is. It’s around eight-forty-five and I swear the whole damn county is pressed in here. It’s hot, it’s loud, and it’s sweaty. But I smile because there’s something about it that’s infectious. Everywhere you look, someone is throwing their head back laughing, cheering for a friend to chug their beer, couples who clearly got a babysitter for the night making out on the dance floor, in their booth, over at the bar. Apparently there are a lot more young people in this area than I originally thought. They’ve come out of the woodwork to gather under the neon light of Hank’s.
The wildest part of this place, though, is the bar itself. There are at least twenty people gathered around waiting for drinks. A large group of men too—college-aged and midtwenties—packed together and all but drooling over the gorgeous blonde serving drinks. I do a double-take.
Holy shit, that’s Emily.
Surely that can’t be right? Emily doesn’t bartend. Does she? But while pressing my way through the crowd and closer to the bar, I hear her laugh, see her smile, and know that it’s absolutely her. And also that every single person at this bar is eating out of her hand—which surprises me none. She’s bossy, sharp-witted, and beautiful, a dangerous combination in a bartender.
“Jake! Quit pushing your way to the front. Rudeness isn’t going to get you a drink any faster! Chester, whatcha drinking tonight?” she asks, yelling over the head of a sullen-looking college kid.
“Emily darlin’, my usual, please!” an older gentleman with a long Santa beard yells back.
She grins. “So a pitcher and a ride home from Jerold?”
“That’ll do!”
Everyone at the bar laughs. Emily goes on like this with a few others, teasing and making drinks like it’s her sole purpose in life to work behind this bar. She looks effortless. A natural. And sexy as hell.
Sweat is coating her neck and chest where her white tank top is scooping down—showing just the slightest, most torturous amount of cleavage I’ve ever seen in my life. The fabric clings tight to her perspiration and her long golden-blond hair sticks to the side of her arm as she spins around the bar, making drinks at the speed of light.
I realize I’ve been standing here staring when a firm hand claps on my back.
“Jack. Glad you decided to join us. You staying for a bit?” It’s James. He’s smiling in a good-natured way, but I’m still so thrown off guard by the sight of Emily behind the bar that instead of answering, a question flies out of my mouth.
“Why is she working back there?”
James smiles fully and looks to Emily. Something about his smile toward her makes me irrationally angry. Possessive. Don’t smile at my Emily like that. “She was a bartender here through college, and usually jumps back there when Hank is too covered up to handle it all. She can’t stand seeing him in pain with his knees and gets mad when his employees call out on a Friday night knowing he’s going to have to take over for them.” We both stare at Emily. “And just look at all those poor idiots hanging onto the bar hoping to get a smile from her.” He chuckles like this doesn’t make me want to rip each one of them off their ass and take their seat and then put a Taken sign on each empty stool.
“What about you?” I ask, turning my eyes directly to him. I’m smiling, but by the way his eyebrow lifts when he takes in my expression, he knows it’s not all that friendly. It’s just me, a man in trousers and linen button-up, staring down a farmer in Wranglers and a white T-shirt who could undoubtedly beat me to a pulp if he wanted. But I find myself standing here willing to risk it all for the woman behind the bar.
“I’d be a lucky bastard to snag a woman like Emily. But you’ll be happy to know, she’s never looked twice at me, and I find myself stupidly attracted to brown-eyed brunettes. To my absolute detriment.”
I’m so relieved I can’t even bring myself to deny the “you’ll be happy to know” part. Because I don’t know what Emily is to me, but I know that the idea of her with him makes me want to die.
He suddenly chuckles, shakes his head, and claps me on the shoulder. “You can relax these. I won’t fight you over her today.” His smile fades. “But I swear to God, I will if you hurt her.”
“Always encroaching on my territory, James,” says Emily’s brother Noah, walking up to us. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one saying scary shit like that?”
“Gladly, but your sorry ass is too scared to do it, so I fill in when I can.”
Noah crosses his arms. “Not scared of him, just to be clear.” He jerks his chin in my direction. “Scared of her when she finds out I’ve been meddling behind her back. You must have a death wish, Huxley.”
James frowns in the direction of Emily, who seems to be losing ground with the crowd. The college boys are getting too rowdy. And although she’s doing a good job of reminding them to back up and wait their turn, I can see by the way she keeps stretching her neck to the right that she’s stressed. Her fists ball up now and again too. I look around for some kind of backup to call for her, but all I see is one waitress walking around looking equally frazzled.
I watch for another minute until Emily turns away from the bar and her shoulders slump. She looks down at the line of empty glasses and takes a deep breath. The sweat on her back is seeping through her tank top.
“Can y’all finish giving me this shakedown later? I promise to piss myself with fear next time.”
James frowns. Noah looks amused and extends his hand toward the bar in a “go right ahead” motion.
An instinct I’ve never felt before grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me heart-first to the bar. I have to elbow a few guys out of the way, but then I slip casually behind the bar, stopping directly behind Emily. She whirls around when she senses the presence of someone behind her, and then I don’t know if it’s in my head or not, but she seems to sigh with relief.
“Jack.”
“I heard it’s rude to turn down an invitation to Hank’s, so here I am.”
She smiles. “Took you long enough to get here.”
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
We stare at each other, processing the shift in atmosphere between us, until some dick throws a balled-up napkin at my head. “Quit distracting her! Either help or get out.”
Emily’s cold glare shifts slowly to the guy with a death wish. But I put my hand on her hip and squeeze once before taking the bar towel from her hand and throwing it over my shoulder. “First, drink some water and then finish what you were doing. I’ll crowd control.”
“You don’t have to, Jack. I didn’t mean to call you down here to help out.”
“So you admit it, that text was to get me down here.”
“You wanted to be part of this town. This is the way to become one of us.”
I lean toward her ear. “So it had nothing to do with wanting to see me?”
“Not at all.”
“Hm. Too bad. I kind of wanted to see you.”
“You did?”
I hold up my thumb and forefinger, showing an inch of space between them. “Only a little.”
Another balled-up napkin hits my head.
“All right,” I say, turning to the bar. “Which one of you meatballs threw that one? You get your drink last. And you.” I point toward another guy. “I heard that lewd comment you made about her. Get out of here. You don’t get a drink. Everyone else, back the hell up and pretend you have manners.”