Prologue #2
Clyde looks at me, and I nod my consent to have a drink bought for me. It’s not something I usually do, and most nights, no one tries. I don’t exactly give off the I’d love to drink with strangers and make new friends vibe, and Clyde respects that.
When Clyde turns to fill the order, I look at the man next to me. “What’s your name? Knight in shining armor is kind of a mouthful.”
The corner of his mouth tips in a half smile. “Is that what you were calling me in your head?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Braxton,” he replies with an easy smile. It’s so at odds with the fierce protectiveness he was just exuding—it takes my brain a minute to catch up. “What about you?”
“Vanessa,” I reply. My real name fell out of my mouth without a second thought. Usually, if I’m sitting at the bar—or at the club—I use the name Cassandra. Clyde knows I’m full of shit since my fake ID has my real name on it, but he’s never called me on it.
When Clyde returns with our drinks, Braxton slides him several twenties. “One’s for you and the others are for our drinks. Let me know if I end up owing you more.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Clyde responds before walking to the register.
“So, Vanessa, what do you do?”
“You didn’t hear our little friend, who you chased out with pee practically running down his leg?”
“Better than leaving with a stab wound,” Braxton says before taking a sip of his beer. “And no, I walked in and picked up on your vibe immediately. Though seeing an open knife hiding on the other side of your leg may have tipped me off.”
“I’m a teacher. Third grade,” I reply and Braxton huffs out a quiet laugh. “Do you usually case a bar before you order a drink?”
“Hazard of the job.”
That raises my hackles. “Are you a cop?” Even as I ask the question, it doesn’t sound right to me.
Though he definitely possesses an air of power and control, there’s a fuck authority feeling I get from him.
Could be that he didn’t try to twist the knife from my hand; could be the tattoos I see peeking out from under his rolled-up shirt sleeves.
Could be I’m not what you would call a fan of cops and really don’t want him to be one.
“Accountant.” The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly—just like mine did.
My smile kicks up a notch, matching the one on his face. We both know the other is full of shit. What kind of teacher would pull out a knife, ready to stab someone in the hand, and what kind of accountant looks like this guy?
“Well, it’s a good thing you were here, Mr. Accountant. Would have hated to piss off Clyde by staining his carpet.”
Clyde looks over, and his gaze darts between Braxton and me. “Do I want to know?”
“No,” we reply at the same time.
Clyde shrugs and returns to his conversation at the end of the bar with a couple of regulars.
I hold up my glass and Braxton does the same. “To accountants who work out and play heroes in dive bars.”
An easy laugh rumbles through his chest. “To beautiful, knife-wielding teachers who by no means need saving, but should have someone at their back nonetheless.” He throws me a wink before tossing back the tequila shot. I do the same.
“Beautiful, huh?” I ask, tilting my head with an overly flirtatious smile on my face to cover up the fact that hearing him say that made something flutter deep inside me. Something that has lain dormant for years.
“And deadly. Dangerous combination, which also happens to be one of my favorites.”
“You hang out with many teachers who carry weapons?”
“Only on Tuesdays.” His smile grows even wider. Damn, that’s a good look on him.
“Well, wouldn’t you know? It’s Tuesday,” I say, returning his grin. “Tell me, Braxton, what else do you like to do on Tuesdays?”
This is fun—flirting with a man because I want to, not because I’m working. It’s been a long time since I’ve done it…since I’ve actually wanted to.
“Buy drinks for gorgeous women.” He tilts his head toward my empty shot glass, and I nod, confirming I’m more than happy to let him order me another.
Braxton holds up two fingers, and before I know it, two full shot glasses are sitting in front of us.
The old man catches my gaze and winks. Does Clyde approve of the man sitting next to me?
He’s never seen me entertain any sort of male attention in his bar.
Since he isn’t scowling at Braxton like I’ve seen him do to other men who have attempted to flirt with me, I’m going to take this as a positive.
We clink shot glasses, this time without the toast. But we never break eye contact, which is making my body heat up a hell of a lot more than the tequila.
“You like to play pool, Braxton?” I ask, looking from the pool table back to him.
“I do.”
“Are you any good?”
He tips his head left, then right. “Not great, but I can hold my own.”
Hopping up from my stool, I grab the soda water sitting in front of me and nod toward the table. “You ever play for money?”
“Are you some sort of pool shark?” he asks with a smile.
“Maybe. Wanna see if you can hold your own against me?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Lead the way, teach.”
Braxton and I select our sticks from the rack on the wall, and he grabs the blue chalk cube from the edge of the pool table and hands it to me. “Ladies first.”
When I take the chalk from his hand, our fingers touch, and a zap of electricity runs up my arm from the contact.
His skin is a little rough, like he works with his hands.
Why is my body having all of these visceral reactions to him?
I’ve been attracted to men, even had a couple boyfriends here and there.
But maybe that’s just it. Those were boys, and Braxton is decidedly a man in every sense of the word.
I chalk the tip of my stick and hand it back to him. When we’re ready, he lets me break. None of the balls go in the pockets, and Braxton walks around the table, taking his time to study it. Finally, he aims and shoots in a solid, then proceeds to make two more shots before missing.
“Hold your own, huh?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You’re stripes.”
I get two in the pocket before missing. I would have made a third, but I made the mistake of looking up just as Braxton was licking a drop of beer from his lips and got distracted.
I take a step back, allowing Braxton to walk around the table. “Do you live around here? I’ve never seen you in here before.”
Braxton shakes his head. “Just in town for the night. I had to pick up some parts for my bike at a custom shop in the city and didn’t feel like riding back so late.”
“And you decided to spend your time at Hole in the Wall for your one night in the city?” I mean, it’s a perfectly fine bar, but it’s not exactly on any tourist hotspot lists.
“My hotel is only a couple blocks away. Besides”—he takes a shot and pockets it, then returns his gaze to mine—”I’m actually quite happy with my decision to walk through the door.” He looks at me as though I’m the reason he’s happy he made that decision.
I try to hide my smile, but it’s a futile effort. I don’t say anything before Braxton makes another shot—and then misses.