4. Anthony
Chapter 4
Anthony
“T HANKS FOR COMING.” I stand, and the kid’s eyes widen a bit before he stands and stammers a thank you, then turns and bolts before I can so much as round the desk.
I swear the kids get younger and stupider. I make a note to call him later and tell him he’s got the part-time job for the summer, then wipe a hand down my beard. It’s been the week from hell, and to make matters worse, it’s Thursday. Which means it’s Darcy’s bowling league’s night.
Although, the word “league” is a little strong to describe the absolute atrocity that is the team’s abilities. But it’s not my place to judge. I make sure their lane is always reserved and keep my opinions to myself, no matter how much I want to correct every bad move they make. Locals keep the place open through the winter, and even as we’re kicking into summer, my job is to make sure they have everything they need. Nothing more, nothing less.
The past week has been far more challenging than I thought it would be. Darcy is fucking everywhere. Everywhere . She’s up in the loft before I can finish my coffee, despite my repeated requests for her to come later, and I swear she is all I can smell. Like summer-ripe watermelon and cherries and God dammit , I need it to stop.
I stalk through Hall’s Balls, checking out the individual areas as I go. The office is behind the welcome area at the front of the building. Right next to it are the pinball machines and other games geared for the smaller set, and then two Skee-ball lanes. Across from that area and down a bit are the five pool tables. They tend to get going later in the day, after the game area empties out, meaning I never have to worry about the little kids annoying the pool players or the pool players being scary to the littles. Next up is my bar, which is where I’m usually stationed. I can see the whole place from behind there, and that’s exactly how I like it. Restrooms are across from the bar. Then the bowling lanes, four of them, to the left of the bar, and a couple of party rooms across from the lanes.
I love this place. I have put my heart into it for the past decade, and love everything about it. It may not be the snazziest, or the coolest one with the most up-to-date games and latest ways to take visitors’ money, but it’s mine. The building is on its way to being mine, too.
That’s my only comfort right now as I take my place back behind the bar as the evening kicks into gear. I’ve already stocked the beer and any liquor that needed it, and of course, the bar itself is wiped down and as clean as can be. You can’t have a family game center and have a gross bar; it won’t work like that.
A familiar figure in blue slides onto the stool out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to see my brother Ox, Lucky’s chief of police. He grins. “Hey, big brother.”
I nod in response, my lips tilting into enough of a smile that he knows I’m happy to see him.
His grin only broadens in response. “There it is! That’s a huge smile. Huge . I can see those pearly whites and everything!” he jokes.
“Shut up,” I respond.
“Is that how you talk to your patrons?” Aaron Joseph, one of our paramedics and the husband of a woman on Darcy’s bowling team, laughs as he takes his spot next to Ox.
“It is now,” I grumble, but it’s hard to keep a straight face when Ox is around. He’s always been the joker of the family, and thank God for it.
“He’s just mad that he ended up the oldest and ugliest,” Ox quips.
Aaron laughs, nodding a thanks as I slide a draft beer in front of him. He’ll have one beer and then switch to water so that his wife can be the one to have a few drinks. “As the baby of three boys, I understand.”
“You’ve got two brothers?” Ox asks. “Where are they?”
“Up in Talladega,” comes the answer. “One’s the fire chief up there, and the other runs a bed-and-breakfast—but he used to be a fireman as well.”
“Tell them drinks are on me if they ever visit.” I slide the margarita across the bar as soon as Aaron’s wife appears.
“Thanks, Anthony,” she says with a smile.
“Devon, how are you?” Ox asks. “Do you get the summer off?”
She snorts a laugh. “No way. I’m the school system administrator. I don’t get summers off. A well-deserved vacation here and there, but definitely not the same kind of break that a teacher gets.”
Agatha and Darcy are next, ambling up from the front. Agatha is my chardonnay patron—I keep bottles of the decent stuff for her and her alone—and Darcy? She changes her order all the fucking time. Because of course she does. Why make things easy for me?
The closer she gets, I can see that she’s showered and changed from when I saw her just two short hours ago. She wears a fitted cheetah-print skirt and a patterned button-down shirt that ties at the waist, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of soft belly with every step she takes.
Dammit . I can’t catch a break with this woman.
Her lips are stained their usual cherry red, and her dark hair hangs loose and wavy around her shoulders, which makes me nearly swallow my tongue. Because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her hair completely down. And thank fuck I haven’t, because I probably would have been a goner long before now.
She’s fucking adorable.
And the smile she tosses at me, as though she’s perfectly aware of how edible she looks, is enough to make my jeans tighten. “Mr. Hall.”
And that is another thing. I can’t have her calling me that. All it makes me think of is how it would sound coming out of her mouth as I pound into her from behind, pressing her against the brick wall upstairs, hearing her pant as I dig my hands into her soft ass. “Anthony.”
Her grin morphs into a smirk. “No drink ready for me?”
I scowl. “You change your order too much for me to know what you want.” Even though I’m fairly certain I know what she’s going to order, I wait.
She tilts her head and taps her chin, like she’s thinking. “You’re right. I do. Let’s go with...rum and coke, please.” A pause. “With cherries. Lots of them.”
I knew it. Holding back a satisfied smirk, I make her drink. When I slide it over to her, she wraps those red lips around a cherry and sucks it into her mouth, and I swear to fucking God she knows exactly what she is doing to me. If she doesn’t, then I’m a damn alligator.
“Ready?” she asks the girls. That includes her fourth teammate and woman I think is her best friend, Amanda. Sweet girl. Vodka soda with lemon.
They take off to their reserved lane, which is always the one closest to the bar. I make sure it’s the best oiled, too—not that any of them would know that, and not that they need to. They’re terrible at the game, and their form is heinous, but the least I can do is give them a slick lane.
Does that sound dirty as hell? Yeah. But whatever.
Aaron turns from watching Devon walk away and tips his beer at me. “Cheers.”
I nod.
“So, you’re the oldest?”
“Ox has a twin.”
Aaron looks at my brother, eyes wide as he smiles. “Holy shit—there are two of you? How did I not know that?”
Ox preens under the attention. “My brother Levi lives in New Orleans. He’s married. Living his best life.”
I barely suppress a chuckle. Ox isn’t wrong, but the look of pure jealousy on his face is something to behold. I know he wants his own person to love, and it’s hard in a town as small as ours. Hell, Levi met his future wife when he was in law school. It’s probably worse for Ox, though, because he’s chief of police. I have no idea if him being only into guys makes it harder or easier, frankly, because I have never asked. It’s not my place.
Aaron smiles ruefully. “I get it, man. Talladega’s a small town, too. Hard to find your person, isn’t it?”
Ox crunches a piece of ice. “Anyway,” he says, turning to me, “we have to talk about Mom and Dad’s anniversary party. Which is also Dad’s retirement party.”
I pin my brother with a glare. “What is there to talk about? They want a party. Done.”
“Are you planning it?”
I grimace. “Absolutely not.”
He slides his glass toward me for a water refill. “See, you think you’re not planning it, but actually, you’re helping me and Levi.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Anthony!” he pouts. “You’re the oldest. Shouldn’t this be your job, anyway?”
“Whining doesn’t suit you.” I don’t bother saying what I really feel, which is that our parents pretty much never bothered making a big deal out of anything for us, so why should we do something this big for them?
Whatever.
“Look,” Ox says, “I know you don’t want to be involved. You never do. But for this, you have to be. This is a team sport. You’re on the damn team, brother.”
“Just tell me where to send my money,” I huff.
“It’s going to be epic,” he declares, spreading his arms. “I want a live band, we’ll invite all Dad’s former students?—”
“How the hell are you going to do that?” I brace my hands on the polished oak of the bar.
“Social media, my dude. You’ve heard of it?”
Aaron laughs and takes a sip of his beer. “Ox, I don’t think Anthony here cares one bit about this.”
“He has to!” Ox protests. “They’re our parents!”
The phrase makes me stiffen. Which, obviously, it shouldn’t. I just…try not to think of my parents that often. Sure, they’re in the same town as me, but I don’t go see them and they certainly don’t come here to see me. We’re not a Sunday dinner kind of family.
We were when we were kids, though. But we didn’t have a choice. Mom said we’d all eat at least one dinner a week together, and Sunday was the one that always worked. You’d think that we could have made more happen, and we did for years, but once all three of us were in football, life was a lot busier than even our dad anticipated—and he was a chemistry teacher at the high school. It worked out well so that he could always make sure we got rides home if we needed it, but I made sure to get rides with my buddies the second they got cars, and my brothers did the same when their friends hit the same age, too.
Ox studies me, his keen eyes assessing far more than people usually give him credit for. He’s loud, lovable, and boisterous, but none of that means he’s not smart as the devil. Both my brothers are. I got the height; they got the smarts. I mean, hell, Levi’s a lawyer who made millions in Manhattan before coming back down south. And Ox is our police chief. Obviously, he’s intelligent.
But right now, I wish he’d put that brain of his to a different use. I’m not interested in being analyzed.
“You want a drink or what?” I ask him.
He blinks, then offers me his standard “make the people happy” smile. “Nah, but thanks. I’ll get with Levi, and we’ll let you know what we decide. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“Thought so.” He slaps Aaron on the back. “Good to see you, man.”
“Next time,” Aaron replies, raising his pint glass in salute. His attention is back on me as Ox takes his leave. “You’re the oldest?”
I nod.
Aaron nods knowingly. “It’s uncanny how much you remind me of my oldest brother, Will. He’s just as grumpy as you, but you’re bigger.” He chuckles. “Then again, you’re bigger than just about anyone. What are you, anyway?”
“Six-four.”
“Big motherfucker.” He grins as he slides off the stool. “I’m gonna go check on the girls.”
My head’s a fucking mess as he leaves. It feels like everyone has such clarity around what they want, what they feel. And I’ve always known what I wanted: first was to not be hungry. Second was to never again live in a trailer park for as long as I lived. And those things happened the second I left home for college and started playing football for The University of Alabama. But it turns out that getting everything you want only goes so far.
Darcy chooses that precise moment to saunter back up to the bar. “How’s it going, Mr. Hall?”
I stare at her. She’s fucking beautiful. Thank God people are used to me being a prick, because it lets me take my fill of her without having to apologize for it.
She goes onto her tiptoes and leans her forearms on the bar, tilting towards me and giving me an unobstructed view down her button-up. I catch a hint of black lace and immediately have to fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder and take her upstairs to have my way with her.
She is a child, Anthony. Remember, she is a child.
When I force my gaze up to hers, her smile is nothing short of mischief. As if she knew exactly what she was doing when she positioned herself like that, and I fell right into her trap.
Brat.
“You want a drink?”
She blinks slowly, her feral grin growing as she lets her eyes roam the rows of bottles behind me. I don’t bother hiding that I’m staring at her. She wants me to, and I want to. It’s dangerous as hell, and I should absolutely stop, but I absolutely will not stop.
“Yes.”
I hold back an amused laugh, because of course she wants another one. This entire interaction was never about the drink, and we both know it.
I pull the cocktail together, well aware that she wants a ton of cherries in it again, and well aware that she’s the only one I’d do this for. When I finally turn around, nerves frayed beyond comprehension, she jerks her eyes back up to mine. She was absolutely looking at my ass.
“You played for Alabama, right?” she asks as I slide the drink over to her and take her card in return.
I give a quick jerk of my head and a grunt in the affirmative.
“Position?”
You over my knee while I spank you. “O-line.” I slide the card back to her.
“O-line?”
I have no business saying what I’m about to say. Leaning closer and lowering my voice, I answer. “O-line. Offensive line. My job was to take down anyone and everyone and put them on their back, by any means necessary. Lots of crouching. Lots of lunging and pushing. It’s very physical. With all the crouching, and lunging. You might even call it a thrust sometimes, the way I had to move.” Her eyes are blown, pupils dilated and hazy, and I know I have her exactly where I want her.
Which is why I need to stop.
I snap to my full height, and as she blinks those doe eyes of hers, they come alive with mischievous delight.
“I see,” she answers. “Very interesting. Maybe I should pay more attention to the sport.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I tap her card to pull her attention off me. I never ran it. “Drink’s on the house. Your money’s no good here.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because you’re working for me.”
She slides the card into the tiny clutch she carries and gives me a pleased grin. “Maybe I’ll have another, then.”
I shake my head. “You have a job to do in the morning.”
She hums and twirls around, walking slower than she needs to, plush hips swaying.
That girl is trouble.
The problem? I like trouble.