8. Anthony
Chapter 8
Anthony
M ID-JUNE. THE place is absolutely overrun with people, which is of course exactly how I like it. Kids dart in and out of the front area, strewing sticky fingers and sand in every direction. It’ll be hell to clean, but that’s okay—it’s summer, and I expect no less than pure chaos. I’m behind the bar, same as most days, so I’m able to keep an eye on the more expensive aspects of things: the bar, the pool tables, and the bowling lane, all of which are packed in the post-dinner hour.
A few women around my age approach. They smile, their eyes tracking my every movement as I take their orders and start to make the drinks.
Harrison sidles up beside me, and in a low voice says, “The redhead is totally into you.”
I shrug. “So?”
“ So , you should go for it. I never see you sample the goods, boss.” He grins and waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.
“No.” And why is my answer immediately no? Because I still can’t get a certain twenty-four-year-old out of my head. Seeing her on the beach last week was bad enough, but it’s gotten worse. She’s around nearly every day, wearing those damn overalls with a crop top beneath, revealing inches of skin that I’m desperate to taste, and it’s torture. Pure and simple.
Would I like to forget all about her and bury myself in someone else? Yes. Will I? No.
Fuck.
I turn back to the much closer in age women and give them their drinks. Sure enough, the redhead flirts with me, her interest coming through loud and clear. And I don’t respond, because nothing is going to happen. At all.
A few minutes later, exactly as I was anticipating, Darcy saunters in. She’s freshly showered, her dark hair bound up in one of her signature bandanas, with yet another button-down that she’s tied up over her navel, a pair of pants riding high and tight over her waist and hips. Guaranteed that when she turns around, her ass will be perfectly framed by the fabric, presenting it as though she gift-wrapped it especially for me. And I know she didn’t dress for me, but tell that to my dick. Her siren-red lips part as she smiles.
“Mr. Hall. Fancy seeing you here.”
I simply nod, not bothering to correct her anymore.
I take her in as she scans the bottles behind me. I know this game—the one where she absolutely knows what she wants to drink but makes me wait—and I love it. She gets to think she’s annoying me, and I get to stare at her. Win-win. Before she can choose, though, Harrison appears, sliding his forearms onto the bar in front of her, smooth as fucking butter.
“Hey there, Darcy. Bowling league tonight?”
She nods, turning her gaze to him and smiling.
“Let me guess,” he continues. “You want a Paloma. Nice and refreshing but still packs a punch. Just like you.”
Darcy giggles. She fucking giggles , the sound sweet and bright, and now I’m going to have to kill Harrison. Or at least fire him. Because never in my entire time of knowing Darcy have I heard her giggle, and I hate Harrison down to his soul right now for being able to make her do it.
Asshole.
“That sounds great, Harrison. Thank you.” Her eyes flit to me for the briefest of moments, and I’m certain she notes the fury in my expression. To her credit, she doesn’t so much as flinch. But she doesn’t keep her attention on me, either, turning to Amanda as she and Agatha appear, followed closely by Devon. I pull their drinks together, my attention utterly caught by the way Harrison keeps flirting with Darcy. And by the way she keeps letting him.
When he leans across the bar, stretching his hand to brush an escaped curl away from her face, I nearly lose my shit.
“Harrison,” I bark.
With a shit-eating grin, he turns to me. “Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t you need to get back to the front?”
He shoves his hands in his back pockets. “Sure do. Darcy, let me show you something really quick that I think you’ll like.” He rounds the bar and heads toward the front, where all the prizes and rental shoes are kept for the guests. And fuck me if Darcy doesn’t follow him.
The other three women don’t bother with any conversation with me, thank God. They make their way to the bowling lane closest to the bar, like always, and ready themselves for the practice session.
My blood is boiling.
Before I can do or say anything about it, Ox and Reid show up in street clothes.
“Hey, big bro!” Ox grins broadly. “Miss me?”
I grunt. Not even a little. But no way do I tell him that and hurt his feelings. Better to do what I always do and let him fill in the blanks.
Reid assesses me too quickly, as usual. “No. He didn’t miss you at all.”
Ox’s face falls. “Why do you have to hurt me like that, Reid? Let a man have his dreams, will you?”
Naturally, that gets a smile out of me. “’Course I missed you, Ox.” It’s not the whole truth, but I’m unable to resist throwing Reid off the scent for once.
Ox grabs his chest and pouts. “You wound me, Anthony. Your lies are really something, you know that?”
Rolling my eyes, I pour the draft beer that Reid wants and look questioningly at Ox. He nods back, and I pour the same for him. Like Darcy, I never know what Ox will be in the mood for, so I can’t ever just fill it without some kind of interaction. I’m sure it’s how Ox wants it, the warm-hearted asshole.
“What are you up to?” I ask, sliding the beers across the bar.
“Figured we’d get a game of pool in, maybe check things out as civilians for once,” Ox jokes. They tip their beers at me and head to the pool area. Of course, they know the locals, and within moments, they’re racking up the balls with some of them.
Darcy comes back into my field of vision, my blood fizzing as I see Harrison trailing behind her with a pair of bowling shoes. Bowling shoes that I happen to know she does not need.
“Harrison!”
He startles, nearly dropping the shoes. “Boss?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He gets it without me having to say more, and in seconds he’s hustling to set the shoes down and is back in front of the bar.
“What’s up?”
“There’s an entire store full of customers. You don’t need to spend twenty minutes with just one.”
Harrison grins mischievously. “You got something against Darcy, boss? Or just me with Darcy?”
I growl at him. There’s nothing more to do.
And after I’ve refilled a couple of drinks for the women at the end of the bar, I whip my phone out and send a text.
He’s not good enough for you
DARCY
Who’s this?
You know who this is
DARCY
Ooh is Daddy mad?
I growl and shove my phone in my pocket. I have no business being in her business, and she definitely just reminded me of that. If she wants to let a boy flirt with her, then fine.