Chapter 5
Chapter five
Sixteen years ago, Seattle: Tabitha
“Can I see your ID?” Tabitha turned as the bartender shouted to another customer over some popular song by The Fray. The volume was far too loud for such mellow music, but she didn’t really care. It was nice to have a break from training, even if she wasn’t drinking.
The man ordering passed over his license, cool as a cucumber.
The bartender’s scrutiny flitted between the card and the guy a few times before he shrugged with a mumbled whatever on his lips.
Tabitha could see plain as day the guy was young.
Possibly too young to be drinking. The baby face alone ratted him out.
The nervous drumming of his fingers on the counter was his other tell.
A few girls sauntered up to the bar to order. Baby Face stepped aside to make room for them. A fourth joined the cluster, which inadvertently shoved the guy right on to Tabitha’s lap.
“This seat’s taken, pal,” Tabitha hollered in an ear that was far too close to her face.
She got a whiff of him—not intentionally, it was the proximity’s fault—and she was pleasantly surprised.
She would have pegged him for an overwhelming body spray kind of guy.
Something in the vein of anarchy musk or testosterone temptation.
Instead, the clean aloe and orange peel scent delighted her senses.
Ass still resting on her lap, probably-under-age-guy glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “Best seat in the house from where I’m sitting, baby girl.”
Tabitha’s lips curled in distaste. “No.”
“No what?” he asked, tilting his head in intrigue.
“To the nickname.” She gave a mighty shove that he barely registered.
“Sweetheart? Darlin’?”
“Double no. Will you get off me already?”
Thankfully, the group of miniskirts with studded belts and too much eyeliner took their shots and scuttled back to the dance floor.
“Only because there’s room now.” He pulled a barstool up next to her and made himself comfortable. His ID rested face down on the counter, nearly forgotten as he leaned in. “What should I call you?”
“Not interested.”
“Ouch,” he groaned, gripping his chest, feigning a broken heart. “You wound me, madam.”
It was impossible not to notice the lean muscle and sinew of his forearm.
And Tabitha found herself wondering if the toned limb was any indication of the rest of him.
For shame, Tabitha Handcock. Forget drinking aged, this kid could still be in high school.
Though, baby face aside, the square jaw and lack of acne pointed to him being at least old enough to vote.
She snatched his ID off the counter before he could intervene.
“Jonathan Miller, huh?” There was no way the blonde, amber-eyed man in the license photo was the same dude sitting beside her.
For one thing, he had shaggy brown hair that tickled the tops of his ears and eyebrows.
For two, his eyes were a deep brown that almost obscured the lines of his pupils.
Plus, there were the dimples and a completely different smile.
She’d have to be blind or drunk to buy the comparison.
And since she wasn’t either . . . “From Leavenworth?”
Probably-not-Jonathan-Miller plucked the card from her fingers and tucked it safely into his wallet. “Ever been?”
“Have you?”
“Touché,” he said while barking out a laugh that made Tabitha’s neck warm.
Along with other parts.
Just then, the bartender walked over and deposited a can of Rainier beer. After retrieving payment, he leaned in. “Just this one then you gotta go. Clear?”
“Crystal.” Once left alone again, he turned back to Tabitha. “Can I see your ID now?”
“Only if I can see your real one,” she volleyed, sucking up the remainder of her diet cola with a slurp. There was no way he’d admit to using a fake while in the bar.
As expected, she was right. Because he slammed his beer, set the empty on the bar with a twenty-dollar bill, and hopped to his feet. “You done?”
“With what?”
He pointed at her glass.
She nodded.
The protests coming from the back of Tabitha’s mind didn’t reach the necessary receptors because as the stranger (whose age and identity were heretofore unknown) clasped her hand she followed willingly.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet,” he said with an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder, still tugging her along toward the exit of the stuffy bar.
“I may have given you the wrong idea,” Tabitha managed to squawk as the cool summer night helped clear her head.
Why had she left the bar with this guy? This clearly-underaged-fake-ID-having-guy with the solid forearms. He let go, and she automatically fell into step at his side.
Dude was tall, and he walked fast, though Tabitha’s above-average height meant she had no trouble keeping up.
“Don’t worry, red. I’m not a creep.”
It was in her experience that men who claimed they weren’t something typically turned out to be exactly that.
“I still don’t know your name,” she said with exasperation. Finally able to stop her feet from following, Tabitha halted and crossed her arms.
He barely got a stride ahead before he stopped too. But instead of crossing his arms, he pulled his wallet back out and thumbed through the cards until he found what he was looking for.
Tabitha took the offered ID and scanned the image. Aside from the braces and shorter haircut, there was no doubt in Tabitha’s mind that she held the mystery man’s actual license.
“Zachariah Sebastian Hartford the third?” Not what she would have guessed. Though, come to think of it, she didn’t really know what to expect.
He winced. “For the love of all that is holy and sacred, please call me Zac. Only my parents call me Zachariah. Or they did the last time we spoke.”
Tabitha nodded and eyed the birth date on his card. She blew out a breath of relief. “You’re twenty.”
“And ten months.”
She scowled at his amendment and handed back the ID. “Aren’t you a little old to be including the months in your birth date? I stopped doing that when I turned five.”
Zac chuckled, that husky sound delighting Tabitha, making her eager to hear it again. “I’m pointing it out so you understand how close to the legal drinking age I am. That I’m not some overgrown kid sneaking into the bar for a beer.”
“But isn’t that exactly what you are?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
His straight, white teeth were on full display.
Well done, modern orthodontia. He finally spoke.
“Fine. You got me. I’m sure I’ve got a gold star somewhere around here.
” The tease was accompanied by him patting his pockets in search of the sticker.
“Come get me when you find it.” Tabitha decided that close to twenty-one or not, she probably shouldn’t be running around town with a guy she didn’t know. “It was nice meeting—”
“Wait. You didn’t show me yours yet,” he interrupted.
Why did him stopping her from leaving make her so happy? “My what?”
“Your ID. For all I know you’re in high school and have been on my case to redirect attention away from your deception.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. This guy. But of their own volition, her fingers reached into her purse and pulled out her license. She held it up and then jerked it away as he tried to take it. “Look, don’t touch.”
“That’s exactly what someone with a fake would say.”
“You have exactly five seconds to satisfy your curiosity.” She began counting down even as he stepped nearer and squinted.
“Tabitha Ann Handcock. You’re twenty-two.” Her name rolled off his tongue. She wanted to hear it again.
“That’s me.”
“Well, tabby cat. Shall we get back to it?” Those dark brown eyebrows waggled seductively again, but this time, they were accompanied by a wolfish grin.
“See? I knew you had the wrong idea.” She didn’t need this.
Shouldn’t have even come out to the bar, but she had wanted to be around other people her own age.
People who were out to have fun rather than talk about personal records or how hard they climb.
The goal was to have a chill, laid-back night.
But she drew the line at hooking up with a stranger. No matter how cute and charming he was.
“And what was my idea?” he challenged with a head tilt.
“To go somewhere private.”
“Mm . . . pretty sure I said quiet.”
“Like your house?” Tabitha engaged as much sarcasm as she could muster.
“Like here.” Zac chuckled that addictive chuckle again as he stepped back a few strides and grabbed a door handle. “This coffee shop stays open late. Since you weren’t drinking alcohol, I thought you might want a latte or something.”
Well, shit.
Embarrassment blazed Tabitha’s neck. She’d assumed, but honestly, any other woman would have done the same.
“They make a fresh batch of scones at midnight on the weekend,” he said, trying to lure her with caffeine and baked goods.
“I guess I could hang out for a little while.” She sighed while walking through the door he held open for her. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t ever call me tabby cat again.”
Zac settled a hand on her lower back and guided her to the counter. Then, just as the barista came to take their order, he leaned in and murmured, “No deal.”