Chapter 2
Jessica
After getting in my car and driving for an hour, I storm into a dive bar off the beaten path located on the corner of Main Street and the road to more exciting places. Rough around the edges, it’s dingy, but the scent of stale beer is barely noticeable, so it’s better than I expected.
Stepping over the threshold from the bright sun into the poorly lit room has my shoulders dropping. Near empty, with only the low hum of ESPN playing on the single TV at the corner of one end of the bar, this is a place for the serious business of drinking.
For sitting in silence and stewing.
I stomp across the tacky linoleum and viciously pull out a stool, sending it screeching across the floor, before slamming my bag on the counter. I open my purse and rummage for my wallet, muttering expletives, while I entertain the most depraved fantasies about murdering Travis.
The first thing I’d do is get my baby sister involved. Hailey writes a best-selling crime series featuring a lethal, badass heroine, so she knows everything about murder and how to get away with it.
We’re each other’s bury-a-body person. She’s obligated to help me.
I smack my hand against the bar in triumph when I locate my wallet from the cavern of my purse. “Ha!”
And that’s when a low, deep voice with the barest hint of something Southern says, “Any chance you’ll settle down in the near future?”
A rush of anticipation races across my skin. Finally, someone I don’t have to be nice to. I snap my head in the direction of the voice, only to get distracted by his face.
It’s not the face I anticipate.
Gorgeous men with midnight eyes and dark hair do not come to out-of-the-way dive bars. That’s not how dive bars work. Dressed in all black, the guy sitting one stool down from me is the type you use to fulfill your kinky fantasies and then leave in the middle of the night while he’s sleeping.
So to find him here is a shock.
The intrigue fades quickly to disinterest. I’m off men. After that last run-in with Travis, I’ve decided it’s best to concentrate on my new life in my new small town with my new job and forget all about the opposite sex.
The only thing the guy next to me has going for him is being so seriously hot he must have an ego the size of Texas, so I don’t have to worry about any compassion.
I give him a scornful curve of my lips. “Let me assure you, this isn’t the time.”
“Is that a no?” Backdropped by the flickering neon Old Style sign, he’s turned in my direction, elbow propped on the counter like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
It’s so nice not to have to concern myself with any fragile feelings. “I am going to do whatever the fuck I want. Understood?”
His lips twitch. “Well now, aren’t you a prickly one?”
I flick my hand in his direction. “Do you mind? I’m having a moment, and you’re getting in the way.”
Instead of a response, his gaze leisurely strolls over my face and body, like it’s his god-given right.
Annoyed, I cross my arms over my chest for no other reason than to obstruct his view. “You can stop checking me out anytime.”
“I see you don’t lack confidence.” He chuckles, and it’s all deep and lazy.
“Give me a break.” I turn back to open my wallet, taking out my money.
“Tough day at the office?”
“I’m not interested in talking.” I search for the bartender’s attention at the other end of the counter. When he spots me, I shoot the twenty into the air. “Bartender!”
A guy in his sixties with shaggy gray hair and weathered features, wearing a Metallica T-shirt from the 1989 Damaged Justice tour, looks exactly like the person I’d expect in a dive bar. When he’s standing in front of me, his craggy forehead furrows. “You lost, sweetheart?”
“Do I look lost?” I push the money in his direction. “I’ll take a double bourbon on the rocks, the best you’ve got.”
He gives me another narrowed once-over, takes the twenty, and walks away.
“Stupid, dumb, paternal men,” I mutter as I reposition my stool until I’m comfortable.
“What’s that?” the nightmare next to me asks.
I slam my hand down. “Oh my god, would you stop talking?”
“I’d love to, but your agitation is loud, and it’s making it hard to concentrate. You’re not the only one with brooding to do here.”
My throat catches with a laugh, but I choke it back down. The last thing this guy needs is encouragement.
The bartender returns with my change and drink, giving me another curious glance before moving on to another customer.
“Finally.” I pick up the glass and down three-fourths of it in one big gulp.
The stranger sighs like I exasperate him. “If I buy you a drink, then would you consider being quiet?”
I tap the toe of my black heel. “Not interested.”
He turns on his stool. “So, no?”
I get distracted by his eyes. I’ve never seen eyes so dark. They’re fathomless, like slipping into a hot, hedonistic black hole.
The smart response is to ignore him, but I’m more of a live-on-the-edge type. I swivel in his direction, crossing my legs.
He tracks my movements like a predator.
But instead of the disinterest that led me into eight months of boring, semi-satisfied sex with Travis, the sensation of being hunted skitters across my skin.
I remind myself men like him are an illusion.
They never deliver on all their bragging.
I wait until he refocuses on my face. “What part of not talking do you not understand?”
Without dropping my gaze, he says in a slow, measured tone, “Settle. Down.”
I look him dead in the eye. “Do I look like someone who takes orders?”
“No, but I’m an optimist,” he shoots back.
I pick up my rocks glass, let it dangle between my thumb and forefinger before lifting it to my lips and draining it, then shaking the remaining ice.
“Look, I get it. With this whole thing you’ve got going on—” I wave a hand in a big circular motion in his general direction “—you don’t hear the word no very often, so let me be crystal clear. No. N. O. No!”
He laughs. “What exactly do you think I’m offering?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t care what you’re offering. Conversation. A drink. Dinner. Dancing. Sex. It’s a no. So whatever you’re thinking in that pretty little head of yours, stop.”
He returns my dismissive once-over with one of his own. “Someone thinks very highly of herself.” He mimics my movements. “With this whole thing you’ve got going on.”
I run my finger around the edge of the glass as I contemplate him.
Truth is, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but that’s not what intrigues me. What really captivates me is how clever he is.
I don’t intimidate him, and that’s a rarity.
Not that I’m conceding. He’ll mess up soon enough, but there’s no harm entertaining myself until he gets there.
A slow smile spreads over my lips, and when his black eyes settle on my mouth, I crook one pale-pink-manicured finger, beckoning him close.
Of course, he does exactly what I want, leaning in.
For a second, my head swims because he smells so good. I breathe him in. What is that? It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s not cologne. No, it’s too nuanced for that. It’s clean skin, a hint of spice and a man willing to do filthy things.
“Tell me.” I let my attention drift over his face before lowering my voice. “What’s it going to take to get you to shut up?”
Most men would distance themselves, maybe laugh or get irritated, but this guy just stares right back, locked in like a heat-seeking missile. So penetrating and direct, it’s almost unnerving. “Something I’m beginning to realize you’re incapable of.”
“What’s that?” The lick of heat, low in my belly, annoys me.
“You couldn’t be quiet if your life depended on it.” Something’s lurking underneath that distracting face, a keen, cunning intelligence.
I sweep my long, sable hair off my neck, so it tumbles over one shoulder. “Are you trying to issue some sort of dare? Like I won’t be able to stand the thought you might not think I’m a good girl? Because that’s pretty lame.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m not hitting on you?”
Maybe at home, with people I’ve known my whole life, who have certain expectations and disappointments, I’d be less cocky. But in this place, I can be myself. “You can’t gaslight me, so don’t even try.”
“Even though I didn’t ask, you were clear you’re a no, and I took you at your word. Which leads me to my original purpose—drinking in silence.” He juts his chin at me. “But since you’re one of those chaos people, you’re standing in the way of that objective.”
I draw in my breath at the way the words roll off his tongue and seem to lick across my skin. “I’m chaos? Me?”
“You’re like a character in a cartoon that walks around in a cloud of mayhem, sucking everyone into your storm.” He gives me another leisurely once-over. “Only clean and gorgeous.”
I concede he’s incredibly effective. I’ve been called gorgeous many times in my thirty-two years. In my experience, it’s the flowers of compliments, cheap and easy. So it shouldn’t have an effect, but with that amused heat in his expression, I feel it in my bones.
He is custom designed to hate-fuck.
I wouldn’t have to worry about his feelings at all.
I give the man across from me a sad, pitying look. “Maybe you’re too pretty to use your brain to connect the dots, so let me help.” I gesture at the near-empty bar. “There are plenty of other seats. Pick one, and you’ll be clear of my dust and safe from danger.”
“I was here first,” he says, his lips quirking.
“Very mature.” I wonder if he’d let me slap him. He looks like he could take it. “Have you considered being a gentleman and moving?”
Please don’t be a gentleman.
He shakes his head. “No, I have not.”
Excellent. I pick up the drink, frowning when I find it empty. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you’re a smart woman.” He calls to the bartender.
The man wanders over, grinning as he looks back and forth between us with knowing in his faded blue eyes.
“I’ll take another.” The stranger tilts his head in my direction. “Get her one too. She needs it.”
“I don’t want your drink,” I say, just to be contrary.
He shrugs. “Then don’t drink it.”