Chapter Four
Tempi
I knew it the second the door opened.
The energy shifted.
It wasn’t the usual bar crowd swagger. No bachelorette screams or sports bros smelling like cologne and Axe body spray. No, this was slower, heavier. Like a warning bell in the back of my mind that said, Pay attention.
They walked in like they’d done it a hundred times. Patched up, broad-shouldered, carrying the weight of something built on the road. Leather, denim, heat, and purpose. That kind of entrance either meant trouble… or trouble worth watching.
I didn’t need to guess who led them.
Twister.
He stepped through the door last and scanned the room like he’d ordered it off a menu and wanted to send half of it back. His eyes hit mine, and everything else went quiet for a beat. Like the noise in the bar dropped out. Like I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
Then he looked away. Like it was no big thing.
I hated that I kind of wanted him to look again.
Britta gave me a raised eyebrow from the end of the bar, and I shot her one right back. She shrugged and already moved toward the end of the bar the bikers had taken over. Half the crew bellied up to the bar, dropping onto stools like they owned the damn place. The other half wandered toward the jukebox, arguing about AC/DC versus Johnny Cash like it was a holy debate.
Twister took a stool at the far end of the bar with another one of his guys. His hair was dark blond, and he had blue eyes like he’d seen too much. The guy next to him leaned in and said something to Twister that made him smirk.
They didn’t look like your typical outlaw bikers.
But they sure as hell didn’t look tame either.
I stayed put at the other end of the bar and wiped the counter while doing my best to look occupied. But I wasn’t missing a thing. Especially not the way Twister kept glancing down the bar at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
He thought wrong.
Britta strolled over to their end, towel over one shoulder, and her smile was cool and unreadable.
“What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
The guy next to Twister answered first.
“Whiskey on the rocks.”
Britta nodded, then looked at Twister.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced back toward me again. Slow, deliberate.
“How about her?”
he asked with his voice just loud enough to carry.
Britta snorted.
“That is not on the menu, honey. Beer or whiskey?”
Twister grunted, but his smirk didn’t budge. “Whiskey.”
He sat back a little, rested his forearm on the bar, but I didn’t miss the way his body angled just slightly toward mine. Didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on me every couple of minutes. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he hadn’t decided whether to play with or burn to the ground.
I didn’t like it.
I also didn’t hate it.
Someone from the back called for Swift to come over for pool. That guy turned out to be the one next to Twister.
Twister turned then, putting his back to the bar and leaned an arm across the top of it. He watched the room. Watched his guys getting loud over cues and dollar bills and what sounded like a bet involving hot sauce and losing dignity.
I knew the look on his face. Pride and protection. He wasn’t just the one in charge. He was the one they all looked to. That kind of weight didn’t come from noise. It came from history.
He wore it like it fit.
I moved closer to him when a regular signaled me. I poured a vodka soda for the regular and cashed him out.
I then said something I shouldn’t have. I was doing a good job ignoring him, but something I didn’t understand made me call out to him.
“Don’t you guys have your own bar?”
Twister turned slowly, and his eyes dragged across the room before landing on me. He didn’t rush to respond.
“We’re working on it, and the bar is just going to be for the club,”
he said, voice lazy but edged.
“The building has good bones; we’re just trying to find them.”
I scoffed and leaned back against the back bar.
“That’s pretty accurate for the old Sam James building.”
He tilted his head just a little.
“You know the place?”
“I’m not new to Madison,”
I said and met his stare head-on.
“I’ve lived here my whole life.”
His gaze dipped for a second. I saw it, how he clocked my jeans, my not-so-tiny waist, and the way my tank top clung like second skin. But his eyes came right back to mine like he hadn’t done it.
He had.
“Is that so?”
he drawled.
I pushed off the back bar and stepped closer, but not too close.
“My dad bought this place the month before I was born. I’ve spent pretty much every day of my life here. Hell, I even went to UW for college. I’ve never been more than a few miles from this place at all times.”
I let that settle.
“I was raised within these walls,”
I added.
“Downtown’s been my playground for years.”
He studied me for a long second. No sarcasm this time. No smirk. Just something close to respect.
“Maybe I want that same thing,”
he said quietly.
I felt my breath catch a little.
The thing about men like him? You expect the cocky, the smart-ass, the push. But that?
That was honesty.
That was dangerous.
“Well,”
I said and tried to keep my voice even, “it’s not always as fun as it looks.”
“I’m not here for fun,”
he replied.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t.
Behind him, one of his guys knocked over a stool and yelled something about spilling whiskey being a party foul. Laughter erupted, loud and easy.
Twister glanced back, then turned to me again.
“You own this place yourself?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Yup, that’s what the paperwork says. Britta is my right-hand gal, though. My dad passed a few years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,”
I said, genuinely surprised by how much I meant it.
He didn’t ask more. Didn’t press. Just let it be.
Which, somehow, made it easier to say, “You guys planning to hang around Madison?”
His mouth twitched.
“We’re not going anywhere.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That a promise or a threat?”
“Maybe both.”
I laughed, and he smiled, not the smirky one. A real one. Brief, but there.
It looked good on him.
Too good.
The jukebox kicked on again, this time blasting old Skynyrd. The guys hooted. The pool game kicked up again. And Twister leaned back against the bar like he belonged there.
He said he was here to stay, but I had heard that before.
As long as he didn’t bring any trouble to my door, I was good if he stayed.
One thing was for sure—I wasn’t going anywhere, either.