Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
F rank had to admit it, Marinos had never looked better. The pool table had been covered with tablecloth-covered plywood, and there was enough food loaded on it to feed every firefighter in Waterbury. There were balloons and streamers hanging from the ceiling. And the dartboards were covered with enlarged photos of Fitz at various fire scenes, with a probie stationed at each one to make sure no one came in with a set of darts and tried to get a bullseye through Fitz’s face.
They’d worked, side by side, getting everything ready before the first guests started filtering in. They’d been a great team, doing what needed to be done together to get the bar looking better than it did on a usual Friday night. In the heat of it all, they’d been too busy for anything other than blowing up balloons or re-taping the streamers that kept falling down. But now the drinks were flowing, and someone had Motown blasting from the jukebox while the old school guys danced with their wives.
There were a million things Frank wanted to say to Katie, but O’Rourke was doing shots in the corner with his buddies, and Connie was already making eyes at her ex, so the timing was anything but right. So they stood there by the bar, under the neon Budweiser sign, and watched Fitz tell a story to the young guys from the firehouse that was probably only thirty percent true.
“My feet aren’t even sticking to the floor,” Katie said, lifting her high heel-clad feet to demonstrate.
“Yeah, I threw in a few extra bucks for Sal to hire a real cleaning crew, not just his nephew at the end of a three-day bender.”
He couldn’t help but check out her mile-long legs extending from her short, acid-washed denim skirt. Damn the woman looked good. Sure, she always did. But after they’d gotten the decorations up, she’d gone into the bathroom with a backpack and had come out ten minutes later in an electric blue sweater, a mini skirt, and heels. He’d done a double take, and then one more for good measure. He’d almost spilled everything at that moment. Almost told her exactly why she should go out with him for real this time, but then Fitz’s wife had walked in with her yellow Texas sheet cake covered in chocolate frosting.
Now here they were, side by side, the only ones in the bar who weren’t dancing, or talking, or laughing, or all three at the same time.
No one charms people like you, Hartigan.
“Thank you for doing that.” She looked around the packed bar before her gaze landed back on him, and she smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”
“That almost sounds like a compliment.” He glanced down at the Long Island iced tea she was holding. “How many have you had?”
“Three sips of this one.” She jerked her chin toward her sister. “Looks like we’re about to enter the stage four with The Creep.”
Adler was the creep, that was self explanatory. But the rest of it? “I’m gonna need more information about the stages.”
Katie let out a long sigh, and took a sip of her drink through the red bendy straw before answering, “Every time Connie breaks up with The Creep, there is a four-stage process.” She held up one finger. “Stage One: The break up, because he cheated on her.” She held up a second finger. “Stage Two: The total trashing of the numb-nut cheater.” She held up a third finger. “Stage Three: The Creep grovels. This stage can last anywhere from a weekend to a month and a half.” She held up a fourth finger. “Stage Four: She takes him back, and the whole process starts again.”
That made about as much sense as swimming in a river of gasoline while smoking. Sure, just like everyone knew that his twin, Paul, never met a bad decision he didn’t love, everyone knew that Connie and Adler had been on and off again since high school. The off being because the man had a wandering dick. However, that didn’t mean that it made sense.
He took a drink from his bottle of Bud. “Why does she stay with him?”
“I don’t know,” Katie said as she shook her head.
Frank looked over at Connie and Adler in the corner. They were just talking, and there was at least three feet of space between the two of them. But there was no missing that it was only a matter of time before he wormed his way back into her good graces.
“Maybe,” Frank said, turning his attention back to Katie, “Adler has his good points.”
She looked at him, as if considering the possibility, for a whole three beats before they both started laughing.
“Okay,” he said. “He has no redeeming qualities.”
“Not a single one,” she agreed with a smile.
Fuck he liked making her do that. He could spend a lifetime thinking up ways to make her laugh. Making Katie Madigan—no, Katie Hartigan—laugh seemed like a damn good mission in life. With Fitz’s party going off without a hitch, though, his time to make that mission happen was limited. Tonight was the night.
He leaned on the bar, the move bringing him closer to her. “How about, instead of talking about them, we have a dance to celebrate a job well done?”
Her cheeks went pink, as if she was suddenly flushed with heat, but she didn’t step away. “That sounds nice but?—”
“You don’t trust yourself with me,” he teased.
This time, she was the one who stepped closer, looking up at him she tilted her chin in challenge. “Always so sure of yourself.”
“Always just right,” he said with a shrug that, yes, was cocky as hell.
That made her laugh. “Frank Hartigan, you’re nothing but trouble.”
“And you get bored by the predictability of all the other guys in town.”
Her eyes widened, no doubt with surprise that he’d noticed that. But he noticed everything about her. That’s how he knew she was more worried about Connie than she let on, because of the way she’d been gnawing her bottom lip while watching her twin. He couldn’t fix Adler, beyond pushing him off the Harbor City Bridge, so he’d distract Katie instead.
She took a long, slow drink of her Long Island iced tea, eyeing him appraisingly as if seeing him for the first time. “Is that why I don’t date?”
“Nah.” He shook his head and took a drink of his beer. “You don’t date because you scare the shit out of everyone else.”
Katie leaned in close. “But not you?”
He grinned down at her instead of answering, loving the way it made her breath hitch. He set his beer down on the bar and held out his hand. It hung there in the air for a few beats before she shook her head and set her drink down too.
“One dance,” she said as she took his hand.
So be it, but that meant he was going to make it count.
She raised her eyebrows when he didn’t lead her to the dance floor but instead headed for the door that led to the outdoor beer garden. Yeah, it was cold out but he could keep her warm, and this way everyone at the party wouldn’t be watching them. Nothing would scare her off faster than folks gossiping about what their dance meant. He had to take this slow and quiet, or she’d jet.
Just as he reached for the door, it opened. A blast of cold air and loud laughter came through, jolting them both to a stop. Her grip on his hand loosened and he knew, in that moment, that if she ran now, she was as good as gone. So he pivoted, pushed open the door to the supply closet he’d raided earlier, and pulled her inside.
She looked around at the shelves of bar supplies lining the walls and then back at him. “Why are we here?”
“For a dance.” He held out his arms the way he’d learned in that ballroom class the nuns had made all the kids in the neighborhood take in middle school so they wouldn’t be tempted to sin at the high school dance. It had worked about as well as expected. “Shall we?”