3. A Stranger at a Bar
3
A Stranger at a Bar
Rose – Five Years Ago
T he thick, hoppy scent of beer hits me like a physical force the second I walk into Billy Bob’s Bar. I blink, giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the dim light of my surroundings. Billy Bob’s is packed, and the place is rowdy. There’s a live band playing nineties country music, and between the loud rendition of Brooks and Dunn’s “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and the laughter and hollering of the crowd, my senses are overwhelmed. There’s an impromptu line dance set up in the middle of the establishment. Tables have been pushed off to the side, and men and women are two-stepping, laughing, and twirling in front of the stage—the picture of general merriment.
I mentally go through the list of things I know about my target: Anton Bates. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Muscular. Supposedly here with a bunch of his teammates. He can’t be too hard to find. I scan the crowd, looking for oversized football players.
My job, should I choose to accept it—and spoiler alert, I have—is to find him, make nice, and establish the foundation of a relationship. Basically, I’ve got to get the guy to fall in love with me, Andie Anderson style. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days , anyone? Actually, I guess I’m playing the role of Benjamin Barry here. Either way, I cringe. It feels all sorts of icky, but what can I do? Anton is a prince who needs an extra set of eyes and ears around him in case of a threat to his person. I’m the girl for the job. He doesn’t know that. He can’t know it, according to the queen. And we work for her.
So that’s that .
Now, if I could find—
A broad shoulder knocks into the center of my back, sending my arms pinwheeling and my body stumbling forward. I’m a hair’s breadth away from falling flat on my face onto these disgusting, sticky floors when I’m yanked upright.
I look up—and then up some more—and into the cerulean-blue eyes of my target. If I didn’t already have them memorized from the photos I’d been shown, I would now. I’m struck by the small circle of green around his irises that spills into the outer blue rings like tie-dye. That doesn’t show up in photos. Pictures cannot do this man justice, apparently.
Andddd now I’m staring.
“Are you okay?” His voice is softer than I expected from someone who commands offenses—and countries—for a living. It’s plush, with a richness to it. Like the fur of a brand-new stuffed animal. I want to nuzzle my nose into it.
I blink and glance down at where his hands still rest on my hips.
He follows my gaze and pulls them away, running one through his hair. It’s longer on the top and shaved close at the sides. His cheeks are pink. Wait. Is he blushing?
That’s…unexpected.
And adorable.
I smile to put him at ease. “I’m good.”
Three guys are laughing and jostling next to Anton. He breaks eye contact with me and nudges the nearest one. “Del, watch it.” He points at me. “You could have hurt her.”
Del offers me a sheepish shrug, which, given his oversized stature, is more like a giant heave of the shoulders. “Sorry, ma’am. It’s just…this song does something to me.”
Anton rolls his eyes.
I let loose a genuine laugh. “It’s fine. Seriously.”
The music changes to the opening chords of Faith Hill’s “This Kiss. ”
“What a banger!” Del hooks his arms around the other two guys. “To the dance floor!” He charges ahead, craning his neck around and calling out to Anton, “Bates, come on!”
“Be right there.” Anton turns his attention back to me. “Can I get you a drink? Peace offering for my buddy bulldozing you.”
“Sure.” I smile again.
He gestures for me to lead the way to the bar. I pull up to the high counter and hear a crunch beneath my boots. I look down and see peanut shells.
“It’s my favorite part of this place.” Anton drops into the seat next to me and bobs his chin at the ground. “Free peanuts in the shell. You just shuck ’em and toss ’em.”
“Isn’t that more like littering?”
“Nope.” His blue-green eyes dance. “The shells are biodegradable.”
I arch a brow. “Look at you, talking all science-y and looking out for our planet.”
He pops another peanut in his mouth, holding my gaze with laughter in his eyes. “Is that the type of guy you’re into? A nature lover?”
“Well, recycling is one of my favorite hobbies…” I tap my chin playfully. “So, I suppose yes.”
“Noted,” he chuckles. “I should tell you, then, that I plant trees in my spare time.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.” I furrow my brow. “Were you Johnny Appleseed in a past life?”
He laughs outright at that. “No, but it’s one of my initiatives in my home country.”
“Your home country?” I cock my head. “I noticed the accent, but I didn’t catch your name.”
His eyes widen with genuine surprise. “You don’t know who I am?”
“Uh, no.” The lie tumbles from my lips with ease. “Should I? ”
He shakes his head quickly. “I’m glad you don’t, actually. It’s…nice. Most people recognize me.” He shoots a glance around the bar. “That’s why I like coming here. I can fly under the radar a bit.”
“What are you, like, a spy?” I deadpan.
“I wish.” He laughs and pauses before adding, “Why? Are you?”
I almost choke on a peanut, but manage to swallow it. Hard. “Yeah, right.”
His shoulders shake with his silent laughter, and I let out an internal sigh of relief. Note to self: no jokes about spies. That one got a little too close for comfort.
The bartender swings by, and we place our drink orders. After she heads off to fix my vodka soda and bring Anton a glass of ice water, he leans his elbow on the bar, turning his whole body so he’s facing me. He’s the picture of easygoing, and there’s an openness to him that I appreciate. He’s giving me his full attention, and I feel like I’m the only person in this crowded room.
“I’m actually the quarterback,” he says, picking up our conversation. I notice that he doesn’t lead with the prince angle, which is interesting. Is he uncomfortable being a royal? Is he prouder of being a pro-football player? I file this information away to puzzle over later.
“The quarterback.” I twist my lips to the side, playing dumb. “Is that, like, a secret superhero call sign or something?”
He grins. “No. I’m the quarterback—for the Mobile Tigers.”
I drop my jaw, feigning surprised delight. “Are you for real? I was just selected to join the cheer and dance squad for the Tigers.”
That’s the truth at least. The agency managed to swing this position for me, figuring it would keep me in the same orbit as Anton. I do have a dance background, so there’s that.
Anton presses his lips together, like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “So you’ll be cheering for me this year? ”
“I guess so.” I look him up and down. “Are you any good? It’ll make my job way more fun if the team is decent.”
“Oh, I’m good.” He leans in. “Don’t you worry.”
I feel my cheeks heat, but I keep my tone breezy. “I’ll be the judge of that.” I hold out my hand. “Rose Kasper.”
He stares at me but doesn’t offer his hand in return.
“What?” I hold my arms out to the side. “Do y’all not shake hands where you’re from? Is it, like, a regional thing?”
“Nah. I’m trying to remember the moment.”
I let my arms drop to my sides and glance around. “This moment? Here in the loud bar with the peanut shells and the off-key singing?”
“Yeah, and the girl with the smart mouth and pretty eyes.” He reaches for my hand. It’s hard not to notice the size difference we’ve got going on. His grip is at once powerful and gentle. He squeezes. “I think I’m going to want to play this back later.”
My heart takes off like a stampeding buffalo. It’s pounding around in my chest with reckless abandon. The country music goes muted in the background, and the whole bar turns hazy. It’s like Anton is the only thing my brain can focus on. Anton with the technicolor eyes and quick compliments. The considerate quarterback. My pulse is out of control, and I’ve got to get myself together. I cannot let this—whatever this is—go to my head.
I squeeze his hand twice in return. “Pretty smooth, Mr. Quarterback.”
“I do what I can. And it’s Bates. Anton Bates.”
My word. The man is like a real-life Bond, James Bond.
Oh, wait. I’m the spy here.
“Well, nice to meet you, Anton Bates.” We stare at each other. Anton has a goofy grin on his face, and whatever I was expecting from this prince pro-football player, it wasn’t this. This feels easy. Normal. Comfortable.
Maybe too comfortable .
Anton grabs a handful of peanuts from the nearby canister and piles them on the bar top in front of me. He takes one and shucks it, popping the nut in his mouth. I mimic his movements, and he watches me as I hesitate before tossing the shell on the floor. He looks inordinately proud.
Is it possible to develop a late-in-life peanut allergy? Would that account for the flip flop my stomach is doing?
“So, what do you like to do when you’re not dancing? Or recycling,” he adds with a wink.
I reach for the drink the bartender placed in front of me and turn to study Anton over the top of the glass. There he goes again with that openness. His expression is warm, and I find myself wanting to tell him something real. Something true about me. It’s not wise. I’ve had enough experience in this profession to know that mixing my work with my reality is a recipe for disaster, but in this case, I don’t care.
“I like to write. I’m working on a novel.”
His face lights up. “Are you serious? That’s incredible.”
“It’s nothing yet.” I brush off his praise. “I keep stopping and starting. Haven’t made it past chapter three.”
“Yeah, but I bet you will.” His confidence in me makes my heart flutter.
“How can you be sure?” I cock my head. “You’ve known me for all of ten minutes.”
“Gut instinct.” He smiles down at me. “I’ve got a good feeling about you.”
Honestly, I’ve got a good feeling about him too. I’ve never had such an easy time talking to a guy I just met. In ten minutes, Anton has proven that he listens and he can make me laugh. He’s also humble and incredibly attractive. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but this feels a lot like like at first sight. Like, really like.
That’s a problem. Because he’s my job. I can’t let my real feelings get involved .
The band shifts to a new song, and the energy in the room rockets up another notch when the lead singer starts belting “Callin’ Baton Rouge” by Garth Brooks.
“Great song,” I say with a smile, grateful to the music for diffusing the intense moment. My knee involuntarily starts bouncing along to the beat.
Anton stares at me and then bobs his head to the center of the bar. “I’m not much of a dancer, but I think we should. You game?”
“To dance? Always.” I set my drink down. “Lead the way, Mr. Quarterback.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me forward.
I crunch my way through peanuts, trailing him as he plants us directly in the middle of the line dancers. We find Del and the other guys, who Anton introduces as players on his team. I already know their names from the background dossier I received ahead of my assignment, but I act natural.
We start shuffling along with the crowd. Anton wasn’t lying about not being much of a dancer. He spins the opposite direction from the rest of us, and the bewildered look on his face when he gets knocked sideways by a woman with a flannel shirt tied above her naval and rhinestone white cowboy boots makes me giggle.
Anton points at me. “Laugh it up.”
And I do. So does he. There’s something really refreshing about a man who isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself and do something he’s not great at. Anton Bates has cool confidence in spades, and I’m being sucked into his orbit at an alarming rate.
We stomp and slide in the sea of bodies until he grabs my hand and spins me out of the center of the dance floor to an open patch of peanut-strewn ground. He wraps his arms around my back, and we sway to the iconic fiddle interlude before he drops to a knee and serenades me with Garth’s bridge. I fall into the character of Samantha, picking up a pretend phone and listening on the other end of the line .
When the song ends, I throw my hands in the air, cheering in appreciation with the rest of the bar. I can feel my shoulder-length hair fanned out and frizzing around my head. There’s sweat pooling above my lip. My shirt has come untucked. I should be self-conscious, but Anton grins down at me, and all I feel is free. And happy.
“Thanks for the dance.” I’m a little breathless. High on Garth Brooks, peanuts, and the man in front of me.
I could get addicted to this .
“You got it, Sammy Rose.”
Del and the rest of Anton’s buddies barrel into us at that moment, but Anton holds my gaze, shooting me a wink.
I’m going to go ahead and choose not to overthink the fact that he’s calling me Sammy after the Samantha in the song…the one Garth sings about wanting to spend every last dime calling until he can see her again.
“Come on, man. We gotta bounce. Strength and conditioning in the a.m.” Del massages Anton’s shoulders.
My stomach sinks at the thought of him leaving. But I check myself. I accomplished what I set out to accomplish tonight. I made contact. Heck, I made more than contact. I’ve got myself a new nickname. It’s probably best to pace myself where this guy is concerned.
“Give me a sec.” Anton waves Del and the guys off, promising to meet them in the parking lot.
He comes to a stop, standing right in front of me. We’re chest to chest, and I have to look way up into his eyes. He’s staring at me like I’m the only person in this bar.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” I don’t have to work hard to sound hopeful.
Anton dips his chin, completely serious. “Can I call you?”
I nod, holding out my hand. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and places it in my palm. I type in my name and number before handing it back to him .
He checks the screen, and a grin spreads over his face.
Was it bold of me to list my contact as Sammy Rose? Maybe. But I want him to remember me.
And not just for the job.
The realization is enough to make me feel a little panicky. But I ignore the tingly sensation in my limbs, focusing instead on the chiseled face of the man in front of me. “Goodnight, Anton Bates.”
“Thanks for the dance, Sammy Rose.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. It’s quick and chaste, and I should not be taking a mental snapshot of the moment, but…too late.
He walks out of the bar, and somehow, I know that this easy assignment just got way more complicated.