14. My Rebel Side
MY REBEL SIDE
SAWYER
The second we shut down for the night, I’m out of there—locking the door at Dog Tails and heading down the block past Pick Me Up on my way to Prohibition Spirit. Chloe told me she had a few off-site dog training sessions, so she’d meet me there.
It’s a short walk, just long enough to listen to “Wonderwall” as I go, and most of “Ain’t No Sunshine.” With some reluctance, I turn off the Bill Withers tune I’ve been humming along to when I arrive at the bar.
The deep, rich-red door is like an invitation to slip back in time.
I push it open, my eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting of the whiskey bar.
The whole speakeasy vibe is working here from the jazzy old standards playing overhead to the elegant whiskey bottles standing proudly on mirrored shelves.
I zero in on the redhead at the bar. She’s talking to the woman behind it—a tall bartender with a regal chin, curly hair, rich-bronze skin, and a silver stud in the side of her nose.
They’re chatting like old friends. Chloe’s head is tossed back in laughter, her auburn hair falling in big waves down her back.
She’s wearing a light-green top that slopes off one shoulder and a short, flirty skirt.
Hmm.
That’s not what she wore earlier to her dog training lessons. A wild thought zings across my skin, makes me square my shoulders, maybe even swagger a little as I head over. The idea that she might have dressed up for me hijacks my mouth.
“You changed for me?” I ask. I know better. I really do.
She rolls her eyes. “I had dog slobber all over my shirt from my four o’clock. Do not flatter yourself…Mister Serious Boss.”
And the nickname’s stuck. All things considered, it could be worse. But maybe it’ll remind me to stop fucking flirting with Chloe. To act like the boss. Even though I’m not her boss.
Chloe nods to the bartender. “A mojito for me, Esmeralda. With your best rum,” she says, then points her thumb my way. “Put it on his tab.”
Well then. Consider me thoroughly dressed down.
“Done.” The bartender slides a coaster in front of me. “What’ll it be for you, Mister Serious Boss?”
I’ll never live this nickname down. “Whiskey sour, please,” I say.
“Yeah, that tracks,” Chloe says.
Esmeralda fights off a smile as she nods to me. “Top shelf too, I trust?”
“When in Rome,” I say, since clearly Chloe’s making me pay still. Which is fair.
“Now that I think about it, I am hungry.” Chloe spins my way. “The truffle fries here are to die for. So’s the arugula salad with fresh strawberries and farm-raised lettuce. And you can’t go wrong with the chargrilled tomato soup.”
I keep a poker face as I add, “At least you didn’t say caviar.”
She shudders. “I never say caviar.”
“Right. Of course,” I say, since I’m pretty sure she doesn’t eat meat. “Let’s do it.”
She scoff-laughs. “Oh, that’s just for me. But you should get something to eat too.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly, then catch Esmeralda’s amused eye. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Coming right up,” she says, and then wheels around and grabs some bottles.
I turn to Chloe, impressed with how she finagled a meal out of this planning session. “Well played,” I say, but this raises an important question. It’ll be good for me to know what I’m dealing with as we try to win this gig together. “Am I still in the doghouse?”
“No. I just thought you’d want some of our local fare.” She bats her eyes at me. “Was I wrong?”
I go along with the innocent act since, well, I’m definitely hungry, but I’m also relieved she’s not still mad. “I do,” I say, then segue to a safer topic. “How was your four p.m.?”
“Well, he had a very large tongue, and he licked all my clothes. So, I’d say it was…a little messy.”
“Lucky dog,” I say, before thinking it through. Evidently, my mouth has a mind of its own tonight. So much for following my own mantra.
She jerks her gaze back. “Lucky dog?”
Fuck it. I lean in closer, since responsible Sawyer is losing the battle tonight. My rebel soul is winning. “Sorry, sweetheart. The word lick brought back memories. Won’t let it happen again.”
Her glossy lips part, and something like heat flashes in her hazel eyes. “He was a lucky dog. So were you.”
This time I make the smart decision to shut up.
“Anyway, let’s plan,” she says, shifting back into business mode. “Since you probably have a hot date later.”
I jerk my gaze toward her. “No, I don’t. Why would you say that?”
She shrugs. “No reason.” But she says it way too casually.
“There must be some reason you’d say it,” I say, my interest piqued.
But Chloe shifts her gaze away from me, her voice turning super professional as she says, “So, I asked around about permits—”
Nope. We’ll get to tonight’s topic soon enough. First things first, since some topics can’t be left untouched. “Hold on. Tell me more about my”—I stop to sketch air quotes—“hot date.”
With a long sigh, she shakes her head, like she’s had enough of this line of questioning. “I don’t care what you do when you leave work, Sawyer. The hot date could be with your TV. Or your spreadsheets. Who even knows?”
Ah, so she thought I was meeting a woman when I rushed out the other night after painting her training nook. I fight off a smug smile. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Me? No. None.”
I lift a hand, raising three fingers. “That’s three denials.”
She meets my gaze, a challenging stare in her hazels. “You can count. Well done.”
“I can also…” I lower my voice. “Read the room. And you telling me three times you didn’t think about my hot date tells me you did. So, go ahead. Just ask.”
“Ask what?”
“If I went on a hot date the other night when I left work,” I say, goading her, just goading her. It’s too much fun not to. “C’mon. You know you want to.”
Her gaze says she won’t be outdone. With a defiant lift of her chin, she says, “Sawyer Dumont, did you go on a hot…triathlon training session?”
I crack up. “I see you’ve remembered all sorts of details about me.”
“Yes, mock me for having a good memory. Real smooth,” she retorts.
A spark ignites in my chest. Firing these barbs back and forth is revving my engine in a way it hasn’t been revved since…
the night I spent with her. I seriously should follow my own rules, maintain the professional boundaries.
And yet, I say, “Fine. I won’t tease you for wanting to know all sorts of things about me.
It’s understandable, after all. Your interest.”
She huffs, then says, “You’re unbelievable.”
Same thing she said to me at the hotel after she came on my face. “My favorite word,” I toss back. Like I said then too.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she says, incredulous, but maybe fighting off a laugh too.
“It kind of was though.”
The conversation comes to a fast end as Esmeralda plunks down a mojito and a whiskey sour in front of us. “I guess you two know each other,” she says, her eyes twinkling with interest.
Chloe sets a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, this is Sawyer, my co-worker, but you can also refer to him as the bane of my existence,” she says, and my attention drifts to her hand on me, the way her fingers curl around my muscles, how she touches me so easily, like it’s second nature, this affection.
Esmeralda arches a brow. “So it’s not Mister Serious Boss?”
“I like Bane of Her Existence better,” I deadpan.
“Bane of Her Existence it is,” Esmeralda says, then swings her gaze from Chloe to me and back. “Am I getting a vibe between you two?”
Chloe yanks her hand off me, and she’s faster than a Bugatti as she shouts, “No!”
Chuckling, I lift my palm, then point Chloe’s way, like she can’t see me as I stage-whisper, “She wants to know if I had a hot date the other night.”
The bartender sets her elbows on the bar and parks her chin in her hands. “And did you?”
“Esme, do not feed the wildlife,” Chloe says in a warning.
Esmeralda waves a hand. “You know I never follow orders.”
“Don’t make me go to Clementine’s,” Chloe says, reaching for her mojito.
“You’d never leave me.” Esmeralda turns back to me. “So did you have a hot date? Inquiring minds want to know.”
I adopt a small smile. “Esmeralda, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Fair enough,” she says before taking off to wait on a new customer at the other end of the bar.
Once she’s gone, Chloe looks to me with give him hell written in her eyes. “Did you come here tonight to drive me crazy?”
“No, but is it working?”
“Yes. It’s working incredibly well,” she says.
My rebel side takes that as a compliment.
Chloe lifts her glass like she’s about to take a sip, maybe to wash away the taste of this conversation, but I set a hand on hers. “We need to toast,” I say, but it comes out a little raspy. I blame it on the feel of her skin underneath mine. It feels damn good.
“To what? To you coming in here all…cocky, and swagger-y, and irritating when I’m trying to come up with a plan for the meeting?”
Well, shit. When she puts it that way. “Sorry,” I say, meaning it, since I should probably draw the line better, back off more. “I was just trying to have fun.” I swallow roughly, then do something hard—make myself vulnerable. “It’s been a while since I’ve had fun.”
Her smile shifts, sympathetic now. “I get it. Fun is good. But I also just really want this to work out.”
There’s a touch of desperation in her voice. Or maybe hope. The two are often one and the same. Her words, though, are a reminder to focus on the goal. “Me too. Let’s roll up our sleeves. But first we should toast to…” I pause, thinking on it for a few seconds. “To putting things on my tab.”
Her smile spreads, easy and natural. “I will definitely drink to your tab.”
We clink glasses. After I knock back some whiskey sour, I slide into business mode. “Okay, so Webflix is shooting a new rom-com here in Darling Springs. And we want the dog daycare scenes shot at Dog Tails—it’ll help both of us. Right?”