Chapter Nine #3
Roxie reached out to pet the cat’s head. If her hand shook a bit, it couldn’t be helped. “Did you have her fixed?”
Ingrid frowned. “It was required by the shelter.”
Roxie nodded and lifted her chin. “Get her a kitten. She needs a family.”
* * * * *
“You chose the right name when you called that bar ‘The Ruckus’,” the caller said with a chuckle. “Is there anything else you’d like our listeners to know?”
Roxie had the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. “Tell them to come visit. It’s even wilder on the inside.”
She sorted through the paperwork on her desk, trying to find the week’s liquor invoice.
“And the billboard?”
“Come judge if you think it’s a good likeness.”
The DJ on the line laughed. “The face or the décolletage?”
Nice save, Roxie thought. “I’m the whole package, sweetie.”
“Ooo la la! Are you saying they’re real?”
“Don’t insult me.” Aha! The invoice. She ran her pen down the list. She knew she’d been shorted a bottle of rum.
“That publicity stunt the other day got a little out of hand. Stopped cars. Reported flashing. Can you tell us if you’re facing charges?”
“No comment,” she murmured.
“Do you have anything else planned?”
She didn’t have to. Her phone had been ringing off the hook, and a television reporter had been waiting when she’d returned from lunch. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she teased.
She suffered through more flirtation before the disk jockey finally let her off the line.
Hanging up, Roxie rubbed her neck. She’d developed the worst crick.
Radio stations, news stations, and even a blogger had called for interviews.
The attention was good. A small business couldn’t pass up free advertising.
She just couldn’t concentrate.
She rubbed her eyes and tried again to find the rum purchase on the paper in front of her. It was early and The Ruckus wasn’t yet as busy as it had been the night before. Good thing, because she was still discombobulated by what had happened in that fortune teller’s shop.
She’d thought she’d developed a pretty stoic poker face over the years, although sometimes her temper got the best of her. And her frustration… and her hurt…
Okay, she had tells, damn it. The woman had read her like a pro.
But what about that creepy cat?
The cute, cuddly, lovable cat who seemed to have its own Wiccan ways.
She’d never heard of anyone being able to train a cat before. As much as she didn’t like the species, she did like their attitude. And she’d liked that cat…
Rescues.
Her chest squeezed so hard, she nearly wheezed. It was that word. That diabolical con woman had used it to get to her and, boy, had it hit its mark.
Raking her hair back with both hands, Roxie stood up from her desk.
She was getting nowhere with the bills and inventory, and she just didn’t have it in her to be flirty for one more phone call.
She flexed her toes, but then stuffed them into the painful boots she’d discarded under her desk.
She really needed to do something about her footwear.
Zipping them up, she headed out to the bar. Maybe something out there would distract her.
“Whitey,” she greeted as she walked by the jukebox.
He was deep in an ardent discussion with a Suzuki rider. Harleys versus crotch rockets. That was a discussion that never went well. She’d have to keep an eye on that one.
Old Martha gave a wave. “Got any shows planned for tonight, hon?”
“Shows?”
The woman gave a saucy wink. “First there was your ex, then the cute cops, and then that snobby little rich boy… You’ve been bringing the sexiest men in for us to watch.” Martha held up her beer. “Charlie never did that.”
No, Charlie hadn’t, and it was a good thing he hadn’t witnessed the drama over the past several nights. His biker bar had been meant for beer, darts, and the occasional deep discussion on vintage motorcycle parts.
“No plans,” Roxie said, continuing on to the bar. “Then again, you never know.”
The bartender was busy fixing a line to the tap, so she jumped in to help elsewhere. Loops. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She wiped a smudge off a glass, but nearly ran into her employee when she turned to stack it with the others. “Whoa. Sorry, Bud.”
Puddles of various kinds of alcohol dotted the bar, and she wiped it down like a swirling dervish. A light had been shown to her? The hell it had. She flipped the towel and continued down the bar.
She was thinking so hard, she didn’t see the pretty redhead who was leaning her elbow against the bar. She banged into her, and the girl’s arm jerked reflexively. In slow motion, beer jumped out of the mug she was holding and onto the guy who was flirting with her.
“Ohmigosh,” the redhead said in dismay.
“Oh, shit.” Roxie grabbed a fresh towel and passed it to the guy. He was a bit rough around the edges, but cute. She refilled the girl’s glass and saw her embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Use it as an excuse to get his shirt off.”
“Goblin’s Ale, on the end,” the barkeep said, pushing a full mug into her hand. “And no offense, but could you go ‘help’ out in the kitchen or something?”
Roxie winced. Was she really that bad?
Out of habit, she grabbed a coaster. When she turned to serve, she saw a familiar face. “You’re back.”
It was the underage kid from the night before.
“And I’m still legal,” he said dryly.
She smiled. Snark, she liked it.
He stared at her, and she could feel his nerves. He was afraid to talk to her.
Well, she had snapped at him last night.
“Did the billboard bring you here?” she asked. The thing was becoming her biscuits and gravy—much better than bread and butter.
He nodded. “I saw the story on the news about the scandal.”
“Scandal,” she scoffed. She served him the beer. “This town is in sorry shape if that’s all it has to talk about.”
He grinned. “Did you really climb that thing and flash people on the interstate?”
“Maybe,” she said with a wink.
His attention was so acute, Roxie nearly stole a look at the stainless-steel ice maker to see if her mascara had blotched or something.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded.
He blinked and embarrassment washed over him. Red flooded up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked down into his beer, but eventually peeked back up. “Sorry.”
“You’re too young for me, kiddo.”
“What? No, I’m not coming on to you…” The red flush had turned a bit green. “It’s your smile.”
He took a deep breath and wiped his hand over his face. “You have a really nice smile.”
Smile, huh? That was a first.
She laughed again. He was so darn cute, in that shy, deep-thinker sort of way. She leaned closer, bracing both elbows against the bar. “What’s your name?”
“Roux.”
“Roxie,” the bartender said in frustration. Gripping her waist with both hands, he moved her out of his way yet again. “Seriously.”
“All right, already.” She slapped her hand against the bar. “Do you play pool, Kanga?”
“Kanga?”
She was already moving towards the back room. A game or two sounded perfect. It would require her to focus and strategize. Maybe get her head on straight again. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her competitor grab his beer and hop off the barstool to follow.
“Not that kind of Roo,” he huffed. “‘Roux’ as in red. It’s French.”
“Whatever.”
The back room was quieter and almost empty.
That wasn’t good for the bank balance, but it was a balm to Roxie’s soul.
Here, she could smell beer and cigarette smoke, not sage.
She rolled a ball across the pool table.
The solid clank it gave when it hit against another ball was much more soothing than the clinking of crystals back in that shop.
She stretched her arms overhead. This might be just the distraction she needed.
She chose her favorite stick from the selection offered against the wall. At the table, she began collecting balls to rack them up. The kid rolled another her way.
“I bet you a plate of teeny weenies that you can’t beat me,” she challenged.
He surveyed the scene, taking in all the leather jackets and shitkickers in the vicinity. He was a quiet kid, so serious.
Yet when he looked up, there was a gleam in his eyes. “You’re on.”
He chose a pool cue and set his drink on the edge of the table. From the way he handled the stick, she could tell he’d done this a time or two.
“You’re not from around here,” she noted.
“I’m from Azureton, but I’m going to Cobalt Community College.”
“Interesting choice of bars for a college kid.” She eyed him from head to toe as she chalked up the tip of her cue. “You’re younger than most of my clientele, and you wear a lot less leather. Not that it wouldn’t look good on you…”
He wore jeans and a T-shirt. He was tall and lean with mussed dark hair. In fact, out of anyone, he fit in best with Billy.
Only he wasn’t looking at her boobs—which made him very un-Billy-like.
He shrugged. “The news made it look like an interesting place.”
She chuckled. “I bet. You break.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll get my chance.”
He lined up at the end of the table. With one smooth stroke, the white cue ball went charging across the table. There was a racket as balls ricocheted off the edges, and one fell into the corner pocket.
“Looks like you’re stripes.” Cocking her head, Roxie surveyed the table.
The gears were clicking in the kid’s head, too. It was all about angles and physics now. Roxie caught a grin.
“It might be a while,” he said cockily.
“Ooh, big words.”
Which were backed up by big play. The guy was a shark, only Roxie had spent half her life in bars. She’d been known to run a table or two in her day. They were evenly matched, and once they realized that, the level of play went up even higher.
The knots that had been kinking up her shoulders loosened. Her mind, which had been going in a million different directions, focused. Her problems and pressures remained, but for the first time in weeks, she let them go and just had fun.
“Oh, no. That looks like an error in judgment,” she teased as the cue ball traveled past a ball with an orange stripe.
“Does it?” Roux asked, standing his stick on end as he watched that same white ball bounce off the side cushion and tap the blue-striped ball into the pocket.
“Damn,” Roxie hissed. Leaning over the table, she tried to judge how that whole trajectory had worked. “What was it you said you were studying at that community college of yours?”
“I didn’t.” He chalked his tip and lined up for his last shot. “But it’s graphic design.”
She pouted when the last ball went into the pocket and the cue ball spun back to the middle of the table.
“I believe that’s one order of teeny weenies for me,” he said with a grin on his face.
“Rematch?” she asked.
He took a pull on his beer. “Potato wedges?”
“Rack ’em up.”
Roxie leaned her hip against the table as he took the responsibility. “So, do you have a girlfriend, Kanga?”
“It’s Roux, and no.” When he shook his head, his hair mussed even more.
“Hmm,” she hummed, the gears in her brain turning. “Do you do drugs?”
“What? No!”
“Are you kind to animals?”
“Of course.”
“Do you shower regularly? Do you pay for a date’s meal without expecting her to put out? Are you—”
“Whoa, whoa. What is this?”
“You seem like a nice guy.” Roxie leaned over the table and lined up her shot. She gave the cue ball a firm smack that had balls bouncing all over the table. “I thought maybe I’d set you up with my sister.”
“You have sisters?”
She had sisters coming out of her ears. “She’s blonde, spunky, and about your age.”
Lexie’s little sister, Blaire, got all pissed off when she didn’t claim her as her own.
Roux looked as if he didn’t know what to say, but then his eyes widened. He held up his hands, palms outward, and took a step back.
Roxie frowned. Her break hadn’t been that impressive. Was he not interested in girls?
“Hey, man,” he said in a rush. “We’re just playing pool.”
Roxie felt Billy’s presence before she heard him. That electric shiver in the air had started. It tingled along her skin and the roots of her hair. His heavy footsteps came next. Big, solid, and sexy.
Her stomach squeezed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him entering the room. He smelled like the outdoors, his hair was ruffled from the wind, and he had a beer in his hand.
Her rescuer.
Her toes curled inside her boots.
She let out a puff of air and rounded the table, pretending to plan out her shots. Only her pool partner still looked intimidated. Sighing, she leaned into her pool cue. “Billy, this is my friend, Roux. Roux, this is my… This is Billy. He’s not going to rough you up.”
Billy paused with his beer halfway to his mouth.
“He was here the night you and Landers went at it,” she explained.
Billy grunted and shrugged. Apparently, that was some kind of guy code, because Roux’s expression changed. His hands dropped, and he picked up the chalk.
Billy slipped onto one of the stools by a tall table and nursed his beer. He was in a quiet mood tonight, willing to just sit back and watch. He seemed deep in thought.
And that rattled her.
She took a shot, but her hand trembled at the last moment. The ball fell in the side pocket as she’d intended, but the cue ball rebounded off the bumper all wrong. It put off the alignment of her next shot, and she had to take a step back to reevaluate.
She spun her pool cue round on its end, but she’d lost her interest in the game. She and Roux played out the match without much more discussion.
With little fanfare, she evened the score.
“Good game,” the kid said, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. He glanced at Billy. He could read the weird vibe in the room. “I should probably be leaving.”
“Okay.” She was sad that the evening’s entertainment was over. She was afraid she’d disappointed him somehow. “See ya, Kanga.”
For once, he didn’t protest the nickname. He nodded at Billy as he walked past.
It left them alone in the room.
Roxie put her cue stick away and felt her knees go a bit wobbly without the support.
“Hey,” Billy said when she walked over to him.
She stole his beer and took a sip.
“Hey.” Instinctively, she touched her hand to his chest. One man, forever and ever.
She cleared her throat. “Did you have a good time with Charlie?”
“We released more than we kept.” Lines formed on Billy’s forehead. Reaching out, he caught her by the chin. “How was your day?”
Weird. Unsettling.
She glanced around the bar. It was so early; the sun hadn’t even set yet. The bartender had been begging her to stay out of his way, and they wouldn’t get busy until the night crowd started rolling in. “Want to go to the roof?”
Billy traced the line of her bottom lip with his thumb. “Yeah, let’s go to the roof.”