Chapter Four
Kit had met a dozen cool people tonight, at least. She’d met one turd tonight though, and he was getting on her nerves.
She was a professional though, and there was one just like Chase at every bar.
The ones who thought they were better than everyone and women should flock to them.
The ones who got rude if a woman denied them and started taking shots at her in front of everyone in some egotistical play to make her look like he was above her.
So lame.
“You’re really not going to give me your number?” the guy—Chase as he had introduced himself earlier—asked quietly as she set a whiskey and Coke he ordered in front of him. This was his last one before she cut him off. She’d already okayed it with Anna quietly in the back.
“I don’t date customers,” she said with a polite smile.
He grabbed her hand before she left and a snarl rattled up her throat. She pulled her hand away and kept her eyes downturned. Sometimes the wolf scared humans.
“Oh, I heard that, pretty little bitch,” he said low, a baiting smile on his lips.
“Don’t call me that,” she warned him.
“A bitch is a female dog, and I know what you are.”
“Everyone in here knows what I am,” she said, glaring up at him. “I’m not hiding it. That doesn’t get you a free pass to call me names.” Kit tipped her head toward his drink. “Drink that and then it’s time for you to go.”
“Nah, the night is young, Kit. I’ve got a couple hours left before last call.”
“You don’t get a last call. All these nice people in here do, but you don’t.”
She walked farther down the bar and hoped no one sitting near Chase would need a drink any time soon.
She didn’t want to be anywhere around him for a few minutes until she could get her animal settled down.
The wolf wanted to rip his throat out. She hated the term ‘bitch.’ The Second of her last Pack, Seth, loved calling the females that.
She’d almost paired with him. Not her choice.
She was actually ignoring three texts from Seth, just from tonight.
He was wanting to get her back to the Pack and back under his control.
He was one of those guys. Her Alpha hadn’t realized it yet, but Seth was a rotten apple.
All it took was one to rot the barrel, and Seth had been working overtime lately.
He would be Alpha soon if someone didn’t wise up and stop him.
Not her job anymore.
Not until we go back, her wolf whispered across her mind. Fuck. She was right.
She would head there tomorrow and back to the chaos she’d been so happy and relieved to leave behind.
Everything had gone sideways today. Seth was going to be the king of the I-told-you-so’s when she got back to Alabama. God she was furious with those cat-fishers. That was so messed up. She would never trust anyone ever again.
God, she hated that she was going to have to go back home with her tail tucked between her legs. The Pack really wouldn’t let her live any of this down.
A sense of dread filled her just thinking about it.
“Hey, Kit,” Chase called. “These nice ladies need drinks.” He was slurring pretty good at this point.
Kit inhaled for a three count and prayed for patience, then glanced over at where a couple of newcomers had just sat down near Chase.
He was currently chugging the remainder of his whiskey and Coke. Great.
She plastered a smile and set the last drink on a tray for one of the servers, smiled at them when they thanked her, and carried the drinks toward a table in the corner.
She still didn’t know the table numbers here or any of the servers names except for Anna, but that was okay. She wasn’t staying past the night.
No point in getting to know people here. She would always remember this place though. If it weren’t for Chase, it would be all good vibes, and she totally fed off that stuff.
As she made her way toward Chase’s direction to serve the ladies near him, the front door opened, and something made her look.
Time slowed as she saw the behemoth of a man filling up the entire doorframe.
He wore a black T-shirt, and dark jeans, and a plain black baseball cap with no logo.
When he lifted his eyes to her, they were glowing gold.
Recognition zinged through her like a lightning strike.
Bridger was here.
She halted in her tracks, and her mouth fell open. He nodded in a greeting and then started making his way toward an empty table near the front.
“Hello?” Chase called out to her in a rude tone.
And she didn’t know why she did it, but she kept her eyes locked on Bridger’s as he took a seat and twitched her head toward Chase.
That was it. That was all.
Bridger stood back up and strode directly toward Chase, and something happened to her insides as she watched the confidence in his powerful stride.
There was this tiny fluttering sensation as she watched him pull out the bar stool directly on the other side of Chase and glare at him for exactly two seconds and then drag his golden eyes to her.
“Hey, Kit,” he greeted her in a deep, sultry, gritty voice.
She smiled. “Hello, Bridger.”
Chase was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”
Bridger shrugged. “Just a guy looking for a drink.”
“Yeah, but who are you to Kit?”
Bridger’s empty smile lifted the fine hairs on her arms.
“You’re from Alabama, right?” Bridger asked her as she approached slowly.
“I sure am.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Can I have a couple of Alabama Slammers?”
An accidental smile took her lips. It had been a while since she’d made one of those. She reached for the Southern Comfort and did as he asked, made him two Alabama Slammers.
“How do you know she’s from Alabama?” Chase asked. “Her account is private.”
Bridger didn’t move, and he didn’t take his glowing gold eyes off her.
Was Chase born with no survival instincts at all?
Could he not feel the suffocating heaviness wafting from Bridger.
Was he that drunk already? The air right now felt like dragging tar into her lungs, and her shoulders could feel the weight of Bridger’s dominance.
She set the pair of Alabama Slammers in front of Bridger.
“Who’s the other one for?” Chase asked. “It ain’t for Kit. She doesn’t date customers.”
Bridger’s smile dragged chills up her spine. He drank one of the drinks down, and slid the other Alabama Slammer to Chase.
But before he could down it, Bridger’s fist slammed against Chase’s jaw so hard, he dropped like a sack of rocks. Easy as you like, Bridger stood and grabbed Chase by the back of his jacket collar, then dragged him toward the exit like he weighed nothing at all.
Besides a gasp or two, and some mumblings, and the sound of a country song on the Jukebox, the bar was almost-comedically silent.
Bridger said something to Chase, shoved him out the front door, then came back inside and took his seat at that front table again.
An Alabama Slammer. Ha.
She couldn’t help the smile on her lips.
“Well, that’s one way to cut him off,” Anna said from beside the bar. “You know that guy?”
“Uuuh, I think legally I’m paired with him, but I’m pretty sure we can get out of it. The signatures were forged.”
“Huh,” Anna said with a confused look on her face as Kit went back to work. “That’s a weird story.”
“Welcome to my life,” Kit said with the shake of her head for the remaining Alabama Slammer that sat undisturbed on the bar top.
She finished making a round of drinks, got all caught up and then told Anna, “Can I serve his table?”
“Sure,” Anna said, staring at some receipts. “I don’t think anyone in here wants to mess with that one.”
“Thanks for being cool about all of that,” she said softly as she grabbed an order pad and a pen.
“I’ve been around you werewolves before. Seemed tame to me. Chase Mullins is a pest. It was kind of satisfying watching him get walloped across the face. That’s been a long time coming.”
Kit grinned as she passed her by. “I’ll be right back.”
“Yep,” Anna said blandly as she continued studying the receipts.
“Hey,” she told Bridger, who was looking down at a menu.
He looked up at her, and his eyes were still that striking bright gold.
God, he was hot. Like…way better than his pictures even.
He had trimmed his beard shorter than when she’d seen him earlier, and he smelled like wolf and cologne.
His arm muscles were taut and perfect and stretched the fabric of his T-shirt just right. He looked jacked.
Like it was a habit, he curved the bill of his hat and then cracked his knuckles as he leaned back in the chair. “What was that guy doing?”
Oh, there was a growl to his voice.
“Being a jerk. You men are kind of good at that.”
He ran his hand down his short facial scruff. “Sorry for earlier.”
“Forgiven. Completely. Seriously, thank you for taking care of the Chase guy.”
Bridger shrugged. “No worries.”
She inhaled sharply. She should not say what was on her mind. She should not say it. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“That was the hottest thing I think I have ever witnessed.”
He frowned under the bill of his baseball cap. “Me hitting a guy? You don’t get out much, do you?”
“No, I mean, you knew exactly what I needed when I hinted at that guy. I didn’t have to ask you or explain. You just…took care of it.”
Bridger nodded slowly. “I’ll have the burger. Two patties, fried egg on top. Fries with it, add the pasta salad, the mac and cheese bites, the jalape?o poppers, and a side of another double cheeseburger.”
She laughed. “Oh my gosh, would you like anything else?”
“A beer. Something local. I’m not picky.”
“Sure you don’t want another Alabama Slammer?”
“Nah. One is enough.”
“You know every time someone orders one of those around him, Chase is going to associate it with the trauma of getting hit.”
A grin cracked Bridger’s face. “Good.”
She hesitated, shifting her weight to the other side. “Seriously, thank you.”
“Yep.”
She began to walk off but turned. “What are you doing here?”