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“Not going to go all crazy on me next week when I come in here and pick up another girl?”
“Not really my style,” I tell him.
“Free drinks then?”
“I can charge you double?”
His laughter is smoky and rough and, despite the warmth in the air, it sends a wave of cold chills over my arms.
He’s dangerous. I can already tell, but not in the way that he’ll cause physical pain. He’s the right kind of flirt, and so confident in himself that he has to be good at what he’s offering.
“One night,” I clarify, smiling as he dips his head. “And then what?”
“Friends,” he offers, holding out his hand as if we're making some sort of deal.
“Meet me after my shift,” I tell him before walking away to help another customer.
Chapter 1
Walker
"Be right back," I tell Maggie before heading to the back.
The bar is crazy tonight, and although it's a great problem to have, staffing has been an issue for the last couple of months.
You'd think in a college town there'd be no shortage of people needing to make some fast cash, but we haven't had many people interested in working. Maybe their parents are providing all they need, unlike years in the past, when almost all students had a part-time job.
I grab the case of beer and make my way back out to the bar, my eyes scanning the crowd in an effort to make sure there aren't any current issues and also to try and predict where there might be problems later on.
At thirty-two, I think I've spent more time at The Hairy Frog than I've spent anywhere else. I worked here after turning eighteen, before joining the Army, and it wasn't long after my eight years in the service that I came home to Lindell and bought the place.
"What else did you need?" I ask Maggie, my best waitress, after getting the case into the cooler.
"I need the bag changed on the Coke, but that woman needs to speak with you first." Maggie points across the bar, and I wish I'd found something else to do rather than look in the direction she's pointing.
Claire Kennedy.
She's the prettiest woman in town. Although she's technically single, there's an unspoken rule in the military about setting your sights on another man's woman. It doesn't matter that she's a widow and has been single for more than three years. She's off-limits.
I know why she's here and it makes telling her no difficult, but there's no way I can have this woman in my bar day in and day out. It's been hard to stay away from her as it is with her silky brown hair and intriguing brown eyes. Despite not being from Lindell, she still has that whole small-town girl aura around her. It's what makes every man in this place turn and pay attention when she steps inside.
My lips form a flat line as I walk toward her, and I can tell by the way she has her eyes locked on me that she isn't impressed with me at all. Her indifference when she looks at me hits me in a way it shouldn't. It almost makes me want to perform somehow, or smile, or do something to pull a different reaction from her, but I know better. It's not my place to impress her or make her feel any sort of way.
"Claire," I say when I approach, praying she doesn't hear the way her name on my lips makes me feel.
I clench my hands into fists, but she's too observant and sees my reaction.
She narrows her eyes as she lifts them up to mine.
"I need an application," she says, her tone bored and unenthusiastic.
Why does she have to be so damned pretty?
"We don't have any open shifts," I lie, keeping my eyes on her chin rather than the sleek line of her neck as she turns her head to look around the busy bar. People are stacked three deep at the bar, and I don't have to look out into the crowd to see several people looking around in order to find a waitress or someone willing to bring them another round.
"Megan has been running back and forth since I got here," she argues. "The woman is sweating from her efforts."
"You're not listening," I begin. "We—"
