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I’ve got half a glass of Chardonnay poured when the pretty blonde scoots between Hunter and the next barstool. My hand tightens, threatening to shatter the stemware.
“Hi there. What’s your name?” she purrs.
Seriously? I’m so shocked by her directness that I overpour. Hunter, of course, notices and the twitch of his lips is the first I’ve seen in ages. It kills me that he’s not happier. He used to be.
Pulling my shoulders back and reminding myself to stop wanting things I can’t have, I gather the wine glasses and head back to the other women. And yes, I completely ignore the fact that one of them cuddled up to the man I’ve wanted for years.
Freaking years wasted.
“Not interested,” I hear him say as I take up my position behind the bar once more. Did I ask if the women wanted dinner? No. No, I did not. Because my insides feel like they’re in a pressure cooker, and not even his rebuff of this perfectly coiffed woman soothes me.
I grab a rag, turning away because if she manages to snag his attention, I don’t want to see. Correction: I can’t see that. I won’t. So I wipe down the counter in front of the massive liquor collection and try desperately not to hear their conversation. Except I can. Why? Because for a moment, the din of football fans quiets enough that I hear Blondie ask, “Are you dating someone? She doesn’t need to know.”
My hand stops the furious cleaning. There’s a long pause, and I feel that telltale tickle up my spine. It stops at the base of my neck, and I swear I can feel his big hand resting there. Steadying me. Teasing me.
My pussy perks up as if he’s petting her. The hussy.
“Nope.”
“So you’re not taken.”
Geez. The woman’s like a python in her tenacity. I’d give her points if I wasn’t so shredded. Hunter getting attention is nothing new. He’s good-looking, dresses well, and for the most part, polite. Kind. Helpful even.
He’s a catch, and everyone in Love Valley knows it.
“Didn’t say that,” he rumbles.
There’s another beat of silence. Rachel calls my name. I huff out a breath.
“You’ve got this, Piper,” I mutter as I turn toward her. Toward him.
I feel his attention again. It’s quick but sends a hot zing of awareness through me, pebbling my nipples. Thank goodness for the button-up shirt that hides my predicament.
“Everything okay?” she asks when I get there.
“Well, which is it?” Blondie asks Hunter.
I purse my lips because I have never been this emotionally tangled during work. Like a normal person, I usually whine and pine in my free time. Maybe it’s PMS or the knowledge that my cousin Macey is expecting me in LA day two days from now.
“Peachy,” I tell Rachel. Why do my jeans feel so tight suddenly?
Rachel’s gaze bounces to Hunter, then back to me. She rattles off her uber-complicated drink order, but I know she knows something’s up.
“Ma’am,” she says to Blondie, grabbing a menu from the stack. “Did you get a menu?”
“I’m good.” She returns her attention to Hunter, and I pop the top on a bottle of beer. I grab a glass and set about making whatever concoction Rachel ordered. Three cherries? Ugh.
As if realizing that he won’t get rid of her without explanation, Hunter puts down his burger and wipes his mouth. If he was anyone else, I’d say he was gathering his courage, but Hunter is tougher than that. Tougher than anyone I know. Last year, he saved a bear cub from a dumpster while the momma bear lost her shit a dozen feet away.
He cuts the woman a look from the corner of his eye. “I’m looking for something permanent. Seems to me like you’re looking for a night of fun.”
“Oh, I’m a lot of fun.” She slides a hand across his shoulder.
I tear my gaze away and finish gathering drinks for Rachel. By the time I finish filling half a dozen shots at the other end of the bar, Blondie’s back with her friends.
“Want another drink?” I ask Hunter.
Before I can catalog his features for the millionth time, an angry shout carries over everything else. Across the room, a guy shoves a finger in another man’s face.
