Chapter 5

Lia

For a Thursday night, Jimney’s was pretty dead. A few of the regular patrons were there, of course, but nothing like usual.

At the end of the bar sat James, a well-dressed business professional who had been coming in for about two months now. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but I spotted a tan line on that left finger. It meant he was either having an affair or looking to have one.

I tucked my purse beneath the bar, threw on my apron, and covered my windblown hair with a do-rag before approaching him. “What can I get you tonight, James?”

His grin grew wide as he eyed my halter. The stench of whiskey flowed off him in waves, which meant he’d been at it for a while.

“Whatever you’re willing to make me, sweetness.” He nodded, his lecherous gaze never straying far from my chest.

Because I was used to disgusting behavior, I ignored him as he took me in. Maybe if he got it out of his system with me, he’d go home to his wife and look at her later.

Patricia moved in from my right, stacking the tap glasses into their usual design. “You had a visitor earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” I finished pouring James’s drink and set it on the napkin in front of him. He nodded his approval, moving on to leer at Patricia’s chest next. “Who was it?”

“Who do you think?”

My stomach dropped.

Crap. Travis.

I dried my damp hands on the towel in front of me, then slung it over my shoulder. With a hip against the bar, I tried to act casual as I asked, “What’d he say?”

“Not much.” Patricia poured a couple of beers and took the money from a guy with lip piercings before she continued. “Just wanted to know when you were going to be working next.” She frowned and looked at me. “I thought you two were done.”

“We are.” Except that Travis wouldn’t take a no, a hell no, or a get-the-hell-out-of-my-life no for an answer.

I moved to serve a group of three older gentlemen, all wearing motorcycle vests. They looked out of place in Jimney’s, eyeing everything with dark suspicion.

“That all you gonna say about it?” Patricia asked.

I winced. Of course she’d be looking for more gossip. The woman lived vicariously through her younger employees. I had half a mind to tell her to get a life, but I needed this job—and, even more, that thousand extra bucks.

“Yep.” I smiled and grabbed the money from one of the biker dudes. He told me to keep the change to a fifty. I pocketed the rest after sorting out the bar’s cut, thankful for generous tippers.

“Not kidding when I say you need to keep your personal business outta my bar. I’m already in enough hot water with fire code violations. Don’t need no more drama in here to shut this place down.”

I spun around to face her. “If you want to talk drama, then I suggest you speak with Aubrey, since she’s the one who screws her coworkers’ boyfriends.”

“Hey now. Aubrey may be high maintenance, but she brings in business. This sounds like something you two need to work out, not me.”

“Whatever.” And with that reply, I went back to work.

I’d be fired by the end of my shift if I had to listen to Patricia rag on me all night. Thankfully, two hours later, the place was hopping, so neither of us had time to talk again.

By the time eleven rolled around, sweat was pouring down my back between my shoulder blades, and by midnight, my halter top had practically turned into a second layer of skin.

“Whatcha having, boys?” I hollered at four guys hunched over the far end of the bar. Each of them was wasted and probably not even legal. Yeah, I’d checked their IDs and they looked legit, but that didn’t mean much.

“One of your kind, in the back room, naked.” The tallest one, a meaty-looking dude with gray eyes and short brown hair, leaned over the bar and grabbed my halter strap. A football player from Western, was my guess; I knew that type far too well.

An unwelcome shudder powered through me, memories taking me on an unwanted joy ride. But like I’d learned to do over the past few years, I pushed that disgust down, reminding Old Lia she didn’t have a place within me any longer.

I unhooked his fingers from my strap, slammed his hand on the bar, and smirked. “I’m not for sale.” He flinched while his friends hooted and hollered in that way only douche college boys did.

I turned to my next customer, ignoring the asshole’s “What a bitch” comment from behind. Thankfully, I was no longer sensitive about unjustified word vomit.

Two women asked for screwdrivers, and as I was pouring the vodka in, another arm stretched across the bar and grabbed my wrist. “I’m not gonna tell you again, asshole. Hands. Off.” I growled and lifted my chin, only to have two dark eyes meet mine.

“You good?” he asked as he let go.

My chest warmed at Max’s words, like a soothing fire had been lit inside me. “What are you doing here?” Regardless of my initial shock, I blew out a breath and smiled. Twice in less than seven days he’d graced my presence—though the first time wasn’t necessarily by choice.

I handed the two ladies their drinks but didn’t miss their lingering stares as they latched on to my new companion’s profile.

Max’s eyes were soft, while his normally playful grin was replaced with concern directed toward me. “Someone bothering you tonight? Is it Travis?”

I shook my head once, taken aback by his appearance. “No. Not him.” Normally, I didn’t take stock of what a man wore. But when it came to Max, I couldn’t help myself. Dressed in a sky-blue, V-necked T-shirt that only enhanced the hard muscles hidden underneath, he looked like something straight out of GQ. The black hair hanging over his left eyebrow only added to the sexy, yet worried quirk of his brow. “Just some over friendly college boys looking to see if the rumors here are true. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are they true?” Max’s eyes narrowed in accusation.

A shot of ice pushed through my veins, and all the warmth I’d been feeling fizzled out. God, he was worse than my brother sometimes. Jimney’s did not house prostitutes in the back room. Sure, this was a scuzzy bar that used to have the occasional hooker entrepreneur when Patricia’s husband ran the joint, but that’d been stopped the second she divorced him and took over.

“Go home, Maxwell.”

Ignoring whatever answer he had for me, I moved to serve my next customers. Surprisingly, he let me go, which wasn’t a Max thing to do. I wasn’t sure if that pissed me off or worried me more. Maxwell Martinez never let me have the last word, no matter what direction our conversation went.

I used to be his equal, the one he’d fight and make up with. Now, I felt more like his problem than his friend. I already had enough protection from my brother, so the last thing I wanted was to be treated with kid gloves.

Ten minutes later, the sound of glass shattering on the floor broke me out of my trance. Eyes wide, I glared across the bar, finding Gavin in some guy’s face and Max driving his fist into the meaty guy’s nose.

“Son of a—” I raced around to the front of the bar.

“I’m calling the police,” Patricia hollered at my back.

I turned and yelled over my shoulder, “Don’t you dare.”

I swirled back around, my eyes focused on the back of Max’s head as I contemplated how the hell I’d break this up before Joe Bob, Jimney’s only bouncer, came in. For the first time since I started working here, I was thankful Patricia was too cheap to hire more than one security guard.

The red fire extinguisher by the door caught my eye. On a mission, I unlatched it off the wall and stood next to the group. “Knock it off,” I yelled, not caring who’d get shot with the spray. I did not get paid enough to deal with this kind of crap.

I pulled the trigger, and white foam filled the air. It landed on Max’s back first. He stumbled off the beefy jerk from earlier and covered his face.

“Get out of here.” I glared at the college boys next, pointing the nozzle their way.

Gavin grabbed Max’s wrist. Together, the two of them stood—tall, brooding, foam-covered men whom I both loved and currently despised. Max laughed when he looked down at his clothing, while Gavin narrowed his eyes.

The beefy jerk coughed and spit blood all over the floor. I winced, knowing I’d be the one to clean it up. “Fuck you and this fucking bar.” The kid swiped a hand over his forehead and stood, drops of white foam flinging through the air.

Gavin darted forward, but Max held an arm against his friend’s chest. “Not worth it, Gav.”

I snorted at his supposedly heroic words. If these guys weren’t worth it, then why was Max throwing punches? Hypocrite.

Joe Bob came forward, parting the crowd of onlookers with his six-foot-five frame. A beast of a man, he towered over every idiot—man or woman—in the bar. He was my hero in a black T-shirt, the one person in this bar I could relate to and love.

“We got problems, Lia?” He moved in from my right, calm, yet deadly.

“These guys”—I motioned toward the four college jocks, glaring at the one with the messed-up face and nasty attitude—“need to go.”

Because Joe Bob didn’t question me, he took a step toward the group and managed to usher them all outside.

Gavin darted my way, his pointed glare like a laser beam. “If that’s the kind of bullshit you deal with on a daily basis, Lia, then you need to find a new job. Now.”

Unconcerned with Gavin’s orders, I focused my attention on Max. Unlike Gav, he was bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving from exertion and laughter.

“Maxwell.” I snapped my fingers, and his eyes met mine. “Follow me. Now.” I pointed toward the storage room behind me and hoisted the fire extinguisher onto my shoulder, not bothering to see if he was following as I headed toward the door.