One Eye was about to get his wish.
Risking life and limb for pepperoni pizza wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, but there was a six-foot-something man thrown in for dessert, so it was worth it.
Dusk was falling as she navigated the gravel shoulder in rubber flip-flops; a poor choice, considering the inclement weather. The highway was traffic-free, but she could see the Last Stop’s parking lot as she passed the Mini-Mart, and it was full. Surprising, given the severe thunderstorm warning.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, electricity crackling. It raised the hair on her arms and she rubbed them, wishing she’d grabbed a sweater. And her non-buoyant polka-dot umbrella. Rain was imminent.
Imagining tumbling ass over ankles down a raging ditch river to her watery grave had her double-timing it toward the bar.
Jason had left the motel room to grab their pizza a half hour ago, promising to return in ten minutes. His truck was still here, so he hadn’t flown the coop, but something was holding him—and their dinner—up.
If he was distracted by video poker hair pie, she was busting balls for sure.
After she got her pizza.
The wind gusted as she opened the heavy door to the Last Stop, the storm gathering strength. Allowing her vision to adjust to the dimly-lit bar, she weaved her way through the crowd toward Rusty. He was dumping vodka into a martini shaker.
A group of guys circling the pool table leered as she walked by. Based on the number of shots in front of them, along with the volume of their raunchy conversation, they were closer to drunk than sober.
“Those boys aren’t feeling any pain tonight, are they?” Leaning against the bar, she spoke to the only familiar face in sight.
Rusty barked out a laugh. “Tequila cures all and they’ve had plenty. Makes the jerk come out too. How’s your honeymoon?”
“Awesome,” she beamed, searching the crowd for Jason. “Better than if I’d brought my no-good weasel of a groom along. He’s a jerk, with or without tequila.”
“I’ve got a feeling that guy agrees with the awesome part.” He motioned over her shoulder. “Usually only stays a few hours. Been here three days now. What can I get you?”
“Chardon—” She turned, the word stalling.
The sound of the bar faded, as did the sight.
The sight of everything, but Jason. And a brunette. Huddled in a dark corner with their heads together, the crowd conveniently parting to provide a clear line of sight. As if to show her the error of her ways.
He didn’t notice her. All his attention was on the woman clinging to him like a dryer sheet. The waitress working the night they’d met—Brittany something or other. The one who hadn’t looked twice at her but looked plenty at him.
A shallow, sinking feeling settled within, like that of a helpless passenger stuck in a careening jetliner nose-diving toward the ground.
Deprived of oxygen, she took her first breath since spotting them, inhaling recycled bar air and sharp jealousy. Then anger. It seared her insides fiery red. It rooted her to the floor, peanut shells under her flip-flops.
It muffled Rusty’s voice. “You want the whole bottle to go with your pizza? The boss man’s sweet on you, so his treat.”
Look away, her protective mind shouted. And she wanted to, badly.
But she couldn’t. And that’s when he noticed her.
Zeroing in from across the bar, their eyes connected, his expression neutral. No surprise, no embarrassment, no guilt. And then he looked away, as if he didn’t know her. As if he hadn’t spent the last three days with her. As if he hadn’t been inside her body.
The slurred musings of a drunk pool player resonated, his vulgar comments about Brittany’s anatomy complimentary, but highly offensive. Jason had him in a chokehold an instant later, propelling him toward the exit with authority. His buddies jeered, but Jason saw them out next, some stumbling as they went.
He stopped the only sober one to confirm he was driving before letting him go.
Like her, everyone watched in awe as he singlehandedly kicked them out, Rusty not batting an eye at the loss of eight paying customers. The commotion over, they returned to their drinks.
Unmoving, Tessa watched him walk back to the waitress and whisper something. She nodded, dabbing her eyes with a bar towel as he guided her toward a closed door marked Employees Only.
Brittany glanced her way, and with a sheepish look, mouthed, “Sorry.”
That bitch had some audacity.
Once they disappeared into the back room, Tessa’s ability to move returned.
“Your pizza’s ready, so he’ll be out soon. You want a glass or the whole bottle?” Holding up the chardonnay, Rusty was unfazed. “You look a little flushed.”
Unable to find her voice, she shook her head and turned, walking slowly toward the exit, then faster. Away from the eye-opening, heartbreaking scene. People were in her way, but she politely pushed through, not wanting to throw elbows.
Breathe, she chanted. Walk and breathe.
Sprinkles greeted her once she made it outside, the storm beginning its rage.
A firm grip on her arm stopped her as she neared the road and she spun on the gravel, not caring they were in public.
“Let go of me.” Her voice shaky, she tried to twist out of his grip.
“What’s your problem?” Seeming surprised, he pulled her away from the dangerous highway.
“What’s my problem? You, Jason. You’re my problem! You and your inability to commit to a relationship for more than seventy-two hours!”
His eyes narrowed. “We’re not in a relationship, so skip the sermon. I don’t need your judgment. You can drop the wounded look while you’re at it, too. You went into this with your eyes wide open.”
“I know we’re not in a relationship.” She made air quotes, sarcasm dripping as anger dominated the hurt. “I’m fully aware of your chicken shit status when it comes to that word, not to mention your stupid fucking line. Have I told you lately how stupid that fucking line is?”
Certain situations called for repeated use of the F-word.
“It’s not stupid, and you agreed to it.”
“Call me naïve when it comes to no-strings sex then. I didn’t think it meant you’d be fucking a waitress at the same time.”
His head shot back. “I’m not fucking her.” The words hinted of distaste.
Poor Brittany. Poor, motel-roomwrecking Brittany.
Tessa looked away, hiding irrational tears even as one rolled down her cheek.
“These are because I’m mad,” she clarified, knowing he saw them but trying to maintain her dignity. “No other reason.”
“There’s nothing to be mad about. We don’t owe each other anything.” He tilted his head. “Is this because of Brittany?”
Tessa nearly went apoplectic. “Yes, you idiot! What else would this be about?”
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but it’s way off base.”
“Pretty sure I know what I saw, thank you very much. You could’ve at least delivered my pizza before sticking it to another chick.” Bending at the waist, she tried not to hyperventilate. “Oh, God, please tell me it wasn’t her ass.”
“I wasn’t sticking it to Britt. The only woman I’m sticking it to, as you so eloquently put it, is you. I own the Last Stop, Tessa. She works for me. That’s all she is to me. An employee.”
“Wait.” She squeezed her temples. “You own the Last Stop?”
“I bought it out of bankruptcy five years ago.” His level gaze confirmed it. “That guy was her ex. He’s been sober for six months, but today he drank again, and spent most of the night harassing her. They have a kid together, so she’s upset. As you can imagine.”
She’d feel bad for defaming Brittany another day.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? That you own this place?”
He shrugged, the damp t-shirt molding his broad shoulders. “Never came up.”
“Never came up,” she parroted. “That you own the bar we met at? That we can see from our motel room? That we’ve driven by several times and talked about numerous others?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were a Navy SEAL? Oh, holy shit,” she said, turning in a circle, hand over her mouth. “Is this a case of stolen valor? Are you one of those douchebags they expose on the news? Jesus, I’ve been catfished.”
He laughed. The man literally laughed at her.
If he wasn’t so handsome, she’d aim her flip-flop at his nut sack.
“Nobody’s stealing any valor. Rusty manages the bar for me. What he can’t take care of, I handle remotely, and stop by once a year to make sure the place is still standing.”
“I notice you didn’t deny being a douchebag,” she pointed out.
“You got me there.”
“Why do you do that? Hide yourself from me?” It was a futile attempt, but she had to try. “I like you, Jason. I wanna know more about you. Deep down inside.”
That earned her a flat look, his gaze shuttering. “I’m nobody you wanna know, bud. Go home. Go back to San Diego and your almost perfect life, and forget you ever met me.”
“You can’t give an inch, can you? I’ve told you everything about me. My shithead ex, my incredible job, my addiction to carbohydrates. But you? I can’t get anything without begging. I know next to nothing beyond your favorite band and the size of your package. And this,” she added, pointing to the bar, “proves it. You can open up to me. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m safe.”
The rain came full force then, heavy and cold, soaking them both in seconds.
“I repeat,” he said, his jaw tight, “I’m nobody you wanna know. Trust me and go about your merry way.”
The words were harsh, the way he said them harsher. He hadn’t been this callous since he’d ordered her to find another barstool.
Then, he resented her presence. Now, it felt the same way.
She shivered, searching his face. “Why all that bullshit today? Your answers to the comment card? A date to play pinochle? You could’ve just said it, you know. You should’ve just said it was done before agreeing to stay another night. Gotten in your truck and left.”
The cold rain had no effect on him. “This was over before it started. You knew that from the beginning. Walking away was the name of our game.”
“You’re right. But what I didn’t know was how easy it would be for you.” Voice cracking, she waited for him to deny it. He didn’t. “Or how hard it would be for me.”
He lifted his arms. “Told you I’m an asshole.”
“And you’re right again.”
Turning on slippery flip-flops, she rushed through the cold, driving rain, toward room two-twelve at the Tumbleweed Motor Lodge.
No pizza. No pinochle.
No pretending he had a heart.