Chapter One
I pour a second shot of tequila and slide it down the bar toward the college guys waving a twenty like it’ll make me go faster. In truth, I’ve taken as long as possible, because although they’re kind of cute, I fucking hate them. I hate almost every guy who comes into my bar because too often I get insight into their shitty little minds. They get drunk and confess everything to me, every terrible way they’ve treated women, as if that will somehow impress me.
I joke with my best friend Kinsey that these little chats have turned me off dating—the reason why I’m perpetually single. I have a strict non-committal policy. I take what I want, and then wave them on. I don’t need the hassle.
Plus, opening this bar has been my dream, Banks Bar and Grill. My only real focus. With that said, I never intended to live out my dream in small town Kansas, of all places, but my brothers are here. So at least I have some family around again. “Another,” the long-haired frat boy named Dougie calls out, slamming his shot glass on the counter. He laughs, his eyes glassy, and I sigh.
“No,” I say simply, and collect his glass.
“Not cool, Phoebe,” he says too loudly. His friends groan, knowing he’s going to be a problem. He sometimes gets rowdy, but he never gets out of control. I think he’s been sipping on a flask or something, because I definitely haven’t served him enough to be this belligerent.
“Time to go, Dougie,” I say without regret. “Tell your friends to drive your ass home. Or call a car, I don’t care.”
“I want another drink,” he says, slapping his hand on the bar. I, not worried, put my hands on my hips, daring him to test me.
His friend tells him to chill out, but Dougie stands, his jaw tights and his beady eyes angry. I’ve never seen him here with a girl, and I imagine part of that is because he’s a terrible drunk.
“Night,” I say sarcastically, and wave to him.
Dougie swipes out his arm, and knocks his friend’s shot glass onto the floor, making a girl at a neighboring table gasp when it smashes.
I’m about to grab some reinforcements, my usual bouncer left early tonight, when a guy appears behind Dougie. Before he notices him, Dougie leans into the bar with spit on his lips.
“Fucking trash,” he says to me, making me flinch. Before I can punch him in the face, the guy behind him taps him on the shoulder. Dougie turns, and there is a sudden movement and a thud as the other guy blasts him in the side of his head with his fist, making Dougie fall back into the bar. I widen my eyes in surprise, but not anger. He deserved it.
Dougie’s friends laugh as the other guy hauls him to the door. The frat boys tell me that Dougie gets punched every time he drinks too much, and they offer me an apology, not bothering to help him.
The other guy is tall and muscular with a baseball hat pulled down low to cover his eyes, and I watch as he drags Dougie towards the door. It takes a moment, but I recognize him. He’s been in my bar on and off for the past few weeks, usually alone or with a small crowd. Never once has he looked at me. He keeps his eyes on the beer menu when he orders, even though he gets the same exact thing every time. I’m not sure if he’s shy or an asshole, but I don’t mind either way if he doesn’t cause a trouble. I’m grateful to him now as he literally tosses Dougie out the door and then closes it calmly before turning around.
It’s only for a second, but he tilts up his head enough for me to see his eyes, very blue, and then he goes back to his table. He’s with a guy with glasses and a pretty girl, and they both look beside themselves from his chivalry.
I’m maybe a little impressed too, so I fill up a customized stein—the kind customers normally have to buy and then get to take home with them—with his favorite beer, grab a plastic cup of ice, and walk over to the table. His friends glance up at my approach, but the cute guy keeps his head down, resting his knuckles against the nearly empty glass in front of him.
I set the ice down first, and then slide the heavy beer onto the table.
“You didn’t have to be a hero,” I say to the guy. “I would have kicked Dougie out, and if he didn’t go, I keep a baseball bat behind the bar.”
The girl widens her eyes, shocked at the idea, and looks across the table like she’s waiting for his reaction. The guy with glasses grins at the idea of me having a bat, and I see he’s wearing a sticker name tag that reads: Hello my name isYour Mama, and then underneath it,JK. I’m very respectful of mothers. Yours is great.
The hero licks his bottom lip, and moves his red knuckles to place them against the ice. He lifts his eyes to mine, and I have to stop myself from taking a sharp breath.
He’s kind of gorgeous. Like… really gorgeous. I’m disappointed that I didn’t check him out sooner. Then again, I’m not really into the shy, quiet guys. I’m too riotous for that. But I can enjoy the eye candy.
He has baby blue eyes with dark lashes, black hair sticking out from under his hat. He’s deeply tanned and broad, like maybe he plays sports outside. Probably on some team at the college. Too young for me, definitely. I’ll be twenty-five this year. What would I do with a college kid, other than fuck him, obviously?
And yet, he still says nothing, holding my eyes in a way that feels more intimate than if he were sliding his hand up my skirt. It’s like he can see me—really see me. Goosebumps ripple over my skin.
“Isaac,” the girl across from him says in a stage whisper. He glances at her, and then murmurs a thank you to me for the beer.
I stand there a moment, expecting a little more, if I’m honest. I know I’m attractive. Guys hit on me all the time. And sometimes I don’t mind it. Other times I tell them to fuck off. I wouldn’t say that to him, though. Not with those eyes.
Checking out the girl, I wonder if she’s his girlfriend, and I feel suddenly bad for my impure thoughts. Before I walk away, she looks at me, a little judgmental, and I see her eyes are just as blue. Same nose. His sister, maybe. Although that doesn’t explain why she’s looking at me the same way Dougie did a few minutes ago. Trash.
“Thank you,” the guy with glasses sings out, holding up his hand to me in gratitude.
I nod, and then spin around and go back behind the bar. The frat boys who’d been sitting there are now at a table, seeming to have completely forgotten about their friend. I take out my phone and text Kinsey, knowing she’s probably knee-deep in dog shit right now. She owns a grooming salon just up the street, but also boards them at her house when her customers need her. She currently has six dogs staying with her.
Super-hot college guy, I write. How bad of an idea on a scale of 1-10?
She replies immediately. Super-hot, you say?
Super-mega-orgasm-hot.
Shit, she writes.
“Excuse me,” a voice says, and I nearly drop my phone into the sink of hot, soapy water, startled. I look up, and the hero is standing there—luckily unable to read my text messages.
I glance behind him at his table, but his friends are gone. With him standing dead in front of me, I’m pretty sure my entire body lights up.
“Yes?” I ask as calmly as possible. I’m trying not to hold it against him that his maybe sister looked at me like I was garbage.
“Thank you for the beer,” he says, and he has a raspy voice. Sporty. Definitely jock. Not my type at all. Give me an artist, lanky and miserable, and I’m all over it. This… this was some small town sexy. A little too pure for me.
“You’re welcome,” I say. “And thank you for taking that creep outside. Your hand okay?”
He holds it up as if just remembering, and examines it. “Yeah. Just a little sore.”
I like that he admits it, and doesn’t just blow it off. And his voice, it’s just… damn. It’s as if he’s whispering into my ear, mid-thrust. It’s kind of dirty.
“More ice?” I suggest.
He nods that would be nice, and slides onto a stool at the bar. It’s nearly closing time, and the table of frat boys calls out goodbye to me, and leaves.
“I’m Isaac,” he says when I set a baggie full of ice on the bar in front him. He rests it on his knuckles. “Isaac Williamson.”
“Phoebe,” I reply. And then shrug. “It’s my bar.”
He smiles, and nods like he knows that, although I don’t think he did. Most people assume I work here. They never assume I own it.
“Were you here with your study group?” I ask, pouring two glasses of beer and handing him one while I sip from the other.
He tilts his head, surprised by the question. “No,” he says. “That was my sister and my friend Castle. Arianna’s getting married, so she’s in town to coax me back home. I was letting Castle run interference.”
It was his sister. I knew it.
“And where’s home?” I ask.
“Arizona,” he says. “Scottsdale.”
“Oh,” I say, taking another sip from my drink. He does the same. If he’s from Scottsdale, he comes from money. Pretty much the opposite of my life.
“Pretty boy college student with a trust fund?” I say teasingly. “Why are you still in my bar, Isaac?” I put my lips on the cool glass, slowly taking another sip while I watch him over the rim.
And he really is so damn pretty.
He laughs to himself, resetting the ice on his knuckles. “My sister told me she figured out why I’ve been coming here. Asked if I talked to you yet. And then told me not to. So… you know, I have to prove a point.”
“And what point is that?”
“That I do what I want. That she can’t tell me who to associate with. I mean, I’m twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” I repeat, a little surprised.
“Graduate school,” he says. “Why—did you underestimate me?” he smiles, and it’s entirely flirtatious. Outrageously cute.
“I may have thought you were younger,” I admit. “Too young.”
“I’m not,” he replies easily. He takes another drink, and sweeps his blue gaze over my features.
“You closing up?” he asks.
“It’s about that time,” I say, setting down my drink and grabbing a cherry from the bar to pop into my mouth. “Cook went home an hour ago. But you’re welcome to stay and finish your beer.”
“I’ll do that,” he says.
I’m dying to pull off his hat, look him over. He’s entirely too adorable. I walk from behind the bar and go lock the door, flipping the sign around to say I’m closed. When I head back to the bar, he watches me.
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up and laugh at Kinsey’s text.
Do him. Super-mega-orgasm-hot doesn’t just walk into your bar every day.
She’s right about that. Although I’m far from chaste, I haven’t really hooked up with anyone since opening the bar. There was the contractor, of course. One my brother’s friends—which made him go ape shit, naturally. It didn’t help when I explained to Ry it was just sex, although Porter thought that part was funny.
And Isaac is sitting here, a little less shy now that we’re alone. Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s because I talked to him first. Who knows. I decide to test exactly what his motives are.
“Why have you’ve been coming to my bar?” I ask, taking out another cherry. “There’s a much classier one down the block.”
“You don’t work there,” he says, flashing me a smile. “Plus, they don’t have my favorite beer.” He motions to the glass I poured for him.
“You’re saying you been coming here to see me, and yet, you never spoke to me?”
“No offense, Phee,” he says, shortening my name. “But you’re a little intimidating.”
“What?” I ask, pretending to be shocked. “How so?” I lean my elbows on the bar top, getting closer to him.
He grows shy again. “You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice a little lower. “Tough. Pretty fucking sexy.” He smiles despite himself. “I didn’t want to embarrass myself.”
I swallow hard, turned on by his words, the way he says them. I reach over, and take the brim of his hat, slowly sliding it off his head. He has wavy dark hair, gorgeous against his skin. And those eyes.
“Want to help me move some cases of beer in the back room?” I ask, practically throwing myself at him. I set his hat on the bar.
“I do, in fact,” he says, licking his lips.
I bite back my smile, and walk around the bar, motioning for him to follow me. I don’t even want to think about it, really. I just want to do it. Do him. He’s too damn good to pass up.
And I’ve been a little stressed lately. I could use the release.