Hard Checked (Ice Kings #4) - Stacey Lynn Page 0,6

been there. I took two years to blow off steam after my marriage ended, even if it ended amicably. I get having a bad night. However, it’s not only my job to try to encourage responsible drinking, I like this guy and seeing him so upset upsets me.

After I take a quick trip to the restrooms and clean up trash and wipe down counters, I swing back and pick up the food and say goodnight to Max, the last cook who will be leaving soon.

Back at the bar, Steve asks me to tell him again about my experience in Amsterdam’s Red-Light District. I slide the food onto the bar without looking at Sebastian, but I feel his smirk as I pass him.

It’s a common story, and really not all that exciting, but Steve likes imagining all the drugs you can buy from coffee shops and hearing about the night I spent in the Red-Light District.

Typical man stuff when in reality, the coffee at the coffee shops is shitty, and usually in the most popular tourist areas. There were very few locals when I went into one once, and once was enough for me. As for the Red-Light District?

It was an experience, and nerve-wracking, not because it’s dangerous but because I am a female, a relatively small one, and I was terrified something could happen to me. In truth, it wasn’t anything like I expected with the workers in windows they rent from brothels. Sure, there were workers on the street, but the ones men mostly went to see were safe behind a building’s glass window in tiny alleys that curved along canals. The area was patrolled to make me feel safe enough and even though it isn’t my thing at all, it was interesting.

I repeat all I remember from the time there, the drunken bachelor party, or stag party, who were all escorted away for not being respectful. The women’s outfits. The music. And of course, the red lights shining from windows indicating someone was available.

“Gigi.”

Sebastian calls my name like a bark and I shift, arching my brows at him.

I get a chin lift and a tip of his head in response, asking for my attention.

I tap the bar. “Be right back, guys.”

“Ain’t got nowhere to be, sweetheart.”

I roll to my toes and kiss Steve’s cheek. His wife Amy died from brain cancer a couple years back and since then, he almost lives at the corner of this bar. I’ve teased him about making him a nameplate so he can have an assigned seat. Sadly, he’s here often enough assigning him a chair is unnecessary.

Making my way back to Sebastian, I fill a glass of soda for myself and prop my hip near the cooler across from him. “Something I can get for you?”

A ride home? Ibuprofen for the headache you’re going to have?

He shakes his head and sips more from the shot glass. “You ever get lonely?”

“Excuse me?”

“When traveling. You ever get lonely?”

There’s a strange look in his green eyes. He ditched his hat at some point so I can see him clearly. It’s almost painful to look at someone as beautiful as he is. I want to slide my hand through his hair, brush my thumb along the deep lines on his forehead to smooth away his stress.

“If I want company, I can find it.”

His eyes widen and it takes me a second to realize how that sounds.

Still a true statement, but embarrassment floods my veins, heating them. He’s not flirting with you or propositioning you, dumbass. Right. Of course not.

“I meant—”

“I like being alone,” I cut him off. I know what he meant. “I like the quiet and the peace that comes with it and I figure if you can’t be happy alone with yourself, you’ll never really be happy around another person. You know?”

“No.”

He sighs and drains the shot glass. When he reaches for the bottle, I take it from him, holding it out of his reach. He eyes the bottle of bourbon like I imagine he focuses on the puck during a game.

Softening my voice, I ask, “I know I’ve asked, and I know you lied. You can tell me what’s wrong. I won’t repeat it to anyone.”

His thumb on his left hand twirls his black, thick wedding band, but he doesn’t take his laser-focus off the bottle in my hand. “Just a shitty time. Can I have my drink now?”

I debate. He’s had enough. At this point, even getting his drunk butt into an