Pretty Boy (Perfect Boys #1) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,8

It’s silly, but it made me feel sorta…special, I guess.

Butterflies dance in my stomach until I sternly tell myself to quit. A guy can get himself hurt getting all caught up in a fantasy like that. Of course Barrett doesn’t think I’m special. I’m not special. Heck, I’d settle for ordinary if I could.

I avoid looking into the bathroom mirror while I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, and then shuffle down the hall to my room to get dressed for work. I can hear my mama rustling about in her room when I pass it. Hearing her settles some of my worries. Sometimes I get to thinking terrible things might happen to her, but it doesn’t feel like I can do nothing to stop them. All I can do is keep a roof over her head and hope for the best.

I keep an eye out for Bryson or Tommy as I walk to Billow’s Tavern, relief filling me when I reach the bar without any trouble.

“Evenin’ Sterling,” Miss Maggie greets me when I step inside. She’s owned the tavern since before I was born. Her husband owned it before that, until he died under what some people say were very mysterious circumstances. Now, I’m not saying Miss Maggie killed him, but that is what a lotta folks ‘round here think. She’s always been kind to me though, so as far as I’m concerned, either it was an accident or she musta had a darn good reason to do it.

“Evenin’ Miss Maggie,” I reply with a brief smile, slipping behind the bar and grabbing the broom that’s propped against the wall so I can get a good sweep in before regulars start coming in.

“Oh, darlin’, your face is a bit swollen. Did something happen?” she asks, catching me under the chin and studying my cheek. I ease back and turn my face away.

“Just a little trouble, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t that damned Bryson again, was it?” she huffs indignantly, and a smile tugs on my lips. Her concern makes me feel nice, warm, but not at all hot and fluttery like Barrett’s concern did.

“It don’t matter,” I say softly. “I’ll be fine.”

She grumbles something about Bryson needing a swift kick in the rear, and I smile again, and then get to work with my sweeping. After a while, Miss Maggie leaves for the night, and the regulars start filling their stools.

I hoped work would distract me from thinking about Barrett, but every time the bell jangles, I look up, my heart tripping over itself with stupid hope that it’ll be him. Not sure why he’d show up here after I was a perfect ass to him even after he saved me from a good thrashing. Mind you, I still don’t appreciate that he took one look at my pea soup and thought I needed him to buy me dinner, but I coulda been more polite about the whole thing.

It’s a little after ten when he steps into the bar. I’m so surprised, I let out an embarrassing squeak and nearly drop the glass of beer I’m filling.

“Watch it,” Roy Jenkins scolds me as beer cascades over the rim of the glass and down my fingers.

“Sorry,” I mutter, setting it down and grabbing a rag to wipe the glass off, and then handing it to him. “Sorry,” I say again, and he nods in acknowledgment, not saying another word.

I use the same rag to wipe the sticky beer from my hand before tossing it aside and making my way to the end of the bar where Barrett’s claimed a seat.

“What can I get ya?” I ask, dragging my tongue over my dry lips and letting my eyes roam over the strong cut of his jaw for a few seconds. He looks so sturdy—big muscles, broad shoulders, thighs thick as tree trunks. I bet he could pick me up and throw me over his shoulder like nothing. I have no idea why that thought it so arousing, but damn if my dick doesn’t rise to the occasion.

“A beer is fine, pre-” He must see my glare because he stops himself, giving me a wry smile before finishing. “Sterling.”

I nod and pour him a beer.

“What are you doin’ in town anyway?” I ask when I set it in front of him, my curiosity getting the best of me. I can’t for the life of me imagine what Billow could possibly have to offer for him to be sticking around all