she’d already left.
Slade went to the office, grabbed some of the clean clothes he kept there, and headed for the locker room, which was thankfully in working order. He took a quick shower and changed to go out. After the day he’d had, he needed a drink or ten.
He walked into the Pier and automatically felt his shoulders drop and the tension begin to roll off his back. He’d been coming to this bar for as long as he could remember—first with Chrissy and their dad for the best popcorn shrimp in town, and then when he became old enough to drink, this had quickly become his favorite hangout with Jack and his buddies. It was almost like his second home. He walked toward the pretty, tattooed pixie-like woman leaning against the bar.
“Hey, JL, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Hey, sugar. Nothing much happening here. Except I can’t get this shell off this damn peanut and I’m starved.” She grunted, threw the peanut back into the basket, and looked up at Slade. “You look like you need a drink. What can I get ya?”
“The coldest beer you have on tap.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
Jamie Lynn turned around to get him his drink. Slade grabbed a peanut, shelled it, and whistled to Jamie Lynn before throwing the nut to her. She caught it quickly, and popped it in her mouth. “Thanks,” she said with a smile.
Slade rested his forearms on the bar top as he played with a napkin, ate some peanuts, drank his beer, and thought about Jessica’s ass.
What the hell was going on with him and Jessica’s ass? He wasn’t even an ass man. Everyone knew that about him. Hell, he knew that about himself. But her ass seemed to be everywhere! As if he hadn’t had enough of it that day, there she was, bent over, pool stick in hand, looking aloof and carefree. He came in to unwind at the Pier on a Wednesday night after busting his ass all day, and even there he couldn’t escape Jessica’s goddamn ass.
Three men hovered around her. He stared from across the room for a few minutes before hearing a familiar deep voice with a Southern drawl. He had been so focused on Jessica’s ass, he hadn’t bothered to look at who the three men were.
“Son of a motherfucker!” Slade hissed. He sat back and watched Jessica play pool with none other than Travis. Was the guy everywhere? Slade was this close to firing his cowboy ass. Okay, the guy was great with the fighters, working them out like no one else, but damned if he wasn’t getting on Slade’s last nerve. He also saw Cain leaning against the back wall, pool stick in his hand, looking at his woman’s derriere with a smirk. His woman, as in Jessica. A sudden urge to pound his fists against his chest and proclaim her as his surged through him.
But what really made him see red was watching Tony lean over next to Jessica, showing her how to position the balls on the pool table. Jessica smiled up at the fighter, and that was it.
He scraped the barstool back and stood. A hand touched his shoulder and a husky voice, with a hint of amusement, said, “Don’t mess up my bar, boy.” Slade looked behind him to see Jett sitting next to him. Jett was in his mid-fifties, with long hair that was now more white than blond, skin that had seen too much sun over the years and looked more like tanned leather than skin, a thick handlebar mustache, and a Hawaiian shirt. The man looked like he belonged in Key West with Jimmy Buffett. In fact, Jett looked like he’d own a bar like the Pier. But while Jett spent most of his time sitting around talking to the customers and drinking beer, his wife, Patsy, did most of the work. In a long, flowy dress, her straight blond hair always loose, she looked more like a flower child from the sixties than a bar owner. She was always behind the bar or tending tables. But she did it with a smile and was warm and sweet to everyone.
“Leave the boy alone, Jett.”
“How you doin’, Patsy?” Slade asked, leaning over to give Patsy a kiss on the cheek. He’d known them all his life. In fact, he knew most everyone in Tarpon Springs.
“Oh, you know me, honey. I’m great.” She put down the rag she had in her hand and glanced over at Jessica.