green above her head, smiling, her hips swaying to the beats of the song playing. She’s standing next to her friend, using a whiskey bottle as a microphone. I fight off my own smile that she at least looks healthy. Happy to see me? My stubborn heart kicks again. Stupid fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
A flush of surprise rises in her cheeks. “Hey, stranger,” she whispers, winking at me.
I analyze her appearance. It’s been a week since I heard she was in the hospital, and every day I’ve been back here, waiting to see when she’d return. Turns out, today’s my lucky day.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to smirk. “Hey,” I mumble, dragging my eyes lower, to her chest, her ass. She’s wearing tight jeans and a black top that I’d rather her not be wearing. It reveals her curves and the subtle roundness of her tits I want in my mouth. It’s a fucking miracle she can’t see the outline of my semi-hard cock.
She does, however, notice me watching her. That innocent stare of hers drifts to mine, and when she smiles, it steals the breath in my lungs. Not to mention the reaction she provokes in the rest of my body.
Goddamn it. Think of something else. Believe it or not, I went years without sex. And then I come here, and it’s all I can think about.
“J!” a man from a nearby table shouts. “Another round.”
“Coming,” she tells them, pressing down on the tap to fill a pitcher.
I glance over my shoulder at the timber of the voice, watching as Journey delivers a pitcher to the table behind me. The guys appear to know her. Small town… makes sense. I assess their stares on her and the way one tenderly reaches for her hand. It’s far from an aggressive grab, or like your average drunk trying to cop a feel. This one means something. He cares for her, maybe.
Jealousy roots inside me for reasons I don’t understand. I turn away, toward the mirrored wall reflecting the glare off the hundreds of bottles lining it. I’ve been in this bar before. Once. Long before this girl holding my attention was old enough to work here. Back when her parents owned it. And my dad, he’s spent the last ten years in this place. If he wasn’t on a fishing boat, he was here, drinking away his problems. And now here I am, doing the same thing. Funny how you say you’re never going to be like your parents, yet you turn out just like them most of the time.
Journey comes back around the bar and sets a glass in front of me. “Whatcha havin’ tonight?”
You. “Lagavulin—”
“Straight?” she finishes for me, her lips curving.
I nod, watching her pour the amber liquid. She sends it my direction, keeping her hand on it longer than she needs to. I reach for it, our touch hidden in the shadows of the wall beside me. It sends a jolt to the one place I wish it wouldn’t. Our eyes meet. Hers soften, and I struggle to keep a straight face. “Who’s he?” I tip my head back to the one behind me. “Your boyfriend?”
The term boyfriend is meant to be a joke. But it doesn’t last long.
Journey raises an eyebrow, her amusement evident. “My boyfriend? Ha.”
I raise my brows, centering the glass in my hand on a coaster. I watch her pretty pink lips quirk into a smile, and I wish like hell those lips were on me. Any part of me. Makes me wonder how many of these fuckers in this bar have come in here and stuck their dicks in her perfect mouth.
The word boyfriend tears at me for reasons I don’t understand. I don’t give a fuck if she has a boyfriend. Okay, let me rephrase that one. I shouldn’t fucking care. But then again, I’d kill the motherfucker if she did simply because, like it or not, this girl is mine now.
Trying to rearrange my thoughts, I stare down at my hand wrapped around the glass. I take a generous mouthful of whiskey and contemplate my next move. It goes down smooth, dulling the ache inside me. Running my hand through my hair, I watch her.
She laughs, coughing against her wrist. “Boyfriend,” she muses, leaning into the bar and licks her full lips I want wrapped around my cock. I keep my expression uninterested, but I imagine it’s clouded and intense, despite my efforts.