The place was crowded, as usual. Filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, glasses clinking, balls shuttling into pool table pockets, slot machines bleeping and pinging, and music blasting from the widescreen TVs that often featured sports games. Waiters and waitresses walked around delivering food platters, taking orders, and collecting empty glasses or bottles.
A comedian had recently finished his act, so the stage was now empty. The Tavern often provided entertainment, especially karaoke, live bands, or hypnotists.
The night had been great thus far. It hadn’t been possible for Havana to wind down, though. Not when she was acutely conscious that Tate was on the opposite side of the space playing pool. When their eyes first locked, a hollow ache began to build in her chest. At the same time, though, she’d felt a strange sense of … she couldn’t describe it. It wasn’t quite pleasure, but it was close. Like a small shot of adrenaline. Like when you tasted chocolate after having given it up for a long while. It was comforting and only made you want more.
She’d quickly looked away and had spent the rest of the evening trying her best to ignore his presence. But it was kind of impossible to ignore six-feet-plus of pure Alpha male hotness. She found her eyes occasionally straying his way. Every time they accidentally collided with his, it was like a jolt of electricity struck her body. Bleh.
He hadn’t approached her, hadn’t tried to speak to her, hadn’t even so much as tipped his chin her way. She didn’t get the sense that he was being rude. No, he was simply giving her what she asked for—space.
As she’d requested, he hadn’t texted or called her or sought her out since that day they spoke in the basement of her building. It relieved her.
It also devastated her. But it was for the best.
Moving on from Dieter hadn’t been anywhere near this hard. Given that all she and Tate had had was a fling, it shouldn’t have been this hard. And her hormones shouldn’t be doing the fandango just because he was in the same damn space.
Plus, it didn’t help that fucking Ashlynn sat at a table not far from him. The skank had no compunction about pinning Havana with hard, steady stares. That was when she wasn’t busy trying to make Tate notice her, flipping her hair and laughing overly loud with her friends, Eva and Aimee—two pallas cats who’d always been somewhat curt with Havana.
So far, she’d ignored the trio’s behavior. Purely because it was fun to silently communicate that Ashlynn’s attempt to intimidate her wasn’t successful. But there was really only so long Havana could tolerate this crap. Her inner bullshit meter went off because in truth, yeah, she could absolutely tolerate it—she was good at ignoring such pettiness. She simply didn’t want to keep ignoring it, and her animal certainly hoped she wouldn’t.
Elle set her half-empty glass on a coaster. “So, a devil, a bearcat, and a mamba formed a clan.”
“I feel a joke coming on,” said Havana.
“It’s just such an odd mix.”
Bree tipped her head to the side. “Your animals don’t struggle to get along or anything?”
“My bearcat has little patience for Bailey’s mamba,” said Aspen. “But that’s only because the snake deliberately pisses her off for shits and giggles. Bailey and her serpent do lots of things for shits and giggles.”
Elle looked at Bailey. “Your mamba doesn’t bother Havana’s devil?”
“No, she sees Havana as her Alpha,” replied Bailey. “My mamba challenged her in the beginning, but the devil whooped her ass. You should seriously never get in a devil’s face, no matter if they’re in their human form or animal form.”
Aspen nodded. “They’re freakishly strong, and their bones are super tough. That’s why Corbin won’t let her spar for fun at the center.”
Havana sniffed. “I still say it’s an unreasonable rule.”
“You broke one guy’s jaw with a bitch slap,” Aspen pointed out.
“He shouldn’t have laughed when I got in the ring … as if he was so sure he’d wipe the floor with me.” Cocky bastard. “He should have known better. It’s not like devils are mistaken for harmless. Which is why landlords are often rather disinclined to accept me as a tenant.”
“Did Tate seem put off by it?” asked Elle.
Havana licked her lower lip, her stomach hardening—something it did each time the redhead mentioned her brother, which was often. “No. He didn’t seem fazed at all.”
“Little fazes Tate,” said Elle. “He’s always been like that. I’m kind of bummed that you two broke up. I got a little excited when he didn’t seem interested in extracting himself from whatever you two had going on. I thought that just maybe Ashlynn’s betrayal hadn’t fucked him or his cat up too badly. And you seemed to make him happy. I want him to be happy.”