Knowing he’d been saved, Ford raised his beer in salute and strolled off to the back, leaving Frankie in unfriendly territory without a cop guide. Now, it wasn’t that the cops and firefighters of Waterbury were sworn enemies, it was just that, well, there was a long-lived and healthy-ish rivalry between them, so they tended to stick to their own kind—except for the annual charity hockey game, during which they happily and enthusiastically beat the ever-loving shit out of each other in between scoring goals.
The bar got a whole lot friendlier when Bobby Marino, who was all of seventy-six if he was a day, gave up the serving duties to Shannon Kominsky. Tall with a body that made a man do a triple take and the kind of warm brown skin that he knew from personal experience was very soft to the touch, she always brightened up the bar at Marino’s.
Frankie had known Shannon for years, they’d spent time together naked before, and they had both walked away relaxed and happy. If he played his cards right, tonight could be a repeat performance, complete with orgasms and her post-sex chocolate chip cookies. Some women liked to snuggle after sex. Some liked to talk. Shannon baked.
“Heya, Shannon,” he said, giving her the half-lazy, half-cocky grin that had started getting him laid in high school.
And the grin would have worked, if she’d have seen it. Instead, she kept her gaze off of him as she picked up his beer, slid a coaster under it, and set the mug back down. “Not tonight, Frankie.”
Damn. That brush off came brutally fast.
“What did I do?”
Now she did look up at him, but it was probably just to give him the are-you-stupid look on her cute face. “It’s what you didn’t do.”
His expression must have been as blank as his brain right then, because she shook her head and her lips curled in a rueful smile.
“Call, Frankie,” she said with a chuckle. “You never called.”
Fuck. He shifted on his barstool. “I’m sorry, it’s been crazy, but I’ve got some time off. Maybe you and I could—”
“Honey, it’s been six months.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, the neon light from the Budweiser sign above the bar catching the diamond ring on her finger. “I’m off the market.”
“Damn.” This was starting to happen with way too much frequency lately. Why was everyone getting married all of a sudden? “Looks like I’m too late.”
“Oh sweetie, you were never in the running.” Shannon leaned her forearms on the bar and brought her head close, lowering her voice as if she was about to impart an important secret. “Frankie, you’re one of the best lays in Waterbury. All us girls agree.”
His ego grew two sizes before the second part of her declaration registered. “You talk about me? All of you together like that?” Comparing notes? Chicks did that? Fuck, did other guys know this little factoid? Because that shit was dangerous.
“It’s Waterbury. This neighborhood is like a small town when it comes to gossip,” Shannon said. “But here’s the deal. You’re respectful. You don’t promise anything you’re not going to deliver. You’re fun. You’re honestly a good guy, but, honey, you’re not the kind of guy who delivers happily ever afters.” She gave him a look that walked the line between sympathy and pity. “And once you get to a certain point in your life, all of the fuck-buddy fun loses its luster and you want more, you want a forever kind of thing. You understand what I’m saying?”
Love. That’s what she meant. That once-in-a-lifetime, you’re-a-lucky-son-of-a-bitch-if-you-find-it thing that everyone thought his parents had, that Felicia had with Hudson, that Gina had with Ford, and that Tyler had with Everly. And for him, it was as likely to happen as him finding a unicorn, because he knew Shannon was right. He’d always known it. He wasn’t a delivery driver for Happily Ever Afters R Us, which meant he was as likely to find it as he was to find…
“A fucking unicorn,” he muttered.
Shannon’s eyebrows went up in question. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said with a sigh because how did you explain a unicorn to a woman who’d just told him he wasn’t ever getting one?
Shannon shook her head at him and strutted down to the other end of the bar to take some fresh-out-of-the-academy kid’s order. Annoyed with the fact that the zinger she’d delivered hit a little too close to home, Frankie turned around and perused the crowd at Marino’s. Going east to west, it pretty much went cop and a badge bunny, several cops and one hot badge bunny, a group of sad-sack cops with no badge bunnies, a shitbird in a suit who looked totally out of place, and one Lucy Kavanagh, who looked like she was about to punch his lights out.