Yeah, that was my “thing.”
A shot of whiskey followed by me slapping the shit out of random men.
I liked to think of it as therapy.
Dezi’s head whipped to the side for a second, but when it turned back in my direction, I swear to hell the man was ready to rip off my clothes and bang me against the bar.
And, God help me, I was ready to let him.
Luckily—or unluckily, if you were listening to my body instead of my mind—the door opened with even more ruckus.
This time from a crowd of women. Which wasn’t exactly common in our very masculine-looking bar.
“Ugh, of course he’s here,” one of the women, one wearing very utilitarian gray pants and a black tank under a lightweight bomber jacket, who looked maybe mixed race with Asian and Caucasian, declared as she came up to the bar.
I took Dezi’s momentary distraction to slide off the bar and busy myself with clearing off a table that had left a few moments before.
“What is your problem with A?” another voice asked I moved past with full hands.
I never did hear the answer to that over the clanking of glasses. I will say, though, that A did seem to pay a curious amount of attention on the woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
The women were a loud crowd, distracting the bikers with the sort of familiarity that said they were either friends, family, or clubwhores.
That said, I had a lot of experience with clubwhores, and none of those women gave me that vibe.
Friends then.
Which made my jealous-ass tendencies calm down when one of them was hanging all over Dezi.
Not that I should have had jealous feelings at all seeing as, you know, he wasn’t mine. And he was never going to be.
But, yeah, trying to rationalize with some of my more volatile feelings was a waste of time.
It was why the Slapshot was so good for me. Got some of those pesky feelings out of me before they manifested in other ways.
The rest of the night was busy. Apparently, where the criminals went in Navesink Bank, the regular people followed, eager to get in close contact with danger without having to actually be a part of it themselves.
“I have to cut out, Toll,” I told him, giving him an apologetic wince, knowing there was at least an hour left of prep work and clean-up to do.
“Yeah, I know. These are your hours, kid,” he said, shrugging. “Don’t feel guilty for keeping them. I have nothing else going on,” he added. “And it’s not just me,” he added, nodding toward our busser as he whipped around the bar, tossing glasses and various other items into the service tub.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding at him when he finished counting out the tips and passed me my share.
I shoved it into my bag without counting it, but experience told me it was a solid three to three-fifty. Which was really solid for a small town, even if it was busy.
It turned out that the criminals in Navesink Bank had a lot of money. And they were generous with it.
“Hey, Theo,” Toll called when I got to the door.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a hundred in there that was specifically left for you.”
“That’s not how tips work,” I said, reaching back into my bag to give him half of that.
“Don’t you want to know who it’s from?” he asked, holding up a hand.
I didn’t know Toll well.
But I knew him well enough to know he was too stubborn to take the cash if I offered it to him, so I made a mental note to give him an extra fifty over the next few shifts, so he wouldn’t notice the difference.
I knew who left it.
“He also wanted me to give you a message,” Toll said.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I told him, reaching for the door handle.
The thing was, I did want to hear it.
Far more than I should have.
Which was why I rushed my ass out of the door before Toll could tell me.
Then went ahead and obsessed about it the rest of the night before I finally crashed for a few hours.
The only consolation I had was that I was probably not going to run into him again if he chose to frequent Chaz’s.
Forgetting, of course, that Navesink Bank was a small town.
And you could run into someone in the unlikeliest of places.
CHAPTER TWO
Dezi
“Who ate the last of my ice cream?” I asked, coming out of the kitchen with the empty tub.
“Seth did,” Finn volunteered, since the two of them were always looking for a reason to get the other into some sort of trouble.
“I’ll buy you another one,” Seth said, rolling his eyes as he dropped down on the couch.
“It was limited edition,” I said, sighing hard as I turned to toss it back into the kitchen garbage, just barely making it in. “So you owe me donuts instead,” I decided.