CHAPTERONE
MASON
Ipulled into the full parking lot at the Wild Shrimp and groaned. It wasn’t the first time since stepping off my plane that my insides clenched at the thought of seeing Charity Dawson. In fact, my pulse hadn’t stopped racing since hearing what should have been a simple request.
I desperately needed a drink. More than one, if I were honest. No, fuck that — I needed enough liquor to dull the hot lava running through my veins before heading over to my best friend’s place for the night.
“Do me a solid and check on my little girl,” my best friend, Nathan, had asked. I didn’t have the heart to tell Nathan that at twenty-five, Charity was no little girl, despite how her father looked at her.
And like a fool, I begrudgingly promised. Even when every fiber in my body screamed that visiting Candy Cane Key was a bad idea. A horrible idea. “You could come with, check in on her yourself,’ I countered.
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I would if I could, but this deal is closing fast, and it’s best if I’m here.”
“Need my help?” I frowned at the pile of documents on my friend’s desk. The desire for a distraction was so strong that I considered delaying my trip or skipping a visit to the Miami Filth Den, a ritzy private club that no longer quenched my desires.
“I need to know she’s doing alright,” Nathan said with more seriousness than I expected.
“Charity can take care of herself.” Though I meant every word, I would not say no to my friend. Nathan saw me through the darkest days of a messy divorce. He stuck by me as I rebuilt my law practice from the ground up and expanded. He didn’t need to know the many times I squelched my budding attraction to his daughter because of our friendship and her age. “She’ll tell me just as much and you know it.”
Nathan grunted. “Charity acts tough, but under that hard exterior she shows the world she’s all sugar. Trust me.”
I exhaled a slow breath. Charity and I were like snapping crabs that lived in muddy waters. Our encounters were murky and charged with an energy I couldn’t quite name. She always seemed to worm her way under my skin the more I ignored her. From the first time we met, she’d been friendly, but something had swiftly changed. Perhaps she took my refusal of her friend’s sloppy pass at me personally. I shook my head, not regretting my actions. I had no desire to date someone that young or immature.
I’d made it a point to stay away after that encounter. Difficult to do when Nathan insisted on bringing me around. Yet when I last saw Charity five years ago, as she went off to college, she didn’t spare me more than a few frosty words. That suited me just fine. I preferred it to her shy smiles, not meant to seduce. Yet they reeled me in, nevertheless. The last thing I needed were her eyes turning soft when she looked at me, and I damn sure wasn’t trying to win a nice-guy contest.
Despite my avoidance, I didn’t dislike Charity Dawson. I liked her. Liked her wit and spit fire attitude, when she wasn’t staring daggers at me. Not that I was ever going to reveal my weakness to my best friend’s daughter.
One night. Two at most, I reminded myself. Then, I’d be long gone before she had time to put any‘sugar’in my lemonade.
Lemonade?
What the fuck?The small town charm had already captivated me within five minutes of arriving in the Keys..
Drink Scotch. Check in on the little wild cat then, leave. In that order. Hell, I wished I’d agreed to a chat over coffee instead of sleeping under the same roof.
You’re a grown man, Mason, and you’ve dealt with sassier women than Charity.But none had ever heated my blood in the most dangerous way, like she did.
My frustration doubled as I found the lot packed. I clenched my jaw. A full parking lot in the small town meant most residents were here. With that realization went any hopes of quiet peace.
I briefly considered driving to another venue. But I didn’t want another spot. I wanted the hole in the wall dive bar where I wouldn’t run into Charity or her friends.
Shit!
How was I going to survive not one but two nights under the same roof as Charity?
Five years ago she was a firecracker, and too strong-headed for her own good — it was then that I’d privately nicknamed her wild cat. I also remember a shy girl which contradicted her personality. A contradiction that kept me fixated on her. I couldn’t imagine what she was like now to make Nathan concerned. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my heart racing with anticipation. Would Charity be the same person I remembered or had she changed?
I park and head inside. Excited cheering and catcalls rent the air as I enter the establishment, my second sign that the bar was hosting an event. As the cheers died down, holiday music hummed in the background.
Red and white balloons, streamers hung from the ceiling, gave the bar a festive air of Christmas in July. Except for the spotlight on stage where a band got ready to perform, the dim lights gave everyone an air of anonymity.
I found a sliver of space at the bar and signaled the bartender. The little hole-in-the-wall was a stark contrast to the lounges I frequented in Wheelcaster. There was no soft carpeting beneath my feet but the stickiness of spilled alcohol. No smooth melody of Jazz. Instead, the local band fired up a tune about mistletoe and passion they’d probably written in someone’s basement. Any fancy furniture once gracing the room had long worn out. Each chip and dent etched in the wood revealed the previous layer of faded garnish and the stories of a few bar fights. While the rustic furnisher reflected the number of years the business was in operation.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asked with a bright smile. She was full of energy if watching her bounce from one end of the bar to the other is anything to go by.
“Scotch. No ice,” I said.
“Coming up.” She flipped a glass over on the bar in front of me. “Passing through?”
