Hodge didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched.
I didn’t know what Frank and Nick were up to, but I knew it wasn’t good.
And I’d be damned if I let them make Tempi, or anyone, a pawn in their little game.
Whatever was going on, I’d find out.
And when I did?
They’d wish they’d stayed out of my path.
Chapter Twelve
Tempi
Wednesdays were usually slow.
Dinner brought a small rush, but otherwise, it was just a steady trickle of regulars and tourists who stumbled in by accident or fate.I didn’t mind.The quiet nights were when I got the most done, restocking the beer coolers, reorganizing the glassware, and tightening up inventory sheets.
At nearly ten, Britta was in the back flipping burgers for a group of college kids who came in hungry and half-drunk.I’d already poured them three rounds, and they were too focused on trying to beat each other in darts to cause trouble.Maggie nursed her brandy old fashioned at the end of the bar, like usual, chatting with anyone who came within a foot of her stool.The neon glow from the beer signs bathed everything in a warm and familiar haze.
I was wiping down the bar for the third time when the door creaked open.
I didn’t look up right away.A few more swipes, and I’d have the wood gleaming.But then the door clicked shut, and the sound of boots against the floor made me glance up.
Twister.
Alone.
Lord, help me.
Same cut.A blue shirt stretched across that broad chest.Same faded jeans hugging thick thighs and strong legs.The same black boots I’d noticed the first time he walked in here.But now, under the golden bar light and the low hum of country music in the background, he looked downright dangerous.
Panty-melting dangerous.
He walked like he owned the world.Slow, confident, and unbothered by the few curious glances tossed his way.He took the same seat at the end of the bar—the one he always seemed to favor.
I tossed my rag behind the bar and grabbed a fresh napkin.I strolled his way like I wasn’t just thinking about how his arms looked like they could throw me over his shoulder with zero effort.
I set the napkin in front of him.“What’ll it be?”
His lips quirked.“Whiskey.On the rocks.”
“Same thing you had last time,” I murmured.
He shrugged one shoulder.“Figured I’d stick with what works.”
I grabbed a clean glass and dropped two cubes in.“Seeing you twice in one day,” I said as I poured.“Special occasion?”
“Felt like a drink.”
I handed him the glass and leaned just slightly against the back counter.“The bar not set up in the clubhouse yet?”
“Oh, it’s set up,” he said, and took a sip.“And the guys are definitely using it.I just wanted a drink without all the bullshit that comes with it.”
I tucked the bottle back in its spot.“Already sick of club life?You haven’t even been in town two weeks.”
He grinned.“I’ll never get sick of club life, doll.I just need a little peace and quiet sometimes.Helps me think.”
