Out of the corner of his eye, two bodies left the bar, opening up a space for two more. Still remembering the feel of Sailor’s legs around him, he cleared the glasses and deposited them near the cleaning station. Sailor caught his eye, gesturing to the room at the same time.
“Looks like you have a pretty nice turnout after all,” she said, a sly grin lifting the edges of her mouth. The room was so loud now he had to lean in to hear her. Unfortunately, that also brought him close enough to smell the florally scent she was wearing. Not strong like perfume, but more like a scented lotion that coated her entire body.
Body.
Body.
Body.
Shut it, brain.
He cleared his throat. “And by the way you’re smiling, it looks like you might be happy about that.”
“I might’ve called in a favor,” she said, shrugging.
Ryan lifted a brow. “You called all these people? When?” Behind the bar, she hadn’t once been on her phone.
“Not all of them. Just one. Marissa. But she’s got a posse, who’s got a posse, and so on. Perks of having an extremely social cousin.”
So they called people to come to the Alibi? Why the fuck would they do that? Just as he opened his mouth to ask, a familiar voice called from the other end of the bar. “Hey, Edwards. Beer me.”
Ryan spun to see Micah taking the empty stool at the bar, followed by his new wife, Laurel. Bright smiles stretched across both of their faces, and the ease of seeing his best friend in the bar stole every ounce of confusion from him. He’d find out later what Sailor was up to, but first he needed to see what had dragged his ex-business partner past his white-picket fence in the burbs and back into his old neighborhood.
Ryan popped the top off a Bud and handed it over the counter. “What happened? Sick of the uppity bars in Cambridge so soon?” Ryan laughed, because since Micah and his daughter, Shae, had added Laurel to their family and then a new baby, their presence in a bar, no matter the location, was unlikely.
Micah took a long pull of the beer then shook his head. “According to Laurel’s friend at work, the Alibi is supposed to go off tonight.” He extended the bottle to Laurel, who took a small sip and then handed it back, cringing as she swallowed. “What were her exact words, baby?”
A laugh bubbled out of Laurel, her contagious smile reaching out and grabbing Ryan. Warmth trickled up his neck. God, he missed having them around. “That they were going to make like a douche and get the fuck over here.”
“Those teachers you work with are dirty.”
“You have no idea.”
“Also,” Ryan said, “I see my friend’s mouth is rubbing off on you.” Micah and Laurel were complete opposites—a goody-goody teacher and a former enforcer for some of the city’s finest—which made it amusing to see how they’d blended into a single, cohesive being. One that shared beers and stories and now a life in a nice house instead of a dingy apartment.
Requests for drink orders came in as he and Micah caught up, and he filled them as they talked. Micah had recently started working for a restaurant supply company—something his experience co-owning the Alibi lent itself to. His daughter had just turned seven and was happy with the baby sister he and Laurel had given her a few months ago.
The more they talked, the more Ryan itched to tell Micah about the hole he’d gotten the bar into since they’d parted as owners. But Micah had sacrificed so much for the place—taking a job with a powerful mob associate who could’ve had his head in one breath—just to keep it up and running over the last few years. It had taken a lot for Micah to get out from under his associate’s hand, and Ryan didn’t want Micah’s travails to have been for nothing.
So when Micah finished his beer and said, “Looks like you found the secret to a full night,” Ryan kept his mouth shut and made like tonight was nothing out of the ordinary these days.
“Word of mouth, bro. Cheap, easy, and a hell of a lot better than trying to pull off club nights.” Not a total lie; Sailor had said her friend had made some calls. He handed Micah another beer and held one up to Laurel, which she declined with a pinched nose and a shake of her head.
“Wine then?”
“I’m driving, but thanks.”
“I see you’ve hired someone new,” Micah said, flicking his gaze in the direction of Sailor, who was vigorously dunking and retrieving glasses. Ryan laughed to himself. Her hands were going to be pruney as hell. Her fault, though. She was the one who’d come in here insisting he let her have a job. Micah was still speaking. “How long did it take you to get her into the back office?” He winked.
Goddamn Micah. After years of working together, he knew Ryan’s “relationships” consisted of a round of free drinks, some time in the back of the bar, then an awkward good-bye after last call.
And the answer to his question was one hour.
“Long story,” Ryan said while filling an order for mojitos. The tang of lime and punch of mint rolled a tingly wave over his skin—another reminder of the night he’d had with Sailor. Running his hands over her smooth legs…removing and then replacing her little black panties…the way her lips had parted the first time he’d slid into her—
“One you have time to tell?” Micah was looking at him funny, a something’s-up-and-you-need-to-tell-me look.
Damn him. “Well, the short version includes meeting her at the Dirty Bird, helping her belligerent cousin home, then taking her on the couch.” He capped the shaker and shook forcefully, not paying any attention to Laurel’s look of surprise as the last of what he’d said sank in. Once he was done mixing the drink, he threw at Micah, “Oh, and she’s Marty’s daughter.”
Three seconds, that’s how long it took his friend’s brain to process those last words. His eyes widened to the size of coasters, and he leaned his elbows onto the bar. “Did you just say Marty’s daughter?”
“Sure did.”
“Who’s Marty?” Laurel asked, mimicking Micah’s position.
“The man who owned the Alibi before Ryan,” he told her. “He was like a father to Ryan.” Micah met Ryan’s gaze, his features twisting in question. “I thought his daughter was a drug addict.”
“Yep, that’s her.” To his right and while brushing the hair from her face with the crook of her arm, Sailor caught his eye and smiled.
Micah noticed and flicked his gaze between the two of them, an inward tilt to his brows. “And you let her work here?” Back when Micah’d shared ownership with Ryan, never would they have hired someone with a drug problem. So Ryan spent the next few minutes explaining what he knew of Sailor—that she’d come in a day ago to propose a deal for the bar then begged for a job when it was clear the bar was not up for sale. From what he could tell, the drugs were no longer a part of Sailor’s life, but he’d only had three short encounters to base that off of, so that was really just speculation.
Micah threaded his fingers through his wife’s. “What do you plan on doing with her?”
“Well, that all depends on what she’s up to.” Micah’s brow dipped, and Ryan explained. “I heard her talking with her cousin about a plan. She’s up to something, and I just need to figure out what it is.” So far, all he’d seen tonight was her helping him out. Not diabolical, unless filling the room with people and his wallet with profit was helping her out in some way.
“I just want forgiveness.” Ryan wasn’t a fool. And he didn’t believe Sailor for a second.
…
“If I were a squirrel and you were a squirrel, would you let me bust a nut in your hole?”
Sailor stopped mid strut and looked in the direction of the voice. Deep and sending prickles up her arms like the feel of slimy snot stuck to her. Not that she’d ever had slimy snot on her arm. She peered over her shoulder, adjusting the stack of beer-soaked pint glasses cradled in her arm, to the tall figure standing over her. Light hair, light eyes, light skin. How could someone with such an angelic look say something so ridiculously stupid?
Pushing
up a smile, she felt the crowded room around her disappearing into a cloudy haze at the same time heat started creeping up her neck. First the beer tap incident, and now this? Was this really what working in a bar was like? Being treated like all she was good for was a slap on the behind and some unfitting commentary?
Not on her watch.
Shifting the weight onto her toes, Sailor spun to face the cherub. “Just because I clear your beer glass and have a vagina while doing so does not give you the right to grace me with inappropriate—and might I add pretty sad—pickup lines. That’s verbal abuse, brotha. And if you think asking someone if you can bust a nut in her is a good icebreaker, maybe you should reevaluate your life.”
Laughter rang out around them, mostly from the cluster of guys surrounding Mr. Squirrel, and he frowned. Seriously? Who said stuff like that and actually meant it?
The guy nodded and opened his mouth again. “You’re right. Maybe I should reevaluate my life…with you and your vagina on top of me. Surely I’d be able to make some astounding decisions with that sight.” And then he moaned. Moaned.
Was this guy for real?
“You listen here, buddy,” Sailor started in, pointing her free index finger at his not-so-impressive chest. Ryan’s chest was much more—
Wait, why was she comparing this guy to Ryan?
Before she could get anything more out, shoulders and arms suddenly pressed in on her. Then someone pulled her hair. Hard. Muscles in her neck cinched tight just as a witch-like scream pierced into the hot, sweat-sticky air.
“Bitch, why are you trying to flirt with my boyfriend?” A claw of pointy fingernails came at her, catching on her cheek with the distinct sound of ripping skin, followed by a very angry-looking face shaded with blue eye shadow and red lipstick. Sadly, this wasn’t the first catfight she’d been in—high school had been a blur of witches trying to assert their dominance—but it was the first she’d been caught off guard by.
Ducking and maneuvering out of the maniacal girl’s reach, she used a nearby large body as a shield and shouted out from behind it, “Flirting? Is that what you call telling your boyfriend to leave me and my vagina alone?” God, she was working. Working. She couldn’t be doing this. Not to mention, how old was she?
The girl lunged at her again, and Sailor ducked behind the wall of muscles, whispering “sorry” into the back of his shirt. The tower of glasses tottered, throwing her balance off a little.
“Like he would ever be interested in your vagina.”
“Hey,” Sailor popped her head out and said, “I’ll have you know my vagina is quite lovely.”
The girl sputtered—or blubbered, really, by the way her red lips reared back around her teeth like a horse’s and flapped—the guys around her laughed, and then Sailor was yanked back by an arm bigger and stronger and definitely more tattooed than the one blocking her front side. The same arm that belonged to the guy Ryan had been talking with. The massive guy took the stack of glasses from her and handed them to the nearest onlooker, lifted Sailor up, and tossed her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. People whirred past like she was on some sort of carnival ride, staring and cackling and shouting stupidity like, “Damn, dishwasher girl just gave him some,” and, “Aw, c’mon, let them fight,” and the last, just before she was escorted down the long hallway to the back room, still connected to the gigantic arm, “When you’re done with him, can I have a turn?”
A growl echoed in her ears. “If you want to go home with all your teeth,” the muscled wall said over his shoulder to the last commenter, “you’ll shut your fucking mouth.”
The door to the hallway opened and closed, and then she hit the floor. A large frame towered over her, so big it was impossible to see anything but shoulders and the thick neck in between. Surely there was a face in there somewhere, but with the air pulsing around her and her heart still in shock from the dreadful flashback of the past, focusing on it proved to be quite the challenge.
And then the barking started. Growling, too. “Oh, be quiet, Drexie. It’s just me and…well, this guy. Whose name is…” She twirled her hand around, the universal signal for “go on and finish my sentence.” Or so she thought. She squinted up at him, pressing her fingertips into the cheek Psycho Girl had jabbed her nails into. No blood, thank goodness. “Mind telling the pup your name?”
“I do, actually.” Jeez, with his arms folded like that he looked like an MMA fighter standing off during a weigh-in.
“Okay…then me. Who are you, and what do you want with me?”
“My name’s Micah. I’m a friend of Ryan’s.”
She scoffed. “Figured that, since he’s been talking with you for the last hour. Do you manhandle all of his employees like that?” A glint of silver flashing from his left hand caught her attention. So this guy was married to that cute little blonde? Huh, they looked like complete opposites, if she could say so—or think so—herself. She cocked her head to the side. “What would your significant other think of that?”
“My wife knows Ryan doesn’t tolerate any shit in his bar. That even though it was thrown on him without warning, he’s not going to let it fail. Even when there are other things he’d rather be doing. So you bet your ass when I see trouble brewing, I’ll be right there to help him maintain order.”
Rather be doing other things? “You mean he doesn’t want the Alibi? Why in the world would he keep it for so long then?” Seven years. That was a long time to be doing something whether he enjoyed it or not.
But the not was what poked at her like a hot stick from a fire. Because if Ryan didn’t want the bar, she might be able to convince him to turn it over to her. Maybe even for a cheaper price than she’d thought.
Unfolding his arms and running his hands through his dark hair, he sighed the type of sigh that looked like it might’ve hurt him a little. Just when Micah opened his mouth, the door behind him flung wide and a red-foreheaded Ryan appeared. He pointed at her. “Seventeen glasses and a barstool broken. Do you know how much that’s going to cost me?”
“Broken?” She scrambled to her feet, dusting off her rear end. “Not even my ego was shattered back there.”
“How about after you left, your cousin launched herself onto one of my customers, which then started a mosh-pit style brawl in the middle of my bar?”
“Marissa?” Come to think of it, where had Marissa been when Sailor had been making her rounds to collect glasses? Marissa had been checking in with Sailor throughout the night, but also enjoying being social. “Is she all right?”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s fine.” He looked to Micah. “Laurel’s fine, too. They’re both with Trevor.”
The two men shared a look, and Micah nodded. “There’s still twenty minutes until last call. I’ll go make myself present until then.”
The room, even though technically there was more space without the mammoth body, shrank when Micah retreated, shutting away the door and the noise of the crowd.
Silence. Very awkward, uncomfortable silence.
“Heh-heh.”
Ryan rubbed his forehead, right over the red, circular fist-sized welt rising up close to his temple. “No, Carlson, you don’t get to heh-heh me right now. This is all your fault. From the phone calls you made—”
“Call. I only made one.”
“And that stupid dog—”
“Hey, don’t take your frustration out on Drex.” Beside her, Drexel’s ears perked up.
“And—” Ryan stepped once toward her. “And—” He took another step, briefly closing his eyes, those little muscles at the edges of his jaw tense and budding. Only inches from her now, he gripped the sides of her head and tilted it up to his. What? “And I hate that your mouth tastes”—he leaned in, coming face-to-face with her, a mixture of alcohol and sweat and a hint of cologne filling her nose—“so fucking”—he darted his tongue out and swept a line across her bottom lip—“delicious.”
…
Christ Almighty, what in the name of all things mildly appr
opriate was he doing? But one taste of her lips and every pent-up ounce of frustration with this woman and the night and even that annoying little dog at her feet…and he was fighting the urge to launch himself at her. To pin her beneath him.
Or stop himself, because he was already heading in for another mouthwatering taste.
He slid his lips from her mouth to her neck, licking and sucking and finding that spot beneath her jaw he knew would make her insides explode and her eyes cross. A long, low sigh wafted over his ear and across the back of his neck, and everything around him blurred and smeared until all he could see was black.
Black tank. Black pants. Black apron that was going to be getting in the way in five point two seconds.
Gripping the crook of her waist, Ryan lifted Sailor up to him and let the slow drag and curl of his tongue in her mouth convey what he craved to have just once more. Sailor’s deep moan hummed into his mouth—a silent Yes, I want to play, too, and he grabbed hold of her butt, anchoring her against him.
She responded, matching his rough kisses with her own, her mouth covering his as he groaned at the feel of her fingertips walking up his stomach…chest…wrapping around to the back of his neck and burrowing into his hair. Christ, why did she have to look so amazing? And smell so good? And taste…the taste of her made his mouth water like she was a goddamn fine Scotch. With each meeting of their tongues, each suckle of her lips, his cock swelled and pushed against his zipper.
Lifting her chin, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right where that jackass had landed a hit. “Does it hurt?” A feathering touch of her fingers trailed over the spot next.
No, he didn’t need her mothering him. Especially when all he wanted to do was strip her bare and devour every inch of her. “Not the first time I’ve had to break up a fight in my bar.” Quickly, he spun around, pressed her against the wall and pinned her arms above her head with one hand, using the other to scrunch the apron up to her hips. As his fingers searched for the button on her pants, he nibbled and sucked at the mounds of warm flesh spilling out from the low neckline of her shirt. Using his teeth, he dragged the stretchy fabric lower, lower, lower until a span of black lace sat before him.
A Moment of Madness (Boston Alibi) Page 8