by Jen Talty
And he must not forget, Kitty was a female, and he didn’t need one, especially a young one.
“All right then. Kitty is my nickname. My real name is Cat. Just Cat. Not Catheryn or Caitlynn or anything sweet like that.”
He stifled a laugh as he raised his shot. “That’s really cute.”
“Adorable,” she chided with a sarcastic grin.
“Is there a reason your parents named you just Cat and call you Kitty?” He downed the rich liquid in one gulp, enjoying the burn as it pooled in his gut. He told himself he was simply being polite with the nice bartender, nothing else.
“That wasn’t part of the deal.” She nodded to another customer who waved at her from the other end of the bar. “Can I get you another Johnnie Walker?”
“This Johnnie Walker will take another shot of his namesake.”
“JW stands for Johnnie Walker?” When she laughed, her nose crinkled, and her lips puckered, and all he could think about was kissing them. “I’ve got to hear why your parents named you that.”
“Only if you tell me why yours named you Cat, Kitty.”
“It’s a deal, right after I take care of another patron.” She poured him another shot before making her way down the bar, attending to all the customers, making sure they had what they required while another bartender made drinks for the waitresses.
He should have been spending his time nursing his beer and going over the menu instead of gawking at the cute Kitty with a personality of a tiger and a wicked sense of humor. When she glanced his direction, catching his gaze, he quickly snapped the menu, ducking his head behind it like an idiot who had never mastered how to pick up a girl in a bar.
“Have you decided?” She asked, her hip resting against the counter, arms folded over her chest.
“What do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”
“I’m a partial to the corn beef and cabbage.”
He drew in his lips, scrunching his face. “Not only am I not Irish, I can’t stand that shit.”
“How about Shepherd’s Pie?” Her blue eyes danced against her porcelain-like skin. He’d never seen anything so intoxicating. Hell, he’d never seen a redhead with blue eyes in his life.
“What the heck is that?” he asked.
“Layer of mashed potatoes, corn, ground beef.”
“How about I get a bacon cheeseburger, loaded, and chili fries.”
“I had you pegged for a baby back rib kind of man.”
“I’m a pretty simple guy.”
“All right, simple guy. This bartender has to know why your parents named you after a bottle of whiskey.”
“In part because my last name is Whiskey.”
“Ha, ha.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No way is your name Johnnie Walker Whiskey.”
He pulled out his driver’s license and dropped in on the counter. “See for yourself.”
She glanced between him and the counter, leaning forward. “Holy shit. Do you have any siblings?”
He leaned back and laughed. “I have two brothers and a sister. All named after whiskey.”
“I’ve got to hear those.” She leaned over the counter with an attentive smile.
He made sure his gaze never left her pretty eyes, even if he did notice the soft mounds pushing up out of her top.
“Jack Daniel’s, with the apostrophe, but we call him JD. My other brother is Jim Beam.”
“I take it he’s JB?”
“Smart girl. I like that,” he said.
“So, what’s you’re sister’s name?”
“Georgia Moon and we call her by her full name.”
“I bet she hates that,” Kitty said, her big baby blues luring him in like a rope around a cattle horn.
“Not sure what she hates more, the name or having three older and very protective brothers.”
“That would suck too.”
“Your turn.” He knew she’d have to stop talking to him soon, as there were other people seated at the bar, but hot damn, if he wasn’t having the best time. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive.
“The day I was born, my parents were putting names in a hat at the hospital. One for girls and one for boys. But before my father could finish writing one of his favorites, I decided to enter the world so when asked what my name was, my dad reached into the hat and pulled out the one he hadn’t finished.”
“Why didn’t they give you the name he’d meant to write.”
“Because they both liked calling me their little Kitten, so that’s where Kitty came from.”
“What was the name supposed to be?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “They have never told me. I even threatened to run away if they didn’t, but they are more stubborn than me.”
That statement reminded him of how young she had to be. “How long have you been bartending?”
“I’ve been at this job three years.”
“You don’t look like you could be legal for the last three years.” Shut the fuck up. Christ. Ever since the break-up with Bella, JW avoided bars. Partly because the press hounded him and always managed to snap a picture of him that made him look like an ass. But also, he tended to either shoot his mouth off and end up in a fight, or he’d just say stupid shit.
Like now.
“I appreciate the compliment, but I’ve been over the legal age to drink for a little over six years.” She pushed back from the counter.
He quickly did the math.
Still younger than his cut-off.
He mentally sucker-punched himself in the gut. Didn’t matter how smart and adorable this chick was, he’d rather spend the rest of his life with his right hand than take a risk on a woman again.
“I’ve got other customers to attend to. If you need anything, just holler. Your food will be up in about ten minutes or so.”
“Thanks, Kitty.”
“My pleasure.”
Thankfully, she gracefully backed away, and he concentrated his attention on the baseball game. Not that he watched baseball, or even knew anything about the sport, but it was something to focus his mind and eyes on.
That was until she brought him his food. Not only did the food smell like a little piece of hamburger heaven, but the presentation with the fluffy bun off to the side, cheese melting over a hunk of meat, and fries doused in a chili sauce made his stomach roll over and beg.
“Another beer?” she asked.
He nodded as he greedily dug into his dinner. The last thing he’d had to eat was peanuts on the plane, and they weren’t that good. “And how about some recommendations on things to do.”
“Did you come alone?” she asked, her long fingers curling over the lever as she pulled it back. Something in the front of the pub caught her attention and the beer spilled out as she overfilled the glass. “Fuck,” she muttered, wiping off her hand.
He glanced over his shoulder. A tall, slender man wearing a pink button-down shirt entered the pub.
What was it with city men wearing pink.
The man pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head as he scanned the room.
Kitty shoved a foamy beer in front of JW. “I can’t believe he showed his face here,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“My ex-husband.”
Chapter 2
“HE DOESN’T LOOK LIKE YOUR TYPE.”
“He’s not,” Kitty said, her heart hammering in her chest like a machine gun, only partly caused by her ex showing up without warning.
JW had her stomach in knots from the second he sat down at her bar. She’d always been attracted to bad boys. The guy with a scruffy, unshaven face, but not out of control. Just wild. Hair a little messy. Mystery lurking behind brooding eyes. She always called it the ‘rugged look’. Her father called it the ‘stay away from him’ look.
“I was young and naïve when I met Preston.” Men like her ex, clean shaven, always dressed in designer cloths, constantly needed to look and be the best, always came off as arrogant
and fake. So, the idea she’d fallen so hard for Preston still prickled her skin like a thousand needles during an acupuncture session. He was all those things, yet he had been sweet, and kind, and in the beginning, generous and overly attentive.
That all ended when he’d made the mistake of committing fraud.
JW arched a brow. “Preston? That sounds very country club preppy.”
She let out a short laugh. “You have no idea.”
“Are you friendly with your ex?”
“We haven’t spoken in over a year.”
Normally, she didn’t discuss her personal life with strangers, or customers, but something about the tall, sexy man sitting in front of her made her feel safe. Comfortable.
Probably a bad idea since she’d been so wrong about Preston.
For the last month, Kitty had been glued to the television, watching with disbelief as her ex-husband managed to get all his convictions overturned. After his first trial, he’d managed to get a re-trial based on legal defect from the first. His attorney filed motion after motion, delaying a new trial and then new evidence was presented, and Preston became a free man.
She figured he and his family had spent a small fortune bribing judges and other officials to make sure Preston not only didn’t serve a single day in prison, but that he came off more like a victim instead of a criminal.
“Looks like he’s coming this way,” JW said, popping a French fry in his mouth. “Give me a code word if you need help.”
“It’s going to be him who needs assistance.” She watched as Preston waved to three men before gliding between the tables, heading right in her direction.
“I was hoping you’d be here.” Preston wedged himself next to JW, who didn’t look thrilled to be nudged with an elbow and no apology.
“What are you doing here, Preston?” she asked, hands firmly planted on her hips.
“I’m meeting friends.” He had the nerve to smile at her as if their crossing paths was an everyday normal occurrence. “But I was hoping to see you. I think we should talk.”
“My silence toward your phone calls and texts should tell you I don’t feel the same way.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sexy cowboy look her ex up and down. Part of her had enjoyed the light banter JW had provided, and he’d be the perfect kind of man to toss in Preston’s face.
“I think I deserve five minutes of your time, considering everything.”
“Say your peace,” she muttered. Preston could be persistent, and the last thing she wanted was for him to bother her, or her family.
“I don’t want to do it here. Have coffee with me.”
“She’s busy,” JW said casually as he wiped his hands on his napkin, tossing it on the plate.
Preston craned his neck. “And you are?”
“A friend,” Kitty interjected, not wanting a pounding of the chest situation. “Look, Preston, we have nothing left to say to each other.”
“A lot has changed since you… walked out.” Preston leaned over the counter.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Preston told her she was a rat leaving a sinking ship when she’d asked for a divorce. He’d go between that and begging her to stay, telling her it would all work itself out that all she had to do was trust him. “Now that I’ve been cleared, I was thinking—”
“Nothing good comes out of you thinking.”
“You still have a razor-sharp tongue,” he said, shaking his head with a stupid smile. “I want to help you. I know you gave up a lot to help your brother—”
“You don’t have a clue, Preston. And I don’t want your help. With anything.”
“I can make things easier on you financially.” He curled his slimy, dirty fingers around her wrist.
JW cleared his throat. “I don’t think the lady wants your hands on her.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Preston said with a clipped tone, glaring.
She took the opportunity to yank her hand free.
Swiveling the bar stool, JW folded his large arms across his chest. His muscles flexed.
“I don’t need a hand out, thank you,” she said behind gritted teeth. When she’d first met Preston, he’d given her family money and opportunity, but over the course of their marriage, he used that simple fact to control her.
“Consider it a loan.”
“I don’t need your money, nor do I want it or the strings that come with it.”
“Fine.” Preston tossed his hands to the side. “I heard your brother graduated from college. Good for him. My company is looking for good, smart people right now.” Preston stiffened his spine, shoving his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels like a proud peacock ruffling its feathers.
“He’s got a job.” She smiled as wickedly as she could. “With Emerson Industries.”
Preston’s mouth dropped opened at the news her brother was working for the man who turned Preston into the federal government.
She bit down on the inside of her mouth. That was way too much fun.
“Now if you don’t mind,” she said. “I need to get back to work.”
Preston drew his lips into a tight line. He hated being dismissed by anyone. “Give your family my best.” He turned on his heels.
She watched him glide across the floor like a graceful figure skater, stopping at a couple of tables to shake hands with a couple of men she’d never seen before.
She had to give it to him, when he walked into a room, everyone took notice. Devastatingly handsome with his short, blond hair, deep-blue eyes, and slender, but firm build, he carried himself with a combination of confidence and arrogance that fooled the world into believing he was an honest man.
“Never seen a divorced man offer his ex-wife money before,” JW said.
“It’s an offer from the devil.” There was absolutely nothing she could do about Preston spending time in Pat’s Irish Pub. She supposed she could go to her boss and explain how uncomfortable he made her feel, but to be fair, Preston had done nothing negative. He’d given her the divorce when she asked, even though he’d begged her to stick it out, promising things would work out, but she knew he was guilty of what he’d been accused of and couldn’t stomach living with a fraud.
Even if at one time she had truly, honestly, loved him.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” JW asked with a soft and gentle voice, but with fire glowing from his dark eyes.
“If you’re asking if he hit me, God no. He’s a spoiled rotten, rich bastard, who thinks nothing of lying to and cheating his business partners, but he’s not a violent man.”
“Mind if I ask how long you and he were married?” JW asked as he raised his beer, bringing the glass to his full lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp.
“Couple of years.” She nodded to one of the patrons waving his drink. “I’ll be right back.” Why she felt the need to qualify her departure or why she was compelled to continue her conversation with JW was a thought she chose not to ponder too hard.
Every table in the restaurant was occupied along with every stool at the bar. She made her way up and down, refilling her customers drinks, keeping one eye on her ex and the other on the sexy cowboy who had been flirting with her without it feeling like he was trying to pick her up. She felt the corners of her mouth tug upward. What a freaking name.
Johnnie Walker Whiskey.
She snagged the signature bottle, holding it up, catching his gaze.
“One more,” he said with a drawl, though he wasn’t southern, not at all.
“What kind of a last name is Whiskey, anyway?”
“Long story short, my great-great-grandfather changed our name from Whisken to Whiskey by accident when he signed his name as an immigrant and the officer wrote as a Y not an N. He just never bothered to correct it.”
JW had a husky voice, and he enunciated every syllable like an educated man, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He was the polar opposite of Preston with his five o’clock shadow and dark, brood
ing eyes. JW had broad, thick shoulders and massive biceps. He also came off as the strong, silent type who didn’t do small talk well, where Preston filled every silent pause in a conversation.
“Is your dad named after a whiskey?”
“The entire family. My dad’s name was Elijah Craig and his brother is Evan Williams. I’ve got cousins named George Dickel, Henry McKenna, James Oliver, and Virginia Black. My aunt Ezra Brooks started naming her kids after drinks, so we’ve got Margarita and Cosmo.”
“That’s crazy, you know that, right?”
He nodded. “Not that I’m going to have kids or anything, but me and my siblings decided to stop the madness.”
“Are you an uncle yet?” She glanced out into the dining room, eyeing her ex and a few of his buddies from the country club that she vaguely remembered. Preston had always kept her wrapped in this protective bubble, wanting to shield her from the shallow assholes who judged them. She seriously wondered why Preston had ever married her. When she asked the question during the divorce, he said that he honestly loved her.
Maybe he did.
But he sure as hell hadn’t trusted her with the truth, and that was a deal breaker.
“Not yet and not anytime soon since I don’t think anyone of us is in a serious relationship.”
She cleared his empty plate, wiping down the counter. “Take it from a divorcee, relationships are overrated.”
“Cheers to that.”
“It was nice meeting you, JW. My shift is about over for the night. Can I get you anything else?”
“Just the check and a list of places to go check out?”
“Right. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be back with a list.” She slipped his check into a glass, sliding it across the counter.
There wasn’t much for her to do when her shift ended at eight in the evening. Most nights she worked till close, except for Saturday and Sunday, when she opened and worked a twelve-hour day, taking Monday off, which was normally her heavy day at school this summer session. However, this week she was off before the second round of classes that were normally a full semester, but professors managed to cram the material down to a couple of very intense weeks. Not only was she looking forward to relaxing her brain, but she couldn’t wait to sleep in.