“Is that why you’re with a new girl every week?”
Zach’s mouth curled up in a lopsided grin. “There’s just too much of me to go around. I like to spread the wealth.”
Jason laughed despite his foul mood. “You are so full of shit.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Come on, man. Let it go. She’s just a bar babe, no different than a hundred other bar babes and puck bunnies.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“Exactly. Don’t think. Thinking always fucks you up. The only reason you’re pissed is because she left instead of you. You like winning too much and that’s why it’s bothering you.”
Jason opened his mouth to disagree then shut it with a snap. Was that his problem? Was that why he was in such a foul mood? No. No fucking way. Yeah, he liked winning—almost at any cost. But that had nothing to do with this. He hadn’t planned on kicking her out this morning, hadn’t planned on giving her the normal line of how he had fun but he was busy, or any of the other bullshit spiel he pulled out when needed.
He actually liked Michelle. Liked the way she made him laugh, liked the way she seemed genuinely shy and curious and real. And he definitely liked the way her body fit his like a tight glove meant only for him. So no, he hadn’t planned on kicking her out. He had planned on asking her out again, taking her to dinner. Wining and dining her, maybe seeing where things went from there.
Yes, he liked winning. But that had absolutely nothing to do with his mood—or with why he was still pissed about her leaving.
He looked back at Zach, studying him for a long minute. “That’s bullshit. This has nothing to do with winning.”
“Yeah, okay. If you say so.”
“I say so. I mean…shit. Don’t you ever get tired of it? Of all the playing around and playing games?”
“Fuck no. Are you insane?” Zach laughed and shook his head. “Man, all I can say is she must have been damn good if she’s fucking with your head like this.”
“My head isn’t fucked up.”
“Yeah, it is.” Zach clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen, if you’re that fucking set on finding her, then we’ll head back to the club next week. Ask around or something. It’ll be a hardship for me, but I’ll suffer through it.”
“Yeah. Because you’re so fucking noble.”
“What can I say? So what do we know about her? Her name is Michelle. What else you got?”
“Uh—” Jason frowned, thinking. He knew her favorite color, favorite book, favorite snack. What else?
“You should see your face right now. Totally blank. Yeah, you were really into her. Shit, man. Don’t you have anything besides her name?”
“Yeah. Her shirt and a bracelet she must have dropped.”
“Her shirt? Seriously? What the hell? Did you scare her off so fucking bad she left your place half-naked?”
“No. No, of course not. I think she probably had on one of my shirts.”
“Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”
It did, if she snuck out of his room in the dark and grabbed the wrong shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor by mistake. But he wasn’t about to tell Zach that.
“What about the bracelet? Is it an expensive one or something like that? If it is, then you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m sure she’ll be back for it.”
Jason shook his head. He couldn’t pin his hopes on that because it definitely wasn’t expensive. Nothing more than a braided leather cord with a broken clasp and a round washer thing engraved with two words: Love Fierce. There was something about those two words that spoke to him, that made him smile. But he wasn’t about to tell Zach that, either.
“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to suffer the onslaught when we hit the nightclub.” Zach pounded him on the back, laughing once more. “Come on, back to work before we get our asses chewed. And stop worrying, we’ll find her.”
Jason grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He knew Zach was making a joke of it, knew they’d be hitting the nightclub up every night next week when they could.
But he wasn’t as confident as Zach was about finding her. So what the hell would Jason do when they couldn’t?
He didn’t have a damn clue. And it was something he didn’t want to think about.
Chapter Ten
The bar was busy again, especially with a band playing tonight. That meant Megan stayed busy, hauling full cases of beer from the back and taking out the empties. Back and forth, hustling between the bar and the back room.
Part of her was grateful for the distraction. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to think. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking sent her mood spiraling downhill. And if she was honest with herself, she was tired of thinking. It had been over a week, it was way past time to just get over it. What had she expected, anyway? That Jason was somehow going to waste away, thinking about her? That he would search her out and declare his undying love?
Megan swallowed back an unladylike snort and pushed through the swinging doors leading to the back. Not only did Jason not know her real name, he didn’t know where to find her. He didn’t know her. And he never would. How could he, when he had never even looked at her the countless times he had been in here?
No, she didn’t expect anything. She was the one who had obsessed over him, who had let Haley make her over so she looked so different. Who had followed him to the nightclub then agreed to go home with him.
And she was the one who snuck out without so much as a goodbye. No, she had no expectations. She had hoped for one night and got so much more, so she had no right to be sulking and moping.
Now if she could only get her heart to agree with her mind—she stopped and rolled her eyes. Her heart? Really? The whole situation was funny. Or rather, it should be. Except it didn’t feel funny, didn’t make her want to smile. Instead, it made her want to kick something.
She pulled her leg back, ready to ram her foot into the metal door of the large walk-in, to release just a small bit of her built-up frustration.
“Megan Michelle Bradley. What are you doing?”
Megan groaned and dropped her foot, which was probably a good thing since she was wearing her Chucks. Frustrated or not, it wasn’t worth a broken toe—or more. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and forced a smile on her face then turned to face her mother. “Just getting another case of beer.”
“By kicking the door? Is that a new system I don’t know about?”
Of course her mother would have seen that. And how was she supposed to answer? She’d been caught acting like a child and there was no excuse she could think of to explain it away. “I was just, um, checking something out.”
Her mother raised her sculpted brows in surprise, then stepped closer. She tilted her head to the side, her hair swaying with the motion, and studied Megan for several long minutes, long enough that Megan wanted to squirm. Or run and hide.
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?”
“With what?”
Her mother waved a hand up and down. The bangle bracelets on her wrist clanged together, the noise almost musical. “With everything. You had your hair and nails done last week, went clothes shopping, changed your look. And then you changed everything back. What happened?”
Megan glanced down at her yellow Chucks, her stained jeans, the old chambray shirt buttoned over a plain gray tank top. Then she looked back at her mother and shrugged. “Nothing. I just decided that wasn’t me, that’s all.”
Her mother watched her for another minute, her soft brown eyes seeing too much. “Hm. And if something was going on, you’d let me know, right?”
“Yes, Mom. I’d let you know.” Not really, no. “Nothing is going on, honest.”
At least the last part was true. Now, anyway. Her mother didn’t look entirely convinced but she didn’t say anything else, just moved to the coat rack off to the side and grabbed her coat.
“The restaurant side is closed and everything cleaned up, ready for
tomorrow. Mitch and Debbie have everything under control on this side so I’m going to go home. Your father is acting like he’s at death’s door with this bug he has so I’m going to placate him.”
Megan nodded then rocked back on her heels as her mother shrugged into the heavy coat. “Tell him I hope he feels better.”
“He’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle him first. For a retired police officer, he can be such a baby.”
Megan choked back a laugh, then took a deep breath, pushing the next words out in a rush. “We’re kind of busy tonight, how about I help out behind the bar, serving?”
Her mother’s hands stilled in the act of buttoning the coat. She looked up, a small frown deepening the faint lines on her forehead. “Megan, you know I don’t like you working the bar. It’s bad enough you’re even here on the weekends. You don’t need to be here. You should be out with your friends, having fun. Not working here six or seven nights a week.”
“But I like being here. And I like tending bar. It’s fun.”
“That wasn’t exactly what we had in mind when you said you wanted to learn the business so you could eventually take over.”
“I know. But it’s something I want to do. And it’s not like I don’t already work the bar during the week. Weekends aren’t any different.”
Her mother watched her for a long minute, silence stretching around them despite the noise and music from the bar area. Megan held her breath, waiting, unable to read her mother’s thoughts.
Her mom finally shook her head and released a long sigh. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow at dinner.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow. At dinner.” Her mom stepped forward and reached out with one slim hand, gently brushing the hair from Megan’s forehead. “You should be going out, enjoying yourself. Making friends. Living life. I don’t understand why you’re so intent on spending every minute here, working.”
“Because it’s business. You and Dad do the same thing.”
“Your father and I are a bit older than you. And we still make sure to live life outside of here.”
“So do I.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t. Not like you should.” She stepped back and gave Megan a soft smile. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Okay, fine. Tomorrow.” Megan tried to smile, to hide her disappointment. Yes, they’d talk about it tomorrow. But the answer would be the same, she knew that as surely as she knew her own name.
She watched her mother leave then turned back to the huge walk-in, squelching the urge to kick the door like she had wanted to do earlier. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she did need to get out more, go do different things.
No, wait. She’d done that last week and look what happened.
Megan pulled two cases of beer from the stack then pushed the walk-in door closed with her butt. She was halfway to the swinging gate of the bar when she realized grabbing two cases may have been overdoing it, especially when she had to twist and turn through the crowd to get where she was going. She adjusted her grip on the cases and blew the hair from her face, muttering “Excuse me” as she shuffled her way across the floor. It didn’t matter, people weren’t paying any attention. Either they didn’t hear her, or they didn’t care.
Probably a combination of both.
“Michelle! Hey, Michelle!”
Megan kept pushing her way forward, wondering why someone seemed to be shouting in her ear. Then that someone pushed their way in front of her, causing her to stumble to a stop. She looked up, ready to ask them to move, and came face-to-face with Tyler Bowie.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise then quickly snapped shut. She glanced around, fear making her palms sweat. Was Jason nearby? This wasn’t good, not at all. She wasn’t ready to see him, not yet. Not when she knew what would happen: nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Tyler reached down and took one of the cases from her. But he didn’t move, didn’t turn to the side and offer to follow her. He just stood there, his dark eyes focused on hers with an intensity that made her want to run away.
“Guess you didn’t hear me calling you.”
“Uh, it’s a little loud in here—”
“Except I was right beside you so you should have heard me.”
Megan leaned forward, turning her head to the side. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
And damn if he didn’t laugh, like he knew exactly what she was doing. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth in spite of herself. She shook her head then kept moving through the crowd, not bothering to stop Tyler from following her. He waited while she emptied the first case, then stood there watching her, his arms folded across his broad chest, as she emptied the second.
She looked around, spotted a few of the other players back in the corner. Jason wasn’t one of them. Should she be disappointed? Or grateful?
She turned back to Tyler and gave him a small smile. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yeah. No problem.” He looked around then leaned closer. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”
The smile on her face died. Talk? Tyler Bowie wanted to talk to her? Apprehension filled her, spreading out with lightning speed, making her limbs grow heavy. She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
“It’s about last week. At Calypso’s.”
Megan’s heart slammed into her chest at the same time her stomach plummeted to her feet. For an agonizing second, she actually thought she might fall over, that her legs would give out and she’d end up as nothing more than a quivering pile of embarrassed nerves on the floor. Her eyes met Tyler’s and then she wished she would fall. Hit her head. Knock herself unconscious.
He knew. He really knew.
She had thought he recognized her last week but then brushed it off, telling herself she was imagining things, that there was no way he could recognize her. And then she’d been so wrapped up in Jason and everything that happened afterward that she had completely forgotten about it.
Except now, Tyler was standing here in front of her. And he wanted to talk. About last week.
Megan looked around, wishing that something would happen to call her away. That she was needed elsewhere. But Mitch and Debbie had everything under control, there was no excuse for her to give him. And she couldn’t even send a silent plea to Haley because she had off tonight.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It won’t take long. Just a few minutes.”
Megan looked around once more then sighed. She could say no, could make up some excuse. He wouldn’t know any better. But part of her wanted to know what he wanted to talk about, the curious part of her that always led to trouble. And she had a feeling that he’d just wait and ask again.
She released another sigh then pushed through the small swinging gate and headed back into the crowd. She kept going, pushing through the door to the back room and not stopping until she reached the corner where a few chairs were scattered. Should she sit, or stand? If she took a seat, that might make him think she wasn’t in any hurry, that he could take all night talking. Standing would probably be better, send a silent message that she didn’t have much time—or even much interest in whatever he was going to say.
One look at the expression on his face, so serious and almost grave, was enough to convince her to take a seat. He pulled a chair in front of her, turned it around and swung one long leg over it then rested his arms against the back and watched her.
He watched her for so long that she started to squirm in the chair. She folded her arms in front of her and stretched her legs out, crossing her feet at the ankles. Then she cleared her throat and looked away from those deep eyes that seemed to see right through her.
“You wanted to talk?”
“Your name isn’t Michelle.” It was a statement, not a question. Megan glanced up at him then looked away and shook her head.
“No. It’s, uh, Megan.”
He made a small humming noise but didn’t say anything else for a few lo
ng minutes. He studied his clasped hands then looked at her again. “So why the charade? Are you trying to play Jason?”
Her head shot up, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “Play him? No! No, not even close.”
“Then why the charade?”
“I—” Oh God, were they really having this conversation? Did he really think Megan was trying to play Jason? How could she answer that? She couldn’t tell him the truth—it was too embarrassing, too revealing. And entirely too personal. But he was sitting across from her, watching her with a laser-sharp intensity that she was helpless to look away from.
Maybe he felt sorry for her. Or maybe she had that deer-caught-in-a-headlight look of panic on her face. Whatever the reason, he finally looked away. The brief reprieve gave her a chance to catch her breath, a chance to compose herself—or at least try to.
“I wasn’t playing him. I just…I wanted to get his attention and didn’t think…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. When he looked back at her, the barest hint of a smile teasing his full mouth, she realized she didn’t need to finish it.
“Yeah, Jason isn’t the most observant guy around. But he’s a nice guy, regardless. He doesn’t deserve to be strung along.”
“Strung along? Seriously?” Megan’s voice pitched ridiculously high, breaking on the final word as she straightened in the chair. “I did not string him along. Like, not even close.”
“Hm.” Tyler leaned back, the hint of grin gone as he studied his clasped hands once more. He grew quiet, almost too quiet, like he was deep in thought about…something. Then he raised his gaze to meet hers again. “He’s been hanging out at Calypso’s almost every night. Looking for you. Or rather, for ‘Michelle’.”
“What?” Megan couldn’t have heard him right. Was he really saying that Jason was looking for her? That he was trying to find her? But why? It didn’t make sense.
And she was suddenly torn between racing off to Calypso’s, or running home to hide. She couldn’t go to Calypso’s, not dressed as she was. And she didn’t want to change—not her hair, not her clothes. Not her makeup or her nails. As much as she’d love another night with Jason, she wasn’t going to play at being someone she wasn’t.
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