The Only Thing

by Marie Harte

  When a fourth man would have attacked Heller’s blindside while he dealt with the others, J.T. calmly decked him, a clean kick between the man’s legs. The sneaky guy went down with a groan.

  “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” someone said from behind her.

  “Rena, you good?” J.T. asked his cousin, who remained behind the bar.

  Unlike Hope, Rena didn’t seem fazed by the violence. She poured more beers and handed them out. “Fine. J. and Earl are coming.”

  Two men not quite as tall as Heller—but large, angry, and wearing black T-shirts with the word BOUNCER in bold white letters—collected the injured.

  They dragged the defeated brawlers away, gave Heller a look and a warning, then returned to their posts near the main door.

  “I am sorry if you were scared,” Heller said to Hope in a gravelly German accent. His deep voice startled her into taking a step back. “But they were not going to go away because you said no.”

  “Oh. Yes. I see.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

  J.T. roped an arm around her shoulders. “Hope, meet Heller. Heller, this is my friend Hope.”

  “Hello.” The giant, Heller, glanced from her to Rena. “You are Rena’s friend too, yes?” Taller than J.T., with huge muscles and menace dripping off him in waves, he seemed a little too much for a girl to take. Handsome, yes. But too overpowering for Hope.

  Not like J.T.

  She subtly stepped back once more, so that she was nearly on top of J.T. “Yes, I know Rena. She was making me laugh when those guys came over. The one, Fletcher, said some rude things to her.” Hope frowned. “Some racist things. I’m glad they threw him out.”

  From behind her, Rena said, “Ray let him return on a probationary basis. But now Fletcher’s permanently banned.” She sounded smug, took a look at Heller, and made a sad face. “Oh, Axel. Come here. Let’s see those knuckles.”

  The huge man meekly followed her into the back, and Hope could see his unabashed admiration for his makeshift nurse.

  “I like her,” she told J.T. “She’s so sweet and funny.”

  “Yeah. We all have a soft spot for Rena.” He tugged her with him away from his friends at the other table, who had yet to take their gazes from her and J.T., and sat with her at a different table. “Rena’s mom and my mom were sisters. When mine died, my aunt stepped in to help with me. Well, when she wasn’t running from one guy to another. Unlike Rena, Aunt Caroline is not good with men or money.” He sighed. “Mama with drama, that’s our Aunt Caroline.”

  Hope tried not to smile.

  “What?”

  “You’re funny. That fight was crazy, but you’re still so calm. You kicked that man in the… Well, between his legs. He went down hard. But you barely blinked, and now you’re here with me, talking about your mama-with-drama aunt.” She shook her head. “Ray’s is just like my brothers said it was.”

  “I’ll bet.” J.T. paused, studying her. “You don’t want to leave?”

  “Heck no. We just got here.”

  He sighed. “Of course you want to stay.” He muttered something she couldn’t make out, but she was having too much of an adventure to care. Hope had been sheltered all her life. She’d never seen a fistfight before. Not one other than between her brothers or that had been scripted for a movie or TV. Had her mother called her staid? Unadventurous? Hope wished Linda could see her now.

  Except that wanting to stay at Ray’s wasn’t a way to get back at Linda. She liked it here. “Do you get in a lot of fights?” she asked her rescuer.

  J.T. shrugged his massive shoulders and waved at one of the waitresses. “Hold on. Hey, Sue. A pitcher of Coors and some nachos?”

  The waitress, a woman with muscle, tattoos, and lots of piercings, nodded.

  “I did her Chinese dragon,” J.T. mentioned. “Hell, I did artwork on a lot of the guys who come to Ray’s. But to answer your question, no, I don’t get in a lot of fights. My hands are my livelihood, and frankly, I’m old enough to know better.”

  “How old are you?”

  He grinned. “Thirty-two. How old are you, Miss Nosy?”

  “Twenty-nine.” She sighed. “I’ll be thirty in a few weeks.”

  “Why the sigh?”

  “Because I’m not married, don’t have kids, and have a job with no potential, according to my mother.” All of which were true.

  “So what? You don’t have to be married with kids to be happy, do you? I mean, I’m not. I’ve got a job I love. I’m sitting with the hottest girl in the place, and I don’t have to worry about having an active social life because I don’t have a kid at home waiting on me to play daddy.”

  “Good points.” Her cheeks felt hot because he’d called her the hottest girl in the place. You’re so easy, Hope. “It’s just hard when all your friends and family are moving on to a different stage in their lives and you aren’t.”

  “Tell me about it. My sister is happily married. Even my dad’s getting all clingy with Sophie. Not that I think that’s a bad thing, but it’s weird. All the guys at the garage, who I used to hang with a lot more than I do now, are hooked up with women. And Heller’s always mooning after my cousin. It’s like all the happiness of being single has been taken over by these couples.”

  The disdain with which he said that had her laughing. “God, I feel the same way. I went to a wedding last week. Remember? I was wearing that awful pink dress when I met Greg on that hill.”

  He nodded, his gaze intense. “I remember. I was thinking, man, she looks sweet. Pink was my new favorite color. Then I saw Greg starting to hassle you. Before I could get close enough, you had him on his ass.” He chuckled. “It was freakin’ hot how you handled him.”

  She blushed. “Thanks. I just did what I was taught. I took my brothers’ self-defense class.”

  “Good thing you did.” He paused as Sue brought their pitcher and some glasses, then darted away with a promise to return soon with food. “Seems like the class was worth it.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Hope watched him pour them beer, taken with his huge yet graceful hands, his long fingers, the corded strength of his forearms and biceps.

  “Ah, you mentioned a wedding?”

  She took a hasty sip, found it palatable, and took another. “Yeah. A friend of mine got married. It was a beautiful wedding.” She sighed. “Except for the bridesmaid dresses, it was awesome. She and her husband are honeymooning in Paris. Now my best friend won’t stop talking about all things French.”

  He chuckled. “I dated a French chick once. Don’t believe all that talk about the French making the best lovers. She was boring and hated kissing. It was weird.”

  The woman had to have been nuts, because the one thing Hope could attest to was that J.T. could kiss. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “Not much to say.” He shrugged and drank his beer. The waitress dropped off the nachos, and he pushed them toward Hope. “Ladies first.”

  “Oh. Cheese. Yum.” She took a large bite, not caring that she wouldn’t appear dainty or ladylike while she gobbled down nachos slathered in sour cream and guacamole. Normally, she did her best to try to impress a date, but since this one with J.T. didn’t count, she didn’t bother.

  He didn’t either. They fought for the few black olives in the dish, as well as the cheesiest chips.

  “Hey, back off, woman. That’s mine.”

  “Please. You need to watch your figure. I’m doing you a favor.”

  He blinked. “Watch my figure?”

  “Yeah. You don’t want to get all bloaty from the dairy, do you? Especially since that table has been eyeing you all night.”

  He groaned. “I’ll talk to them. Sam and Lou are such a pain in my ass.”

  “Are Sam and Lou girls? Because I’m not talking about your friends. I’m talking about them.” She nodded to the girls making eyes at J.T. the
moment he turned.

  Hope wanted to be above catty jealousy, but it annoyed the heck out of her that the “ladies” at the table couldn’t see J.T. was with her.

  “Oh.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry. I dated one of them a while ago. She wants to get back together.”

  Surprised at his honesty, she nodded, hoping he’d continue.

  “But we’re too different. She wants babies and marriage. I want to stay swingin’ single.”

  “Right.” Hope refused to feel an ounce of disappointment that the man she refused to date didn’t want permanence. “Swingin’ single is where it’s at.”

  “It is when it comes to psychotic exes,” J.T. mumbled and leaned closer, his voice low. “She was talking about dating exclusively ten minutes into our first date. And she…” He blinked, flushed, and pulled back. “Let’s just say she was willing to do anything to get an agreement out of me.”

  Hope frowned. “Please tell me you didn’t date her for sex then dump her.”

  “That was our agreed plan,” he said, being shockingly forthright. “She wanted some lovin’, same as me. I don’t try to scam my way into a girl’s heart. See, when I’m dating someone, we both go into a relationship with the same goals in mind. Fun, pleasure, and parting our separate ways. Trish…well, she tried changing the rules from the get-go. I tried to let her down easy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Enjoying herself, because the insight into his character amused her, Hope continued the interrogation. “I’m sure you rejected her advances and sent her home with a polite not interested.”

  He smiled. “Well, now. I wouldn’t say that. I’m a gentleman, Hope.” He ignored her snort. “I didn’t want to upset her. So I shared myself, spreading joy. And even…hope.”

  She groaned.

  He laughed. “Kidding. I mean, I did make her happy. And that wasn’t a euphemism for sex. I tried going out with her, keeping my intention of casual fun clear. She seemed on board when I told her I refused to date her and only her. But after a few weeks, she got weird. I bailed. I’ve tried to be nice, but—”

  “Hey, J.T.” The woman stood behind him.

  Hope had watched her approach and wondered how he’d handle it.

  He crossed his eyes, and Hope had to work not to laugh at his annoyance. “Oh, ah, hey, Trish.”

  “Hi, baby.” She shot a cold-eyed glance at Hope. The girl was pretty. Long, dark hair, dark-red lips, dark eyes. She had curves and dressed to show them off in a short skirt, a belly-baring top, and heels. “Who’s this? My replacement?”

  “I have a feeling nothing I could do would replace you,” Hope said, trying to sound complimentary. Sadly, as curvy as she was, Hope would never fill out the clothes Trish wore. And with her luck, she’d kill herself in stilettos that high.

  The woman blinked. “Huh.”

  J.T. tried to bite back a smile, but Hope saw it. “This is my good friend Hope. She’s never been to Ray’s, so I’m showing her the place.” He blew out a breath, then added, “She’s my new girl, Trish. Be cool, okay?”

  “Oh. It’s cool here.” Trish put a hand on J.T.’s shoulder. “Very cool.”

  He tensed, and Hope felt for him. As much as she thrilled at being in her first He’s my man altercation, she’d never been in a situation where she had to fight over someone. But feeling the animosity growing and wanting to live on the edge for once, she raised her chin and gave Trish the stink eye.

  “Yeah, cool.” Hope pointed a finger at J.T. “He’s mine now, Trish.”

  Trish frowned, most likely not having expected Hope to be anything but perky.

  J.T. just stared at her.

  “Well, okay. But don’t hog him forever.” Trish let J.T. go. “He never stays long, you know.”

  Hope nodded. “That’s his appeal. Have a great night. And I have to say, you’re really working those heels.”

  Trish laughed. “I know, right?” The woman sashayed back to her table and was soon joined by a pair of rough-looking customers.

  “That was impressive.” J.T. guzzled his beer and poured another. “But I was really hoping for a girl fight.”

  “Please. First of all, it would have been a woman fight. I doubt Trish was a girl even when she was five. More like a brawling preteen. And second, is it wrong if I was hoping for a little sparring match while I’m here?” She laughed, joyous and excited and feeling alive for once. “Man. That’s never happened to me before. Ray’s is awesome. I’m definitely coming back here soon.”

  J.T. put a hand over hers. “Not without me.”

  “Well, okay. I guess.”

  “Don’t guess. Say it.”

  Her laughter fled as she looked into eyes darkening with authority. She nodded, her throat dry. “Not without you.”

  He didn’t smile, but his satisfaction was clear.

  Feeling strange and now a little unsure, Hope tried to take charge of their date again. “Okay, I told you about the wedding. Now you tell me. Do you have a lot of kids with a lot of different mothers? Have you done jail time? And do you have tattoos I haven’t seen?” Yet.

  Oh God. I am in serious trouble with this one. I need to end this date and not have another.

  But she couldn’t stop herself from moving her hand so it now rested on top of his. She gripped him, once again tingling from their contact. “Answer the question, J.T. Or I’ll have to get mean.”

  “Promise?”

  Chapter 5

  When J.T. dropped her off at her place, Hope had tried to leave the car and him behind. But he’d been raised better than that. He walked her inside her building to her apartment, waited for her to unlock the door, then watched as she stepped inside.

  She turned, her hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for a fun night.”

  That she meant it made him want to shout with joy. Stupid reaction.

  “Yeah, sure. No problem.” He studied her, aware she watched him as well.

  The tension between them grew, each not moving, looking into the other’s eyes. He stepped closer, and she tensed, her breathing loud.

  Not smart, but screw it. He ran a finger down her silky cheek. “I had fun tonight. You’re okay, Hope Donnigan.”

  She gave a slow smile. “So are you, J.T. Webster.” Her smiled faded when his finger grazed her lower lip.

  “Maybe we should go out again. We didn’t share too many personal details. I’ll probably fold if your mom grills me too hard.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. We should figure things out.”

  Surprised she’d agreed without any persuading, he waited for her to suggest a time and place.

  “Does Friday work for you? We could go bowling and talk over strikes and spares.” She paused. “Can you swing by to pick me up here? Would that be okay, us driving together?”

  Her place, then in the close confines of his car, in private. Together. Cinching the straps of attraction even tighter. No way in hell was he that stupid. “Sure. It’s a date.”

  * * *

  Two days later, J.T. tried to lose himself in his art, drawing a siren that started taking on familiar features as thoughts of Hope continued to intrude on his day. In just four more hours, he’d be sitting at the bowling alley, staring at her ass, and trying to act like the thought of them having sex had never entered his mind.

  He sighed. I am such a moron.

  The date at Ray’s couldn’t have been better. Hope had not only proven to be bloodthirsty under that veneer of blond, ladylike manners, she’d also been funny and a hell of a darts player.

  They’d paired up and taken Sam for twenty bucks, Lou for ten. Heller, fortunately, had bowed out, too busy mooning over Rena. Though the Websters kept a protective eye on Rena, no one had a problem with Heller wanting to court her. J.T.’s dad thought it amusing that the brawny German was getting nowhere fast with the girl. Del didn’t mind, and J
.T. had never considered Heller a threat. The poor bastard was head over heels for her, and Rena refused to let him into her soft little heart.

  A lot like how Hope was refusing to let J.T. into hers. No, but she’d let him into her apartment later tonight. In just three hours and fifty-nine minutes. No, fifty-eight minutes.

  He sighed again, baffled at his reaction to the woman. Shit. He felt butterflies in his stomach, his nerves of steel more like nerves of putty at the thought of her soft skin, that golden hair, her ripe, red lips… J.T. breathed in deeply and let it go, needing any release he could get.

  “Swear to God, you need an inhaler or something. What the fuck, man?” Vargas glared at him from across the room at his station. While cleaning up after his last client, the cranky tattoo artist gave J.T. his infamous death glare.

  Unlike Grim, who looked like a human version of the Grim Reaper, or Suke, who screamed tough chick at a glance, Vargas looked almost normal. He had the requisite sleeves of tattoos and artwork creeping up his neck. Sandy hair cut conservatively short, jeans, a buttoned-up short-sleeved shirt, and a pricey watch made the guy seem more yuppie than grunge.

  Until he spoke. Then the attitude came pouring out. A basket case of nerves and emotion Vargas churned into artistic talent. The guy specialized in blacks and grays, and he had a waiting list almost as long as J.T.’s.

  “Problem, V?”

  “You. You’re my problem. What’s with all the sighing? It’s getting on my nerves.”

  J.T. grinned. “Nicotine patches not working anymore?”

  “Hell. I quit using those two weeks ago. Thanks for noticing.”

  Daisy walked in, saw Vargas steaming, and walked back out.

  “So if nicotine’s not your problem, what’s up your ass, then?” J.T. looked at his buddy and noticed the absence of candy wrappers. “Ah, so no sugar?”

  “Bad enough I’m off smoking.” Vargas ran his hand through his hair, causing sections to stand on end. “Marci told me I had to quit with the candy,” he snarled. “She’s on a fucking diet.”