Arrogant Bastard

by Jennifer Dawson

  “Start a tab?” he asks.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Another shot appears, and the guy looks at me like he’s contemplating striking up a conversation. But my expression must warn him away, because he shrugs and walks off.

  I sigh in relief—not because I couldn’t have dealt with shutting him down, but because I’m saved from having to do so.

  I take a sip of the beer, putting it back on the counter before rubbing my temples, hoping to ease the stress headache that’s been pounding all afternoon, despite the caffeine and Advil I consumed.

  The impending restaurant opening has everyone on edge, so I turned my phone to do not disturb and slipped out of the house undetected. I remind myself that Jackson and Gwen are in the process of getting plans to build a house on the back part of their lot, with a drive to connect the restaurant, and that will make life a little less crowded.

  But that’s still a long way off. And tonight, I don’t want to be found.

  I pick at the label on the bottle, trying to figure out when it’s safe to take my next shot. I don’t want to get shitfaced. I drove here, for one thing. Plus I’ve got too much stuff to do tomorrow, and I have to give a tour of the distillery to a restaurant looking to stock our rum.

  I just need to take the edge off.

  I stare at the shot for another couple of minutes and then down it, raising the glass for another. I roll my neck, shaking off the tension and trying to loosen my shoulders.

  I’ve been working with Caden for two weeks now, and it’s not getting any easier. I find everything about him exasperating.

  Even the fact that he’s so good at what he does irritates me.

  That he’s better than me is infuriating.

  But what’s worse, everyone loves him.

  And I do mean everyone.

  Even Mrs. Potts loves him, and usually she limits those feelings to Natalie. Last night she blushed when he complimented her cornbread like she was a sixteen year old with a crush. It was ridiculous.

  And the most terrible thing of all? I want him. I want him bad.

  I’d hoped the shine would be off him by now, but if anything, our weird, unwanted chemistry has only grown.

  He’s like crack.

  Somehow, after the card game, he wormed his way into eating dinner with us on the regular, and last night I had a sex dream about him. I woke up, sweating, my body aching and wanting.

  Even in sleep, I can’t escape him.

  I’ve fallen under his spell just like everyone else has, and it galls me.

  It’s not even his fault. He’s been nothing but pleasant. He goes over all his decisions with me, and I can’t fault a single one. He’s polite, cordial, respectful, and any number of other synonyms.

  He’s treated me exactly the way I’d hoped he would, but that tension is still riding high between us.

  I down the other shot sitting in front of me, gulp half the beer, and put my head down on my folded arms.

  “That bad, huh?”

  I shoot straight up.

  That goddamn dripping-honey voice! It’s following me.

  My head swims a little, and I have a surge of hope that the alcohol is making me hallucinate. I turn to look behind me.

  Nope. It’s Caden—looking ridiculously hot in jeans that mold to him like a second skin and a blue T-shirt I’d like to peel off.

  I blow out a long breath and plan on sticking to all this politeness between us. But instead I say, “What are you doing here?”

  A smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  His gaze flickers over me, so fast and fleeting I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. He shrugs. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  That sets my teeth on edge, so I wave a hand over the near-deserted bar. There’s only five people in here, not including us and the bartender, and plenty of open spots. “Well, my reasons aren’t at all mysterious. I came here to drink alone, so if you don’t mind.”

  Of course he sits down next to me.

  I raise a brow. “So you do mind?”

  His attention slides to my drink, and he signals the bartender. “Another round for her, and I’ll take a shot of what she’s having and a Pabst.”

  “I don’t want another round,” I say, just to be stubborn.

  He chuckles. “Then don’t drink it.”

  I hate that he doesn’t argue with me. It’s annoyed me since he stepped into my office that first time. It makes me want to pick a fight—an impulse I ignore, but with the shots and a light dinner, I’m fuzzy.

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

  “Suit yourself,” he says, and the bartender returns with our drinks.

  Caden stands, pulling money out of his pocket.

  The bartender points at me. “She’s got a tab.”

  “I’ll settle it.”

  Like he has the right. I frown. “No, don’t settle it.”

  The bartender looks at him, then at me, then back at him. “I’ll let you two figure it out.” He walks away.

  I point to the empty seat at the end of the counter. “Did you not hear me say I want to be alone?”

  “I did.” He points to the shot glass. “You gonna let me do a shot all by myself?”

  “You would have been doing it all by yourself if I wasn’t here.”

  “But you are here,” he points out, oh so helpfully.

  I contemplate throwing the tequila in his face, but that seems a bit too dramatic and wouldn’t really work in my favor. Not only does it show my cards, it wastes perfectly good alcohol.

  Doesn’t mean I can’t work out a deal.

  I scowl. “If I do a shot with you, will you leave me alone?”

  “Probably not.” He grins.

  I think he intends it to be all good natured and disarming, but it doesn’t come across like that.

  Heat kicks up low in my belly. I shake my head. “You know, I kinda hate you.”

  “Oh, I know you do.” He laughs, and it hardens my nipples under the thin cotton of my tank top.

  “I find you annoying.” I straighten my spine, feeling justified. Which is probably the liquor. But isn’t that the point of drinking? To justify your actions while you’re in the headspace to not give a shit about the consequences?

  “You don’t say.” He takes a drink of his beer before placing it on the bar and shifting toward me. “What else?”

  “You’re infuriating.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “You think you know everything.”

  “Not everything, but most things.”

  I’m on a roll now, and it feels good to let loose a little. I’ve been strung too tight for too long. I need to snap to find some balance. “I hate how everyone likes you.”

  He flashes that smile at me. “That is frustrating.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Oh my God, stop it.”

  “I’m just listening to your list of grievances.”

  “Well, stop.”

  He picks up his glass and tilts it in my direction. “About that shot.”

  I growl, peering at the clear liquid. Maybe if I do it, I’ll get rid of him before I do something stupid.

  I pick up the salt and lick my skin. I glance back at him. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Caden

  Cat’s tongue darts out, pressing against the back of her hand, and I have to stifle my groan.

  The gods are torturing me. I came here to find some relief from her, but I can’t seem to escape, so I give in. It’s exhausting trying to fight her.

  As she licks the salt from her skin, my grip tightens on my glass. She isn’t trying to be seductive, but it has that effect all the same. She downs the shot, and I do the same, hissing at the burn in my stomach.

  She pops the lime between her teeth and sucks before tossing the rind in the empty glass. She shakes her head a little
. “I probably shouldn’t have any more.”

  “You drive here?”

  “Yeah.” She props her head on her hand.

  “I’ll drive you home.” Being enclosed in my truck with her sounds like a terrible idea. But since that night of the card game, I’ve been a perfect angel, and it’s starting to wear on me.

  “What about my car?”

  “We can come back and pick it up tomorrow.”

  “What if I don’t want to go with you?”

  Since I met Cat, she’s seemed determined to bait me, and I don’t give in. I’ve been telling myself it’s to be good, but the truth is, my continued politeness appears to infuriate her.

  And it’s fucking adorable.

  I raise a brow. “You’re such a responsible woman. I wouldn’t take you for a drunk driver.”

  Her spine straightens, and she sways a little on the stool. “I’d never!”

  I tilt my head. “Then how did you expect to get home if I didn’t show up?”

  She shrugs. “If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have had another shot, and I’d sit here for a good long while, have a few waters, and maybe some terrible nachos just to be safe. By the time I was done, I’d be fine and driving back unscathed.”

  “So it’s my fault?”

  “Of course.” She crosses her legs, which are bare in a pair of shorts. At some point today she put on this red top with buttons down the front and capped sleeves. It’s the same outfit she wore at dinner. It gave me pause then, and it gives me pause now.

  Despite my best intentions, and all the work I’ve done, I lean close. “Then let me make it up to you by driving you home.”

  Her brow furrows, and she leans in instead of away. “Well, now that I can’t drive, it’s the least you can do.”

  God, this is a shit idea. I point at the empty glass. “You want another?”

  “Yes.” She nods her head and shifts away from me, like she’s realized we were a little too close. “I shouldn’t, but I’m already seventy-five-percent there. Might as well go all the way.”

  “I can’t fault your logic.” I hold up two fingers to the bartender, signaling another round.

  She runs a hand through her hair. It’s down, swirling around her shoulders. She normally wears it pulled back in some sort of haphazard bun or braid. It’s thick and wavy, the color a rich brown with golden highlights.

  I want to touch it.

  The shot goes down smooth as I watch her.

  She toys with a lock of hair, twisting it around her finger before it falls loose. “Where were we?”

  I lean back on the stool, putting plenty of distance between us. “You were listing your grievances.”

  “Oh yes.” She shifts around in her seat, like she’s excited to get back to it. “That’s right.”

  I grin. “You got anything else?”

  “Course.” Her voice has lost all that edge she normally carries around with her. It’s smooth and silky now.

  “Let’s hear ’em.” I crook my finger, coaxing her.

  She smirks, all mischievous. It’s a good look on her. She should wear it more often instead of pulling herself into a tight little ball all the time.

  “I’m waiting.” My tone slips into husky.

  “Weeeeeeelll…” She draws out the word, all theatrical.

  Jesus H. Christ, I want her. I’ve done a very good job of hiding it, of playing it cool with her, but it’s not getting any easier. “Yeessss?”

  She smiles now, and I think it’s the first real smile she’s offered me. I’ve seen it, of course, with her family and especially her niece, but this is the first time she’s thrown it in my direction, and it’s blinding.

  “I hate how you never answer any question.” She waves a hand at me. “You think I don’t notice, but I do.”

  “Do you, now?” I did think she didn’t notice. She’s not wrong. My motto is why give away more information than you need to? Most people don’t really give a shit and are asking questions to be polite.

  “I do.” She leans forward. “I find it most annoying.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I think you owe me.”

  “Why?”

  I’m enjoying myself way too much. If I was smart, I’d pay the bill, gather her up, and drop her on her porch before running back to my cabin and locking the door behind me. But I’m not smart, and the thousands of lectures I’ve given myself are nothing but a whisper. I won’t do anything about the situation, obviously, but I see no reason to end it prematurely either.

  She huffs. “I gave you a job, a place to live, and I put up with you, even though I hate you.”

  “Again, you make a good point.” I prop my elbow on the edge of the bar. “Okay, shoot. Ask me a question.”

  She stares at me for a moment before saying, “Really?”

  I nod. “Really. You get one question.”

  She nibbles her lower lip, her brow furrowing. “Now I can’t think of anything. My mind is blank.”

  “Awww…” I cluck my tongue. “That is unfortunate.”

  All of the sudden, her face lights up. “Oh, I know.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why did you come here tonight? Instead of going to Beau’s like the rest of the town.”

  The question surprises me. I expected something about where I grew up or my parents or if I have any siblings, but not this. It’s a question I don’t particularly want to answer.

  I raise a brow. “Out of all the questions you could ask in this world, this is what you want to know?”

  She thinks about it a moment before nodding. “Yeah.” She jabs a finger at me. “Be honest.”

  Now I should say something like I wasn’t in the mood to be around other people tonight, and that would be true, but it’s not really the truth. I contemplate, then decide fuck it. She wants honest? I’ll give it to her.

  I lean forward, far too close. “I came here to avoid you.”

  She locks those steel gray eyes onto me. “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  She scrapes her teeth across her lips. “I came here to avoid you too.”

  “Then this is pretty unfortunate, isn’t it?”

  She sighs, all wistful and dramatic. “You have no idea.”

  6

  Cat

  I’m drunk.

  I pretended to be buzzed the night we played cards, right along with everyone else, but I’d made sure to stay sober. I hadn’t trusted myself, and I don’t trust myself now, but I’m giving myself a pass because it was an accident.

  And the truth is, I haven’t been drunk for a long time. In my haze I can’t help thinking I should do it more often. I’ve forgotten how freeing it is—how it makes everything funny instead of worrisome, how it makes you not care about all the things you should.

  I’m enjoying myself, and I haven’t enjoyed myself in what feels like forever.

  The man across from me isn’t helping matters.

  Now that my teeth aren’t grinding down, and I’ve surrendered to my inebriated state, there’s no one else I’d rather be sitting with.

  We’ve abandoned the shots in favor of just beer, so I now sit right on the cusp of happy drunk. I keep meaning to go home, but two hours have passed, and I’m no longer fighting with myself to leave, temporarily giving up the long war I have ongoing with my body.

  Caden and I are playing darts, and it’s my turn.

  I line up, aiming the dart in a little swaying swirl.

  He’s standing in back of me, and I concoct a fantasy that he’s watching me, his eyes on the curve of my hip in my tiny shorts. I imagine his gaze settling on the strip of skin between my top and the waistband. How would those rough hands feel on me?

  “You gonna take that shot, boss, or just stand there all day?” His tone is amused, and I let his voice drip down my body.

  “Shut it. I’m lining up.” I can hear the flirt there, loud and clear.

  A distant part of my brain, unaffected by the alco
hol, warns me to pull it together, but I ignore it. God, I just want to have a good time for once. Without worrying.

  Is that so much to ask?

  “Is that what you’re doing?”

  I give an exasperated huff. “Obviously.”

  “Looks to me like you’re swaying in place and not lined up for shit.”

  A grin slides over my lips. He’s such a bastard. I make a good show, but I kinda love it. I look at him over my shoulder and shudder at the sight. He’s so hot sitting there, leaning on a barstool, long legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest, a beer in one hand.

  I give him a sassy wave of my hand. “You’ll see.”

  He chuckles. “I look forward to it.”

  I give into my base urges and stick my tongue out before turning back to the subject at hand. Once again I line up, squinting to train my vision on the bullseye. It’s only a little blurry. It’s good enough.

  I toss, and the dart lands on the wall next to the board.

  “Awww…how unlucky.”

  I’m not quite sure what’s wrong with me, but his mocking tone sends heat through my blood.

  I whip around, planting my hands on my hips. “The wall moved.”

  He laughs. “Sure it did, honey.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re the absolute worst?”

  He straightens, levering himself off the stool. “You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  He walks toward me, his gaze intent. My breath stalls in my chest, but then he veers around me at the last second to gather up the darts and I breathe again.

  I turn to track his movements, and he’s standing in front of me, looking down.

  He smirks. “Because you’re a smart woman.”

  I peer up at him.

  We’re close now. It’s a dance we’ve been doing all night.

  Advance.

  Retreat.

  Advance.

  Retreat.

  Over and over.

  And honestly, I never want it to end.

  I can’t do anything about the tension between us, but it’s been long enough that I want to lean into it a little.