Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He cranks his head to the side without a word.
My pulse kicks up when I follow his gaze and see Owen sitting at the far end of the bar.
"Your stranger is back," Jersey says. "Want me to get rid of him?"
I'm barely able to fight back a snort of laughter. Owen looks like the type of guy who could literally pick Jersey up and tie him in a knot, but the chivalry on my behalf is sort of nice.
"I can handle him," I mutter. "Let me know if you need anything else."
I walk further down, hating just how aware my body is of the way he watches me approach him.
"Beer. Bottle. Cap on."
I narrow my eyes at him, pissed that we're right back to this bullshit, the same words he said the first night I saw him in here, like he wasn't rubbing his damn erection against me the other night.
Instead of doing exactly what he wants from me, I pull a glass from the shelf under the counter and stare him down as I fill it with an inch of whiskey, plopping it down so hard in front of him that the liquid sloshes over my fingers. I maintain eye contact as I lift my hand to my mouth. I stop just short of sticking my finger in my mouth, but the plan worked because the man seems entranced with my movements.
I turn away from him, walking toward the hand sink to wash my hands. I'm not going to lick my fingers while working, especially not after taking out the trash. I probably should've washed them before serving both guys, but no one is complaining, not even Owen who isn't getting the beer he wants.
I look back over my shoulder, but his seat is empty.
"Do you need anything before I go?"
My attention is pulled from the empty spot to Tommy, who is standing not five feet from me.
"What?" I ask, more than a little distracted.
Owen is like smoke, fading into nothing so easily. My teeth dig into my lower lip when I picture him waiting outside again for me, both wishing he would and hoping he doesn't.
Tommy is in a polo-type shirt and crisp chino slacks. He's always been more put together than his brother was. Tommy is ten years older than Billy, and whatever rift they had between the two of them was well-formed before I came along. They'd avoid each other at any family function they were both in attendance at.
"I'm going to get out of here. Do you need anything before I go?"
I see the challenge in his eyes, the one that's daring me to ask about what I saw. I can't tell if it's a threat to keep my mouth shut or if he wants me to ask.
"Everything is good," I finally manage, the part of me that ignored all the bad signs about Billy making guilt swim in my gut.
But even if I wanted to confront Tommy, doing it right now with witnesses in the middle of his bar wouldn't be the best place for it. I don't want to get all defensive over that woman and risk losing my job when there could be a very good explanation for her tears.
"Be safe getting home," he says before leaning in and pressing his lips to my temple.
The first time the man did it was to get a rise out of his brother, and they nearly ended up in a fistfight that day. For some reason, he's done it every time he's seen me since.
"Will do," I tell him, relief washing over me when he takes a step back, giving the entire bar a quick once-over before walking away.
Chapter 9
Hemlock
Feeling like a stalker is nothing new for me.
I can't count the number of times I've literally hunted someone down in order to glean information from them.
However, I can't convince my mind that Zara is prey.
I had to make myself scarce when Wilkinson made his way to the business part of the bar, using the opportunity to go to the bathroom and demand my reflection get better control of himself. The way I thickened in my jeans when she refused to give me a beer, pouring a glass of whiskey instead, had me questioning my own sanity, which, let's face it, I do regularly. Only she has me feeling completely different. Feeling out of control is commonplace for me. Not being able to control those urges is a whole other story, and it seems Zara Hailey somehow has the ability to reach inside of me and strum those cords, as if she'd known how to play me her entire life.
It should piss me off. I should want to steer clear of her completely, but that's not the case. I feel this magnetic pull to her, a tug of curiosity that makes me want to know what crawling inside of her and strumming her cords would feel like. To say I'm completely out of my element where she's concerned is an understatement.