I’ll admit my heart jumped a little in my chest at those words. And that a deep, hard tingle settled itself right between my thighs when I watched him drink that shot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man drink a shot and look so sexy doing it. Delicious, he said in that low voice, and I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the whiskey.
Hoo, boy. You are going soft, girl.
Listen, I like a man in uniform like most red-blooded women, and seeing a bunch of built, badass operators like the AFE guys indeed calls to the cavewoman in me, but one of those men in uniform broke my heart a while back, and I won’t go through that again.
I’d been engaged to a sailor I dated since college. He went out to sea for several months, and when he came back to Virginia, he didn’t tell me when he arrived. I was working the night he got home, and he went out, got drunk, and went home with another woman—who he got pregnant.
When I say I’m done with men indefinitely, I mean, I am done. And it’ll take more than a flirty, blue-eyed badass with broad shoulders to make me forget that.
My gaze finds Matthew across the room. He’s leaning back in his chair, smiling and nodding at something the guys are talking about. As if sensing my stare, his eyes shift my way, and instead of looking away, he gives me a slow smile.
My entire body responds with a flood of warmth, and I whirl away.
Okay, so maybe I’m not totally immune to his charms. He is gorgeous. He’s got a killer body—that much is clear even under his casual clothes. He’s cocky, but it’s more playful than anything, and I can clearly see the real confidence that lies beneath it. And he’s persistent.
Maybe you don’t have to fall in love. Maybe he could be fun for a night or two.
Hmm. There’s a thought, indeed.
“Hey, gorgeous,” a loud voice behind me says. “Beer.”
I lift a brow and glance over my shoulder. A troupe of younger guys crowds at the bar. They’re not in uniform, and they don’t have military-style haircuts. The Draught isn’t military exclusive, even though that’s the majority of our clientele, but these guys could be from the nearby University of Maryland Global Campus.
The speaker looks to be freshly twenty-one, as do his pals, and they all yuk it up.
Dealing with pricks is nothing new to me. “What’ll you have?”
The guy glances at his friends then leans toward me. “Three pitchers of Sam Adams to start. Then your number.”
“Well, you can forget about number two. But I got your Sam Adams coming right up.”
“Damn, I think she needs some dick,” he says to his friends in a loud whisper. “Only reason why she’d act like such a bitch.”
I draw in a long, deep breath through my nose, preparing to destroy him. Devin has no problem with me dealing with disrespectful customers as I see fit—and how I see fit is usually to make them cry or get ’em real, real close.
“Here’s a news flash, Junior,” I say, setting one pitcher on the bar. “When you get rejected, rest assured it has nothing to do with the woman and everything to do with you. Your machismo is clearly making up for…” I glance down at his crotch, then back up at his face. “Smaller issues.”
Ooh, he doesn’t like that one too well. His face reddens as he shoves the pitcher down the bar to one of his friends. Beer sloshes out.
“Just like a bitch,” he sneers. “I’ll bet you’re single, huh? Can’t find a guy willing to put up with your attitude. You need a man to put you in your place.”
If I were wearing long sleeves, I’d be pushing them up my arms, getting ready for battle. But before I can move, he reaches out and grabs my wrist hard, jerking me toward him.
The move catches me off guard and my front slams into the edge of the bar. His grip on my wrist feels like a shackle.
“You’re not thin enough to be acting so high and mighty,” he says in a low voice. “Be grateful anyone is paying attention to you.”
Before I can ball up a fist to punch him in the nose, a large, tan hand lands on the guy’s forearm, hard.
“Take your hand off the lady. Right now.”
Matthew looms over him, glaring down at the younger guy. He easily has about six inches of height on the guy, not to mention fifty pounds of muscle.
Still, the younger guy sneers up at him. “Fuck off, soldier. No one was talking to you.”
I almost admire the size of his metaphorical balls.
“Don’t be stupid,” Matthew says quietly. I’m used to seeing him always so benevolent and cheerful. This serious side of him is almost scary.
And so fucking hot.
“I said, about-face and fuck off!”
Matthew sighs. “I tried to be nice.”
I don’t know what he does, but suddenly the guy howls, knees buckling, and he uses his other hand to scrabble at Matthew’s, still on his forearm. He immediately releases his grip on my wrist.
“What’s going on?” Devin demands, entering the bar area. She reaches for my wrist, which I’m cradling as I watch Matthew. “Are you okay?”
The college guy stumbles away from Matthew, holding his arm. “Let’s get out of here,” he yells at his friends, and they all scuttle out. Then I realize that the other AFE guys are standing not far behind Matt, silently, ready to pounce if the younger idiots wanted to have them a big ol’ bar brawl.
Not that it would have been a fair fight by a long shot, since Matt just disabled one of them by doing Lord knows what.
“I’m good,” I say to Devin, even though bruise marks are already peppering my skin. “They didn’t pay for that pitcher, though.”
“Not to worry.” The youngest AFE operator, Nicholas, steps forward and holds up a twenty, then grabs the pitcher. “I’m on it.”
Devin laughs but looks at me with concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod, looking at Matt. “Yep. Thanks to my hero.”
He’s staring at my wrist, a look of anger on his features, but at my words, he shifts his gaze to my face, and the anger fades. Instead, a look of surprise takes its place.
I step closer to him and lower my voice. “Hey, hotshot. Meet me at my car after closing.”
4
Raine
Hey, hotshot. Meet me at my car after closing.
What. Just what.
I can barely make it through the rest of beers with the guys as my head spins. I’m a mix of emotions right now—anger that little asshole dared to touch Olivia and leave a mark on her. Satisfaction that simply manipulating a very painful pressure point on the forearm was enough to get him to go without me breaking a sweat or employing more exciting techniques. And now, hunger and curiosity and other things I can’t name that Olivia wants to meet me later.
Her shift doesn’t end for several more hours, so I decide to head home and relax a little until then. And by relax, I mean sit and stew obsessively. A shower seems like a good idea, so I do that. I eat a little. And I stew.
Around ten, my phone vibrates—a text. When I open it, my stomach drops.
A text from my ex, Amanda.
Matty, I miss you. I just want to talk. Can we at least talk?
I delete the text and set the phone to the side.