Eight
Stella
I pushed through the door of The Tap Room, shocked and overwhelmed at how packed the place was. I carefully tried working my way around the mass of people toward the bar that lined one entire wall at the side, across from the big picture windows. How I’d lived less than an hour from Hope Valley all my life and never knew about this bar was beyond me. Thank God Serenity wasn’t as clueless and shut off from the world as I was.
Not only did she know about this place, but she’d been here on more than one occasion, so she knew they hosted a live band one Friday a month. The place was ripe for the picking. I could have done a bump and lift at least four times on my way to the bar alone. If I didn’t have the belief that only assholes and terrible people deserved to be taken for a ride and conned out of whatever I could get my hands on, I would have done just that. Still, my morals were firmly in place, even after losing all that damn money.
After my text to Serenity the other night, she’d hightailed it over to my place, and together, we’d freaking the fuck out for a good long while, diving into my remaining beers and finishing them off. It was ironic how our roles had reversed that night. She pulled herself together quickly and provided me a shoulder to lean on instead of the other way around. While I was losing my mind and trying to come up with a way to murder my landlord without being caught, she’d talked me off the ledge and actually made me believe that everything would somehow be all right. She also promised to help me hide that prick’s body if it came down to that.
We’d discussed everything and came up with a plan. It wasn’t like I could go to the cops and file a report against him. And I could have sworn he knew that. There was no way in hell I’d be able to make back all the money that shithead stole from me, probably not even half. But I needed a big score, or a shit ton of little ones. That meant I needed somewhere packed, somewhere I could blend in easily enough. That was when she’d mentioned The Tap Room. The most popular bar in the area, and for damn good reason, according to my big sis.
The music was loud, the crowd just a step or two away from rowdy. The atmosphere was surprisingly cool, and as I wound my way through the bodies, I couldn’t help but wish I was here with my sister, or maybe a couple girlfriends—if I’d had any of those, which, of course, I didn’t—having a few drinks, listening to music, and laughing and talking about the hottest guys in the bar. It might have sounded like such a simple wish to most people, but to me it felt like something as far out of my reach as finding a pot of gold at the end of a fucking rainbow.
I kept my eyes forward, knowing that looking around at people was the fastest way to gain attention. The less eye-contact I made, the less likely someone would remember me. I’d be a veritable ghost if I did this right. I looked as best as I could through the periphery as I sidled up to one of only a few open barstools and waited.
I hadn’t been willing to admit it to Serenity—and up until I pulled into the parking lot a few minutes earlier, I’d been denying it to myself as well—but a large part of the reason I’d jumped at my sister’s suggestion to check this joint out was because there was a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty part of me that kind of hoped I might run into a certain blond-haired, brown-eyed Adonis. I knew the odds were slim, if they existed at all, but I couldn’t help but hope.
I pushed all thoughts of West Scott down deep in my head and concentrated on the task at hand, all while trying to convince myself it would be best if I never saw him again. I still wasn’t quite sure what he did as a private investigation and securities guru or whatever, but I didn’t doubt he’d try to stop me if he caught me, and I couldn’t afford to walk out of here empty-handed.
So why the hell did the thought of not seeing him again twist my stomach up like I’d just eaten an entire carton of week-old Chinese food?
That was a thought I couldn’t afford to contemplate at the moment. Head in the game, Stell, I silently berated myself. This is about saving Dad and keeping all your feathers right where they are.
That reminder was enough to bring me back to the present and shake off any uncertainty I might have been feeling. This was for my dad. This was for my whole family. Once this debt was settled I could take the time to consider what it was I wanted to do with my life. But not until then.
A stunning dark-haired woman came to a stop in front of me across the bar top. She was dressed like a hippy rocker, wearing a shirt that read Tap it Two Times and exuded a vibe that screamed cool at the top of its lungs. “Hi.” She gave me a warm smile and leaned in, spreading her arms wide and bracing her palms on the wood, making the bracelets that covered her wrists tinkle. “What can I get you?”
“Um . . .” My gaze roamed the wall behind her, trying to decide between the countless beer taps. The number of options was overwhelming. “I’m not sure.”
That smile grew, making her even more of a knockout. “I get that a lot. First time here?”
I gave her a grin of my own. “Am I that obvious?”
“Just a little,” she said on a small laugh. “Plus, I’m here so often, I have all the regular faces pretty much memorized.” Well shit. “Yours is new to me. I’m happy to make a suggestion if you’d like.”
I ignored the way my stomach churned at that comment about faces. “Please. Go for it.”
“What do you usually drink at home?” she inquired.
Whatever’s cheapest, I thought to myself, but something told me admitting to drinking Natural Light and PBR when push came to shove wouldn’t really give her a feel of my tastes.
“I usually have light beer at home,” I told her, then thought, at least when I have the money to buy beer.
“Light beer. Got it.”
She grabbed a glass from behind the bar and moved along the wall of taps with a confidence that said she knew exactly what she was going to pull for me. A minute later, she was putting the glass on the bar in front of me and waited almost eagerly for me to take my first sip.
“So? What do you think?”
It was good. Damn good. And I was suddenly worried how much a beer that tasted this amazing was going to cost me. “It’s great. You’re really good at this.”
“Appreciate that. I’ve been at this a long time, so I’ve gotten a feel for what people will like.”
Well, she’d hit the nail on the head with this one. Unfortunately. Holding back my cringe, I reached for my purse, the unembellished black one with the false bottom, while asking, “How much do I owe you?”
“First one’s always on the house for newcomers. Enjoy, and holler if you need anything. My name’s Rory.”
With that, she headed down the crowded bar to help all the other people waiting, and I was left alone with my beer to scout for my first mark. Maybe I’d spot a woman openly hating on another member of the sisterhood simply because of petty jealousy. Or hopefully some asshole would come up and neg me so I wouldn’t feel so bad about relieving him of his watch or wallet. It never ceased to amaze me how some guys actually thought they could get laid by using emotional manipulation and passive insults disguised as backhanded compliments. Behavior like that quickly weeded out the boys from the men. Real men didn’t need bullshit like that to land a woman.