I leaned forward, searching out the bartender, and sucked in a breath when he came into view. I’d expected to find some old grizzled fisherman type behind the bar, but instead I found a much younger man. Correction, a much younger, sexy as hell man. He had a wide, dimpled grin and dirty-blond hair flipping out from underneath a well-worn Red Sox cap. His tanned, muscular forearms flashed as he moved between pouring draft beers and reaching out for people’s credit cards.
Well, hell. I hadn’t expected to get that little weirdness in my gut from seeing an attractive man. And yet, there I was, stomach twisting and pulse hammering. It had been a while since my interest had been piqued. Even before Richard and I had broken up, things hadn’t exactly been on fire in the bedroom for months. It was good to know I wasn’t dead.
The kid glanced my way and gave a quick nod to indicate he’d seen me and would be down to take my order next. It gave me just enough time to get myself under control so that I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself ogling him. Which was important because I wasn’t here to check out sexy young men, I was here for work.
Though it occurred to me that perhaps I could mix the two together a little. After all, pressing this kid for information about McBride and the old Sea Sprite Inn property might net me some information that could help in the negotiations tomorrow.
“What’ll you have?” he asked with eyes flashing. He’d just finished laughing at something his previous customer had said.
“Mai Tai,” I said automatically, wincing a little at the frivolous order. I glanced down the bar. Most folks were drinking draft beer or basic mixed drinks. There wasn’t an umbrella or pineapple garnish among them. For a second I wondered if I should have ordered something more manly, but then, of course, I had to stop and lecture myself about internalized sexism.
“You sure?” There was a note of hesitation in his voice.
I blinked up at him, ready to defend my drink order now that I was properly re-feminist-ed. But his furrowed brows weren’t teasing. They were concerned.
I frowned. “Yes. Very sure. Why?”
“Your face did a whole thing just now, like…” He paused and then shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, clearly deciding not to pursue the line of thought. “One Mai Tai coming right up.” His easy grin reappeared as he turned to make the drink.
I couldn’t help but watch. After all, he was standing right in front of me. Despite the summer weather, he wore blue jeans that were clearly in love with him. They hugged him close and caressed every damned inch of his long legs and tight ass. It was impossible not to notice the way the muscles of his butt moved underneath that soft denim.
My stomach did that flip again, except this time something squeezed even lower in my gut. Something close to desire.
“The view costs extra,” he said over his shoulder. My face ignited as I realized he’d been watching me in the mirror behind the bar and had noticed me staring. I immediately dropped my eyes to my clasped hands on the lacquered surface of the bar. Since when did I perv on bartenders? Especially young ones who were clearly so outside my age range that it bordered on embarrassing.
When the drink appeared in front of me, I forced myself to look up. “Sorry about that,” I said, still feeling hot in the face.
He winked at me. “I was just kidding.” His grin spread slowly across his face, and he leaned in ever so slightly before adding, “For you, the view is free.” He held my eyes for a beat longer before turning to help the pack of softball players next to me who were clearly ready for another round.
It was about five minutes before I could even draw breath again. And I spent that entire time trying not to watch the guy like some horny barfly.
Which I failed at, utterly.
There was something about him, about the way he moved. He’d obviously been doing this job long enough for most of it to be muscle memory. He seemed at home behind the bar, and he certainly knew most of the locals since he called them by name and asked about their families or jobs or offered a joke if they looked like they needed cheering. The faded T-shirt he wore said Barwich High School Lacrosse which seemed to confirm both his youth and his local ties.
I focused on my drink, needing to find something—anything—to take my notice off the bartender. Richard would have had a field day if he’d seen me panting after such a young pup. You’re closing in on forty, old man. Maybe lower the bar a little.
I sucked vigorously at the Mai Tai. My friend Conor had warned me to stop giving so much mental real estate to my ex, but it was hard. After being with someone for several years, their voice was pretty well burned into your internal monologue.
“Ready for another?”
I blinked up at the bartender. My head felt a little bit lighter, and before I could stop myself I asked, “How old are you?”
He let out a soft snort but didn’t seem offended by the question. More amused. “Twenty-six. How old are you? Are we in some kind of competition?”
I shook my head and held up a hand. “Sorry. That was rude. Forgive me.” I cleared my throat and added, “And I’m thirty-eight. So… clearly I win. Or lose, depending on how you look at it.”
He grew serious, his eyes widening. “Ahh, ancient. Have you looked into reverse mortgages yet? I hear they’re all the rage with your set.”
I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, which made his eyes brighter and his dimple deeper. “I’ll check it out. Thanks for the tip.”
“You just visiting?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just here for a few days.”
“Let me know if you have any questions about our little neck of the woods. I’m a McBridey, born and raised.” His smile was genuine. “Ask me anything.”
It seemed the perfect opening, so I jumped in. “Thanks.” I glanced around, taking note of the crowd that had started to finally thin a bit as the night grew later. “This place seems to do a brisk business. Is it mostly locals?”
His eyes flicked around the space as if reminding himself of his own clientele. “Well, it’s not usually this crowded, actually. There was a softball game tonight. Everyone always comes here after. It’s tradition.”
“Not as many tourists?” I pressed. “You’re kind of off the beaten path here.”
He seemed to bristle a little. “We get tourists. McBride has a reputation as one of the Cape’s best-kept secrets. You can still get away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds and have a true old Cape experience.” He sounded like a brochure, and I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: me or himself.
“But there aren’t any resorts to really draw in the big money,” I pointed out. “I’d imagine if there were more hotels and such, this place would be busy every night.”
His face kept its easy grin, but he shook his head firmly. “No, thanks. We already have a small B&B in town and the Sea Sprite. Between that and the public beach access, it’s enough to keep us plenty busy during the season.”
I turned around as if I could see the shabby seaside motel from here. “That… that old place on the point? There are actual guests that stay there?” My surprise wasn’t fake. I truly didn’t realize the inn was still hosting enough guests to be considered a viable tourist destination in McBride.