Page 17 of Hemlock

Instead of walking toward me or offering me any sort of explanation for what I just witnessed, Tommy stares a hole through me for several very long seconds before turning and walking back into the bar without a word.

Unease settles inside of me as I head back into the bar, finding the narrow hallway completely empty. Tommy must've gone back into his office. I dart my eyes in that direction, wondering what the best course of action would be. Do I even have a right to ask him what the hell all that was? To see if that woman was okay? Is this one of those see-something, say-something situations?

The small handbell that Edith keeps on the counter for customers rings, pulling my focus back to my job.

Jersey holds up his empty beer bottle when I walk back into the main part of the bar, and I grab him a fresh one from the fridge on my way. I give him an easy smile, but he doesn't smile back.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I take the empty bottle and toss it into the freshly empty trash can, wincing when it thuds against the bottom.

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

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