Page 13 of Hemlock

Coming to that conclusion does nothing to tamp down my anger. Common courtesy is a thing, and even the surliest asshole in the world should at least adhere to social norms and acknowledge people.

His lack of attention chaps my ass like a pair of leather pants until I'm to the point of simmering and standing right in front of him, my finger jabbing him in the chest like I have any right to touch him. But he broke that rule first earlier today, didn't he?

"I'm just trying to be nice," I snap, each word one more jab to his rock-solid chest. "You have no reason to be a dick."

"I'm not a man you need to be tangled up with."

I pull back my hand, cradling it to my chest, taken aback that he actually responded verbally instead of jacking me up with his hands clamped on my upper arms and demanding that I never touch him again.

I scoff. "Tangled?"

I shake my head, my smile widening when he looks confused by my response.

"I just want a quick fuck. Tangled is the last damn thing I want."

I know he sees the way my eyes widen with my words. I've had some not-so-clean thoughts about this man. He's gorgeous. I imagine every woman he encounters, who is missing an ounce of self-preservation, has had such thoughts about him. What I didn't expect is for those words to come bubbling out of my damn mouth.

My body thrums with possibilities when that dimple in his cheek deepens just the slightest bit. I imagine it's the closest thing I'll ever get to a smile from him.

I clap a hand over my mouth and shove past him, my cheeks flaming with heat by the time I make it to the front door of the bar.

Thick, recycled air hits me in the face, a drastic difference from the clean, cool air outside, but it's not like I could exactly breathe any easier around the man I left standing in the parking lot.

"If all you want is to get fucked, Zara, then that's something I can easily give you."

I freeze with his warmth at my back. My heart pounds in my chest as if he'd fulfill that promise right now with the ten or so people inside staring at us.

Edith smiles from behind the bar.

Jersey, one of the regulars and a man who flirts with me constantly despite having a wife and three kids at home, narrows his eyes at the sight of us, making me realize how it looks.

The people watching us in the bar have no idea we've arrived separately. From the smirks on a few faces, I know they think differently. I can only imagine the lies my reddened face is telling right now.

I clear my throat and step further into the bar, ignoring the man who has no business saying such things to me, despite what I mentioned to him out in the parking lot.

"Fuck off," I snap over my shoulder before walking away.

I smile at each of the people in the bar, not letting them off the hook for attempting to get into my business by staring me down and voicing their opinions with their facial expressions.

Edith continues to grin over my shoulder until I'm standing right in front of her, and then the relief that's so familiar washes over her face. I swear the woman acts like she's serving out some kind of prison sentence with each shift she works.

"I'll leave it in your very capable hands," she says as she starts to tug her apron over her head, her gnarled fingers struggling to keep a grip over it as she tugs it away from her body.

I almost open my mouth to ask why she continues to work, but that would put me in the middle of her business. Since I don't want to have a conversation with anyone about why I just happened to show up at work with an angry biker practically on my back, I keep my damned mouth shut.

As I tug on my own apron, I do my best to hold my head high despite the eyes still locked on me. My skin is heated and somehow cold all at the same time, and the stagnant air in the bar doesn't help either sensation.

When I look in the direction of the door and see the doorway empty, I shift my eyes to the seat he has sat at the last two times he was here. It's empty.

He had the nerve to speak those words to me and then leave. That somehow makes everything worse.

I have no illusions that the man left because I told him to fuck off. I was certain he was the type of man who wouldn't be impressed with a woman having the last word, but his absence proves differently.

It's for the best, honestly. He's right about not being the type of man to get tangled up with, but what he doesn't know is that I shouldn't get tangled up with anyone.

I get started on my shift, once again having to prep lemons and limes. Although they're listed on the dayshift checklist, I've fully accepted that this is just one of those things Edith isn't going to do. I'm fine with it, however, because it gives me something to do rather than engaging in conversation with folks who will no doubt have a lot of questions.

"New friend?"

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