Page 1 of Summer Catch

Chapter 1

Kieran registered the man sitting down at his bar before he even got a good look at him.

“Just a sec,” he called out to the guy who’d wandered into the Pirate’s Booty and he’d spotted out of the corner of his eye.

“No rush,” a pleasant, amused voice responded. Kieran liked the sound of the voice before he ever saw the man, but even the feeling of him was a good one. Like fireflies on a hot summer night or condensation from a cold beer dripping onto his hand as he took a long sip.

Kieran finished stacking the last of the clean glasses from the washer onto the counter behind the bar and turned.

He’d owned the Pirate’s Booty before it had ever been the Pirate’s Booty. The day he’d bought it, it had been Dan’s Bar—such a bland and unimaginative name—but between his bartending job before and purchasing this bar, he’d served probably millions of people.

Every single one of them coalesced into one feeling in his mind. The inevitable tug and subsequent certainty he always felt when faced with someone on the other side of his bar: the knowledge of what they should be drinking.

Not what they wanted to drink. Or what they ordered to drink.

But deep down, what they should be drinking.

For the first time, that gut instinct was missing. He did not know what this man should be drinking.

He looked inside, and that certainty was still gone. The blankness was weird. Unsettling, actually.

The man opposite him smiled. Like absolutely nothing was wrong.

Kieran tried to follow suit. Wasn’t sure his smile was nearly as nice.

Because the smile was nice. Broad and crinkled his eyes at the corners. Nice eyes, too, a dark, deep brown. Almost the exact same color of the shiny wood bar between them.

Those eyes should have set Kieran at ease. But they didn’t.

“What can I get you?” The words were rote, almost a rut worn down the middle of him, comfortable and familiar.

Almost every time, someone gave him a drink order, and depending on who it was, he’d either keep that knowledge to himself, or he’d tell them, bluntly, what they should be having instead.

“Ah, just a beer, I guess. New in town. Not sure what’s good.” The man offered him another one of those very nice smiles.

“New in town, huh?” Kieran grabbed a chilled glass from the cooler and in a few expert movements poured him a beer from the tap—a tangerine wheat from a local brewery that he liked especially.

Even if he didn’t know what this guy was supposed to be drinking, he might as well give him something good. Something cool and refreshing on a hot day.

And it had been a hot one, even for late April.

Kieran set the glass in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said. Then shot him a bit of a disbelieving look. Like he couldn’t quite believe Kieran didn’t know who he was. Not in a smug, egotistical way, but in a thank God, he didn’t recognize me kind of way.

Kieran had been intrigued before—nobody had ever not pinged his superpower like this—but now he was more than a little fascinated.

Kieran looked closer. The guy was young. Maybe just over thirty. And attractive. He rarely noticed that in his patrons anymore because he wasn’t the kind of bartender who liked to serve booze to people and then pick them up.

Which had honestly led to a very long dating drought and a very intimate relationship with his right hand.

And then it hit him.

Of course he knew this guy.

He’d seen him on ESPN just earlier today, sitting as comfortably in front of a whole wall of reporters as he was now, in Kieran’s bar.

“You’re the new Condors coach,” Kieran said.

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