Page 5 of When The Rain Falls

“Here’s the thing,” Dan says. “I’ll give you three songs. Can’t have this turning into some Coyote Ugly bar.” I nod.

“I don’t know about this,” Tate says, eyeing the bar cautiously. I know what she’s thinking. She doesn’t want to embarrass herself. I don’t have the same qualms. I’m the impulsive, spontaneous one in the friendship. Which is probably what’s always getting me into trouble.

This isn’t the Seattle bar scene we’re used to. We’re city girls. But right now, we’re in the predominantly rural town of Point Evans. This is where I ran with my tail tucked between my legs after Alex evicted me. It’s quieter here, less crowded. The people seem less flashy, hence the gimmicky Hawaiian shirt theme night.

This also happens to be where my sister lives. Not a coincidence. I knew I’d have to be imposing on her hospitality sooner rather than later. This bar, Sparky’s, is one of the few intown. And it happens to be only two blocks from my hotel, so it works out perfectly. I chatted up Dan when we first got here. I let slip that I’ve always wanted to dance on a bar and he said he could make that happen when the big crowds died away.

“Come on, Tate. Just one song,” I urge her as I approach the bar. I glance down across the wooden bar top. It’s not a very big bar. And it’s empty except for one man seated at the very center. His large mass is hunched over a glass. His gaze is boring into the liquid as if he were trying to conjure Satan. If anything could do it, it would be his face. I’ve never seen anyone look so…murderous.

What a troll. He's totally ruining the vibe. Not to mention, his broad shoulders are taking up a lot of precious dancing space.

Dan sees me eyeing the stranger. He shrugs.

“Can you ask that guy to move?”

“Nope, sorry,” Dan replies. “What you’re looking at is a Category Five Brood. We don’t talk to Finn when he’s brooding. Especially not Category Five. Not if we want to keep our facial features, you know,on our face.”

I blow out a raspberry. I’m tipsy. And the warm buzz in my chest makes me feel bold. “He doesn’t scare me,” I finally say. He’s just a man. Made up of the same skin and bones as the rest of them. Control the dick, control the man. They really are that simple. Which, now that I think about it, may be why I’m so bored with it all. “He’s no match for my bottomless charm.” I wave away Dan’s skepticism. This is the same bottomless charm that earned me a new record of six free shots tonight. Which is completely different from mytoplesscharm.

“Good luck withthat,” Dan says as he throws a white towel over his shoulder. His tone growing slightly ominous.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s notoriously uninterested in women. You'd have better luck charming a rock.”

I study the stranger and his muscular shoulders. I don’t mind strangers. Strangers are just friends who haven’t bought me a drink yet.

"Dan, the first thing you should know about me," I say, tossing my long hair over my shoulder, "is that I’m not afraid of a challenge." I give him a sly smile. "Especially a challenge with muscles." This is what my mouth says after consulting all six of my previous tequila shots.

I throw a glance back to Tate. She’s rolling her eyes. You can’t be my best friend for over five years and not know how stubborn I am, especially when I’m tipsy.

I walk two fingers seductively along the bar counter, drawing closer to the stranger with the shoulders. He has hair the color of rich earth. I notice he smells like fresh pines and clean linens. Some kind of manly eau de toilette. Or rather,eau de TROLL-ette.

“Heyyyy,” I say, making my tone as flirty as possible.

“Nope,” he responds curtly. He lifts a glass to his lips and stares at the far corner of the bar. The exaggerated scowl on his face almost makes me laugh.

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” I scold him, placing both hands on my hips.

This guy, Finn or whatever, slowly turns his head to me. His face radiates disdain.I can work with disdain.His eyes are light grey. Moody and vibrant. Like a storm cloud catching muted sunbeams. The rest of his face is all sharp lines and chiseled features. It’s the kind of face that has the power to make women’s panties wilt. Somewomen’s panties. Not mine. Nope. My panties are staying just the way they are.

Did you hear that, panties?

“I’ve seen you work this whole goddamn bar,” he finally mutters. His elbows are propped on the counter and when he swirls his glass, I see the muscles in his shoulder ripple. “Andwhatever you think you’re doing, it’s not going to work on me. I’m not buying you a drink.”

“What are you talking about?” I bristle and stand a little taller.

“Aimee,” Tate tugs on my elbow, “it’s fine.”

“Did Tyler put you up to this?” Finn asks. “Go back and tell Tyler I’m done with his bullshit.” With that, he sets his glass down loudly on the bar top. The bar top where I should be dancing right now.

“Who’s Tyler?” I ask. “Is he single?” Uggh. My drunk brain appears to have a one-track mind. It may not be a stable track. Or well maintained. But there is definitely just one.

“Perpetually.”

“I don’t think you can pin this one on Tyler,” Dan cuts in, wiping a glass with a dishtowel. “You attracted this one all on your own." He gestures to me. Gee, thanks, Dan. I thought we were allies here.

The man tightens his jaw and there’s a fiery power in his eyes. Like if I get too close, I might get burned. I’m not used to being refused. This isinteresting.

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