Page 8 of The Oath We Take

I stop in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m just wondering what you think it adds to your bottom line. An extra five…ten percent?”

“You know, beingfriendlyprobably does add to my bottom line. Customers return when they find a place they feel welcome and appreciated. Sometimes, customers buy an extra drink they weren’t intending to because I smiled at them.”

“If you didn’t flirt, they wouldn’t get so clingy like that last guy.” He takes a swig from his beer.

I glance at the two girls with him and Catfish. Legally old enough to be in here. Folks aren’t allowed in without showing their ID. One of them hooks her arm through Atom’s.

I glance at their arms, then back to Atom. “I could say the same about you.”

A tension hovers between us. It’s like elastic, strung so tight that it’s gonna snap. I hate that he has that effect on me. But until I find a man who can stir me with a glance like Atom does, I’m screwed. “Do you two know each other?” the woman asks.

“Not anymore,” I say, just as Atom says, “Yes.”

“People spend money when they feel special.” I tip my chin in the direction of the woman and try to find a smile. “You may want to try it.”

My heart races as I step through the entrance to the kitchen. “You may want to try it,” I mutter out loud in disgust at myself.

Such a terrible line. Like high school. I hate how Atom sometimes reduces me to the most ridiculous fraction of the woman I actually am.

Pettily, I march over to yank the walk-in refrigerator door open. The containers holding the sliced fruits are cold, and so is the air, but I pause.

I take a deep breath and let the cold air nip at my skin, energizing me.

Hudson “Atom” Addams is the bane of my existence.

And yet…

There have been moments when he shows me who he really is. I remember the time I went camping and hiking with a friend and got hurt because of a rockfall. He was the first one to get to us because he raced there on horseback.

Then there was the day this place almost didn’t become mine. At the eleventh hour, the contractor tried to increase our agreement for renovations by twenty percent because he’d assumed E. Deeks was a man when he made the deal. Atom made a personal visit to him at my father’s request and got my agreed rate back.

From the look of Atom’s knuckles when he came back with the agreement signed, I’m certain fists were involved.

Then he told me I shouldn’t be running a bar and should probably live anywhere other than here.

“Urgh,” I say as I shiver.

I head back to the bar and place the slices of fruit where they belong, but on the way, I pass Atom. He’s talking to one of the girls, who laughs. I bet her name is Summer or some shit. All-American. Bet she’s a cheerleader with an IQ lower than her age.

And now you’re just being petty.

She puts her lips near his ear, and he bends his head to hear her better. And I wish his shoulders didn’t fill out his shirt quite so well.

When she squeezes his bicep like I once used to, I realize I’m staring.

“I’m gonna go collect some glasses,” I say to Jade, then flip the end of the bar so I can cut through. Some bar owners don’t even work their bars. But for me, this is my world. It’s a fully legal enterprise.

I don’t allow the club’s leather cuts in here because if you let one biker in wearing their cut, next time they bring a friend wearing theirs. And before you know it, the place is overrun with them and locals avoid the place because it’s become a biker bar. The Outlaws clubhouse exists for that reason. I want everything aboveboard. Wouldn’t even accept my dad’s offer of security through the club. And definitely didn’t agree to clean money through the accounts for him.

Because now I have something legal I can be proud of. A place my mom and stepdad can come drink at during the rare occurrence they’re in town, where there are no reminders of the club girls who couldn’t keep their hands off my dad, who equally couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

I walk towards the stage. It’s empty tonight, but I have a band booked for tomorrow and it will be heaving in here. I make a note that one of the lights above the fire exit is flickering; I’ll need to change it soon so I’m not in any code violation.

“Hey, Ember,” shouts Quinn, who runs the bakery down the street, and I stop by her table.

We sit on the same small-business committee for the town. It’s filled with old white men wheezing about shit that doesn’t matter. Quinn and I have our own version of bullshit bingo with words likeagenda,minute keeper,order, andMr. Chairman.

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