Page 17 of On The Rocks

“You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that.”

“When it’s important.”

“Why do you care?” When I tipped my head and stared at her, she sighed. “Not in a rude way, but why now? You’ve got to be in your thirties. Why is it important now?”

“Are you calling me old too?”

She shrugged. “You’ve got some years on your face.”

“Blunt.” I shook my head, but I had to laugh. “I’m a few years younger than Kain.”

“It’s a good face.” She set a glass down. “So is Kain’s.”

“Was there a compliment in there?”

“Just a fact. How many times did you break your nose, though? Didn’t anyone teach you how to duck?”

I huffed out a breath. “I’m not sure why I like you, but I do. And I boxed in the Navy.”

She ignored half of that comment as she picked up another and began the thorough cleaning action once more. “That makes sense. Guess you weren’t good at it.”

“You’re a hard woman.”

“Am I supposed to swoon that you boxed? Just says you have an aggressive side.”

“When I was young and angry, sure.” When all I wanted to do was prove myself to anyone and everyone. It had been a long time since I cared. “Then I found the guitar. Less blood and broken bones.” I grinned at her. “More girls dig a guitar.”

“Nice deflection. Probably works for you with all that charm that drips off your tongue, but you still didn’t answer my question.”

“You think I’m charming?”

“I thinkyouthink you’re charming.”

“Hmm. That’s not what I heard.” My gaze dropped to her mouth again. The deep red lips that were too damn appealing. Would that lip paint smudge or stick?

She licked her lips, and my chest tightened. Maybe she wasn’t as immune as she pretended to be. I lifted my focus to her depthless dark eyes. The brown of her irises and pupils were barely discernible in the shadowed corner of the bar.

“You heard wrong.”

“Noted.” I set down a glass and started on another.

“So, you’re not going to answer, then?”

And it was far too close to Kain’s question. Yes, I felt like I was beating my head against the wall with him some days, but at least I fucking felt something.

I’d fed on the adrenaline of being an AIRRs in the Navy until I’d lost one too many souls to the unforgiving ocean.

I’d gotten out before signing on for another four-year stint. Then I met Marc.

The lure of the stage had replaced the adrenaline of the Navy.

I flexed my left hand that had been more at home with a fret board than any boxing glove or belay line as I jumped out of a chopper.

And then that had been snatched away too.

I gave her my most winning smile, hoping to put that crap back in its box. “Guess it was just time.”

She gathered up four glasses and put them in the underside rack that made them easily accessible for busy nights. The next batch of glasses were tall and slim for the various creations she came up with on any given night.

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