Page 11 of Mr. Charming

My stomach swoops. “I’m sorry?”

“The Falcons. You’re late, they’ve been snatched up by other women. Women not like you.”

My fingers point at my chest as if I’m not hearing her correctly. I want to say not all of them unless Tweetie was the one who got married in Vegas this weekend and not Conor.

God, stomach, stop with the reactions. We don’t need him in our life.

“I’m not here to date them or sleep with them.”

She finally turns around from wiping down the liquor bottles. Her gaze coasts over me again, and she hums. “You are older than the usual ones.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

She studies me further. Just when I think she’s going to escort me out by my arm, she pats the bar in front of her. “One drink.”

I smile, take off my coat, and slide up on the stool. “Rum and Coke with a lime.”

She nods. “At least you can order a good drink.”

She busies herself pouring my drink, and I cross my legs, observing. I’m pretty sure under that harsh exterior is a woman with a heart. After all, if she’s so protective of the guys, she must care about them.

She places my drink on a napkin. I figure she’ll go back to the liquor bottles, but she slides another stool out from behind the bar and sits across from me. “So, who do you want?”

“I already said I don’t want anyone.”

“You’re looking for someone?”

I nod, sipping my drink before setting it back down. “Tweetie.”

Her head rocks back, and she studies me again. I’ve never felt so scrutinized by anyone. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in the way her lips almost tip into a smile that I don’t understand.

“It’s business-related,” I clarify.

For a woman who speaks her opinion on every turn, she’s awfully quiet.

“We knew each other a long time ago.”

“What did you say your name was?”

I have no frame of reference on how well she knows him. He lives upstairs, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility for him to be close to the bartender in the same building he lives in. Tweetie makes friends with everyone. Plus, she’s protective of them. The one thing I have on my side is that Tweetie keeps everything superficial with people. He’s not one to tell a story about how he’s been hurt. Then again, I’m not sure he was even that hurt when we broke up.

Shut up. You know he was. Just as much as you. You just like to deny it.

“Hello??” She waves her hand in front of my face.

I blink. “Sorry. Tedi. Tedi Douglas.” I extend my arm.

She stares for a moment before shaking my hand. She still doesn’t say anything, and it almost comes across like she does know my name, but there’s no way.

“And you are?”

“Ruby.” Her hand slides out from mine. “I own the bar.”

“I figured.”

Light filters into the bar from behind me, and her gaze veers over my shoulder. A small smile creases her thin lips. “Hey, boys.”

I have no idea how I’m able to feel that he’s entered the room, but I do. He’s here, and we’re back to sharing the same space. The hairs on my neck rise, or maybe it’s just my anxiety.

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