Page 24 of Twisted Hearts

Hell, the last time I’d laughed had been months earlier at a family wedding.

Which meant I really did need this night. Jaxon’s attention landed on me when I was several tables away like he’d known exactly where I was the minute I stepped inside. Seriously, I’d been a cop for years and was used to paying attention to every detail around me, scanning rooms and flagging anything that caused me concern, but Jaxon’s skills were on a whole other level of intensity.

Eye contact made, I pointed at his drink, and he raised his bottle so I could see the label. Without skipping a beat in his conversation with Charlie, he went back to it, taking a drink, and while it might have looked like he shifted his focus away from me, I figured the guy knew exactly when I sidled up to the bar.

It was packed. Charlie hadn’t been kidding. I knew the entire Rough Riders football team was going to be there. Jaxon’s office wasn’t invited only because he was friends with the owner, but because his sister was married to a player. For a moment, my breath caught as I realized who I was around.

Beaux Hale, the quarterback, was ten feet from me talking with Gage, his wide receiver. Connor Quinten was close by, his arm draped around a petite blonde who grinned at him like he was a superhero.

Andholy fucking shit.

Seriously—how had hanging around professional football players become my life?

I shook the thought away, waited my turn at the bar, and tried to figure out what I wanted to drink.

I’d been told Dreammaker’s would carry only beer and wine from local breweries and vineyards around the Carolinas, which seemed pretty kickass, but if I was taking a night off to relax, beer wouldn’t do it for me.

There were three bartenders, two men with the typical hipster haircuts, skinny jeans, and shirts that were glued to their bodies and a woman down at the other end. I didn’t catch a glimpse of her until I leaned closer into the bar to get someone’s attention.

She turned to pour a drink for someone, sprayer nozzle in her hand, glass in another, and she glanced up at her customer, grinning and saying something as she did.

And holy hot damn.

It washer.

The woman from the alley. Even from her profile, before she turned and put her back to me, I recognized her. That hair, darker and shinier under the lights of the bar, and I swear my mind had memorized the curves of her backside when she’d run from me in the lobby.

Oh yeah—I needed to get laid. I needed a night of release.

This woman I couldn’t stop thinking about?

She was it.

I pushed off the bar and moved down to the end where she stood, ignoring my inner fan boy who wanted to jump out like a seven-year-old as I passed by a guy I swore had to be Oliver Powell, one of the best tight ends to ever play the game, and finally found a spot near the corner of the bar.

She had her back to me again, hair pulled up into a ponytail, wearing the same black shirt as the other bartenders. It was glued to her curves perfectly. My mouth went dry at the sight of her as she turned.

Smirking, I kept my focus on her while she rang up another customer, took his card for a tab, and then turned to me.

She’d been smiling as she worked, but as she registered who I was, that smile fell along with her bottom jaw.

“You.” And she didn’t sound nearly as happy to see me as I was to see her.

8

Addi

Iblinked. Blinked again. It had to be a dream that Shawn was standing right in front of me, looking just as sexy as he had the first time I saw him. He had to be a mirage. With all these hot guys I’d been serving all night, I’d wanted to kick my own ass more than once for not only recognizing their hotness and fumbling like a freshman at her first frat party around them, but also for comparing them to the man directly in front of me like my own thoughts had conjured him out of thin air.

“Me,” he said, pointing a finger at himself.

I couldn’t help but follow that finger with my gaze, straight to the middle of his chest. He was no longer in a tuxedo, now sporting a plain black, athletic-looking shirt with a zipper that was open from the base of his throat down to right where his finger landed. And holy damn that shirt fit him perfectly. It molded around his biceps and shoulders like it had been sewn onto him by the world’s most talented seamstress.

I needed a man in my life like I needed a gun held to my head as someone forced me to return to Charleston, but still, a girl could look. Right?

“What are you doing here?” I grabbed a beer from the cooler for a customer who was still waiting near where Shawn was standing, now looking amused with a handsome twist of his lips and grinning down at me.

After taking the top of the beer off, I slid it in the customer’s direction, nodding my appreciation at his thank you.

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