Page 7 of Wicked Ends
He rubbed the cream in. I couldn’t lie, any touch of his felt wickedly good.
“There, good as new,” he said and gave me a crooked smile.
My heart skipped, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. The very last thing I needed was a one-sided crush on a hot local bartender/biker. I was meant to be staying out of trouble, not attracting more.
“Thanks.”
Marcus’ hand was still cupping my face, his thumb curled under my chin. He stroked a finger down my cheek then dropped his hand.
“I should let you get back to work,” I said quickly.
He nodded. I stood and packed the supplies into the box and tidied up. Minutes later, I was following him back to the bar.
It seemed like business as usual. Someone had swept up the glass and righted the stools. I sat down again in my spot. Marcusgrabbed my unattended mocktail before I could drink any more and dashed it down the sink.
“I’ll make you a new one,” he muttered and moved along the bar to serve someone else.
I watched the last period of the hockey match, cheering discreetly for the away team, the very one my grandpa had always supported. They won, and I couldn’t help but grin and clap. It felt like a sign from my dearly departed grandpa that his team should win tonight, and I’d see it here, while spending one of my first nights in the new small town I’d chosen to settle in. The town I’d chosen to start over in. My new beginning.
“That your team?” Marcus asked from behind the bar.
I turned to him, grinning.
“Sure is.” Cheering had made me even hotter, and the air felt stifling. There was nothing I could do but lose my jacket. I’d kept it on because I had nothing bar-worthy to wear. As my money had dwindled, I’d picked up a few things at Goodwill to keep me interview appropriate, but as far as casual clothes went, the ones I’d stuffed into a bag a few weeks ago had grown a little snug. Eating at gas stations and from motel vending machines hadn’t done my waistline any favors.
I was painfully conscious of how my plain black cotton cami clung to my top half when I took off the jacket. I pulled uncomfortably at the material, trying to gain a precious few inches at the top of it, but there was nothing extra.
With a self-conscious sigh, I dropped my hands and took a sip from the new drink that Marcus had set in front of me.
I blinked at him. “This isn’t a mocktail.”
“Nope. I’ve decided to believe that you’re over twenty-one so I can get you drunk.”
“What if I’m driving myself home?” I remembered his other assumption.
He shrugged. “Now, I guess you can’t. You’re stuck here. With me.”
Before I could pick apart that odd statement, Marcus’ dark eyes turned to someone ambling toward us along the bar.
“Hello there, pretty lady. Not from around here, are you?” a gruff voice asked.
I nearly screamed in surprise when I turned to see a grizzled old biker, beard more white than gray, propped up next to me at the bar.
“Can I buy you a drink, lovie?”
I opened my mouth, not sure how to turn him down without offending him.
“She’s got one, Ray,” Marcus interjected, his tone cool.
Ray nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, okay, but she might want another one.”
“She doesn’t. She’s good with what she has.” Marcus’ face had lost its teasing look.
Ray nodded and sighed, pushing off the bar and strolling away.
“Wow, do you always speak for a woman, or am I just lucky?” I turned back to Marcus.
He raised a dark eyebrow.
