Page 13 of You Can't Fight Lightning
“Seemed what?”
Roxy shrugged, her eyes sliding away. “Everything I read about him makes me pretty sure he wasn’t my type.”
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say.
How was the king of the gods of Olympus not someone’s type?
Chapter Five
Roxy
Okay, this was heading into the realm of the weird. Most of the people who came in here didn’t want to talk with me about my hobbies, or passions, or interests. Normally, they either wanted to get drunk, in which case I was to pour a little extra for them, usually requested with a wink, wink, or I needed to slide my number across the bar with the drink napkin.
Never had I gotten into a discussion about my interest in mythology and who my favorite god was. Much less about my dad. But once I started talking with him, the words just fell out.
Given all that, it was still strange to see this man, Z, look poleaxed when I said Zeus wasn’t my type. This wasn’t some breaking story, or something to get all hot and bothered over.
But Z Olimbus wasn’t your normal bar patron.
Normal bar patrons didn’t make my heart beat out of my chest. They didn’t give me visions of sweaty bodies, or limbs entangled together, or hot, drugged kisses that lasted for an eternity.
This guy did.
Which meant I needed to avoid him no matter what it took.
“Are you all right?” He hadn’t spoken since I’d told him I thought Zeus was kind of a jerk. Not that I said that, because Pete and Loretta had a policy: Don’t argue with the customers. Laugh, joke, offer them some pretzels, and move away. Don’t get too serious.
It sounded hokey, but it worked. Most of the staff had been here for years. Same for a lot of the clientele. People tipped well, and this was a nice place. Which was something you didn’t usually hear about when referring to a biker bar.
But Pete and Loretta were married, with four extremely spoiled dogs. They’d been here for years. They knew not only the people of Bisbee, but their kids. They did charity runs nearly every month, usually for kids or rescue pets. They kicked major ass at softball. Sometimes, we even had Hell’s Angels, or similar clubs come and participate in our charity runs, but they behaved. Pete made it clear there was no other option.
Which meant that the bartenders and the cocktail waitresses kept things light and fun, too.
It worked.
I’d found a peace here I never thought I’d find. Not after losing Cameron. My dad, as I hinted to Z, was not a warm kind of guy. We talked once a month, and he’d come out to see me this past Christmas. But that was it.
Pete, Loretta, Janny, the guys in the back—they’d become found family.
“Do you need some more water right now? Is the heat getting to you?” I focused on my customer again, nodding at his pitcher.
He blinked, and then smiled, although it wasn’t as bright a smile as it had been before. It didn’t reach his eyes, and just a few minutes ago, his eyes were sparkling like the Fourth of July show. They were hard to look at because all I wanted to do was toss myself at him.
Now, nothing.
“No, thank you, Roxy. I apologize. I had a realization while we were talking, and it took me quite by surprise.”
Interesting how his speech alternated between smooth guy and refined gentleman. I wondered what it was that made him change how he spoke.
I wondered what it would take for me to stop wondering about a guy clearly just passing through, and even more clearly way too dangerous for me.
“No problem. Maybe sit inside for a moment, and drink some more water. The heat can kick your ass when you first come here.”
He sat down on a barstool, pouring himself a glass from the pitcher. “You sound like you’re not from here.”
I turned away, unable to stop staring at the crisp beauty of his features. “I’m not. I’m from Massachusetts. My dad is still there, teaching part time at Harvard.”
“That’s one of the better institutes of learning, yes?”
