Page 5 of Bait and Switch
“Sell many here?” I asked, raising my mug.
“Not enough.”
She was gone again a moment later, called down the bar by a line of waving hands. I leaned back on my stool, sipping, watching her weave through the crowd with an efficiency that was half-grace, half-grit. Her laugh floated over the din once, light and unguarded, and for a second I forgot about the square grouper, the Coast Guard, all of it.
Nolan nudged me, eyes glinting with mischief. “What’s up with the secrecy, Kai? Is there more to tell about the bale?”
I groaned, rolling my head back. “No, goddammit. There is nothing more to tell. There’s no conspiracy, dude. It was a pain in my ass and I’d rather forget about it.” But even as I said it, my chest tightened. The word bale felt like an anchor dropped into the room, heavier than anyone else seemed to notice.
“You should milk it, dude. That shit will get you laid.”
I snorted. “Whatever. I’d ratherlay low.” The last thing I needed was attention over something I wanted no part of. Or smugglers thinking I was proud of turning their product over. Attention was gasoline on a fire I couldn’t control.
“That’s ’cause you look like that.” He waved a finger up and down, gesturing at me like I was a billboard. “I, on the other hand”—he turned the finger toward himself with a flourish—“would milk that shit.”
I shook my head, amused despite my annoyance. “Then I hope you find the next bale. I don’t ever want to see another one again.”
“Nah,” he laughed, tossing back his beer. “I’ve never seen a square grouper twice. They always disappear when I look away.”
The conversation shifted back to the game on TV, but my attention kept drifting to the bar. Jasmine was out of earshot, bent over the sink rinsing a shaker, her ponytail slipping loose. The sight tugged at something I didn’t want to name — familiarity, maybe, or just trouble wearing a smile.
I leaned closer to my friends. “You guys are here all the time. What’s the scoop on this Jasmine chick?”
Nolan raised his brows. “She’s cool. I mean, what do you want to know? Like, does she have a boyfriend?”
“No, asshole. We’re not in high school.” I scowled, though I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my mouth. “I just wondered if you’d gotten to know her?”
“Because you want to get to know her?” Nolan teased, sing-songing.
“Okay, maybe we are in high school,” I groaned.
He shrugged, smirking. “She seems solid. Smart. A little sassy.”
With possible anger issues, I thought. “She seems to have a short fuse. I don’t know how, but I think I pissed her off.”
“She was literally just smiling at you,” Nolan argued.
“After I complimented her art,” I countered.
“Well played,” Brett chimed in.
“It wasn’t a play! She’s talented.” I nodded toward the painting over the dartboards.
Nolan studied it, chin in hand like some gallery critic. After a long pause, he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He tipped his chin at the bar. “You ready for that Don Julio?”
Against my better judgment, I agreed. Mostly because it was an excuse to call Jasmine back over. And because watching her work the bar had started to feel like the only thing worth focusing on in the room.
I lifted a hand, catching her eye. “A round of shots, please. Top-shelf Don Julio. And join us for one.”
Her brows arched, skeptical, but she grabbed the bottle and set up the glasses anyway, including one for herself.
When she slid the shot glass toward me, I caught her gaze. “Add that to my tab. And while you’re at it, put the lighthouse painting on there too.”
Her nose crinkled, disbelief clear in her expression. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I’m always looking for cool art for my apartment.” That wasn’t entirely true — my walls were bare,my apartment a mess of gear and takeout containers. But I wanted something of hers, something more than just a smile or a passing glance.
