Page 2 of Ink Me Three Times
I glare at him.
He smirks. "One drink. If you hate it, we’ll leave."
I should say no. Imeanto say no.
Instead, I find myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror fifteen minutes later, running a brush through my wind tangled hair and smudging eyeliner on with the kind of intentional carelessness that saysI am very much not okay but I’m going to fake it anyway.
The Hollow is exactly what you’d expect from a bar in a town with one stoplight and a population smaller than my last apartment building. It’s all worn wood and neon signs, with a jukebox that still takes quarters and a bartender who greets Jesse like they survived war together.
What the hell am I doing here?
"First round’s on me," Jesse announces with a smile.
Jesse walks around he owns the place, tossing out nods and finger guns. I trail behind him, trying not to make eye contact. My people skills are running on fumes.
We head to the bar, where a tall, grizzled man is drying a glass with a rag that’s seen better days. He looks up and gives Jesse a once over, then me.
"Well, if it isn’t the town hero, Firefighter Fletcher," the man says. "And you brought a plus one. Interesting..."
"Ivy," I say, holding out a hand. "Unfortunately related."
He snorts but takes it. "Arlo. I pour drinks, offer bad advice, and occasionally kick people out. You’ll figure out which one you need."
"Start with the drink," I say.
Jesse grins. "Two of the usual."
Arlo grabs two beers without asking what "usual" means. I’m halfway through my first sip when Jesse turns me around, already dragging me toward a man in a canvas jacket and scuffed boots, hovering near the jukebox.
"Bill!" Jesse calls. "Got someone I want you to meet."
The man barely glances up from the jukebox. "Not interested in Girl Scout cookies."
"She’s not selling anything," Jesse says. "She’s my sister."
Bill finally looks at me. "Huh. The famous sister we’ve been hearing all about."
I shoot Jesse awhat the helllook, but get nothing more than a one shouldered shrug back.
"Didn’t say it was all good," Bill adds, but there’s a glint of amusement under the gruff. "Welcome to Coyote Glen, Ivy."
Before I can ask just how much Jesse’s been running his mouth, the door opens behind us and two men walk in, both in navy Coyote Glen Fire Department hoodies, both shaking off the chill like they own the damn night.
"Speak of the fire demons," Jesse says, raising a hand in greeting. "Hey, Leo! Karl!"
The taller of the two, lean and broad with dark hair and a beard that probably hides secrets, gives a nod as he makes a beeline for the bar. His eyes flick to me, curious but quiet.
The other guy, slightly shorter, curly hair, and a grin that could charm the pants off a priest, throws his arms wide. "Thismust be the legendary Ivy."
I blink. "Why do people keep saying that?"
He offers his hand, warm and easy. "Because Jesse talks about you like you’re some kind of mythical creature who lives in the city and listens to angry girl bands."
"That’s... not entirely wrong."
He winks. "I knew it. I’m Karl. This broody one over here is Leo. He’s not unfriendly, he’s just got a resting crisis face."
Leo snorts, finally stepping closer. "Hi, Ivy. Welcome."
