Page 36 of Shockproof

Arley attempts to smile. “He means order.”

“I know what he means,” Aviva states back without eye contact. “Hey, Hunt!”

Under her breath, the woman beside me mutters, “She is being a cun-”

Clearing my throat stops anyone from being able to hear it but also convinces Arley to remove herself from my loving grasp.

“Get your ass over here!”

The man who had pretty much been avoiding us since the other person working went on break finally makes his way over. “Lila…Lila…Lila…” He swings the dish cloth over his shoulder. “Those boots were definitely made for walking into this bar.”

Or another bar.

Or this bar at another fucking time.

Let’s say when I’m not here to get information about who is possibly out to kill the very woman who is less than subtly throwing daggers at someone she shouldn’t be.

Because there’s nothing to worry about.

There wasn’t then.

There isn’t now.

Thereneverwill be.

Arley Carmichal is it for me.

Always has been.

Always will be.

In this life and any others that may follow.

“What can I get ya?” Hunt asks while matching her stance.

“Two old fashioned for me and Vi Vi,” she coos, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “but I’m not sure what everyone else wants.”

“Another beer,” Blu immediately announces as the male begins to get to work on their beverages.

Hunt cuts a quick glance in my direction only to receive a small headshake and polite hand of denial.

“Tequila,” Arley aggressively bites. “Preferably top shelf. Tall glass.”

My counter is right above a whisper, “Maybe start with a single?”

“Extratall glass.”

“You really think that’s thebestidea right now?” I quietly investigate, stare shifting up to hers

The second her brown gaze lands on my blue she bites, “Would you prefer me to have an Old fashion?”

“Old fashioned,” corrects the woman on the opposite end of the bar from her, summoning Arley’s glare like it’s Candy Man in the goddamn mirror. “Probably shouldn’t drink one if you don’t know what it’s called.”

“That’s great advice!” Aviva emphasizes the point with a bobble headed nod and places her empty glass near me. “I ordered a Moscow Mule once with some coworkers but made the mistake of calling it Moscow Moose and still haven’t lived that shit down.”

I effortlessly slide the dish forward towards the bartender yet slyly slip the garnish stick into my possession, tucking it into my curled fingers.

“Baby, how’d you fuck that one up?” Blu jovially questions as he tugs his girlfriend in closer, which instantaneously reminds me of the distance my own has created.

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