Page 14 of Charlie

"Do you want to eat at the bar?"

I jump, startled. The bartender holds a plate piled high with steaming crispy fish and golden fries. "Oh! Give me one second." I shuffle my papers around, attempting to stack them in some semblance of order. He sets the plate down on the spot I cleared, grabs my empty glass, and heads back to the bar. I sigh in relief. That wasn't so bad. I break a fry in half, blowing on it before taking a tiny bite. A frosty glass of beer plunks on the table from over my shoulder. His shadow looms over me from behind the bench, his hair tickling my collarbone. I shiver.

If he's going to be here regularly, I'll have to break tradition and start sitting on the other side of the booth so he can't surprise me. Hell, who am I kidding? If he's here every day, I'll have to find a different spot to work; there is no way I will be able to concentrate with him around.

"Thank you," I say, my voice husky. I clear my throat, embarrassed.

"My pleasure." He slides into the bench across from me and reaches out his hand. "I'm Jack."

"Charlotte," I say, my hand impossibly small inside his. "My friends call me Charlie." A Celtic tattoo wraps around his left forearm, smaller tattoos scattered over his knuckles.

"It's nice to meet you, Charlotte." His fingers pass over the sensitive skin of my wrist before he releases my hand. "What is all this?" he asks, flipping the paper closest to him so he can read it.

"Careful!"

He chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle." He winks, his gaze dipping to my lips before returning to reading the paper.

"I'm not so sure," I say under my breath, studying the rough callouses that cover his broad hands.

"Mmm," he hums, the sound so throaty it's almost a moan. I press my thighs together, mortified that one innocent sound could make me react that way.

"I didn't mean it like that," I mutter, covering my cheeks with my hands.

I have to crane my neck as he pushes himself up from the table. He studies me for a second before one side of his mouth quirks up. "I did." He slides the paper toward me with one thick finger. "This is wrong."

I snatch the page from him, examining it.

"Jack, you lazy ass, I need a refill!" someone shouts from the bar. He glances over, scowling at the interruption.

"Stay?" he asks, turning his molten gaze back to me.

"What?"

He squats down, looking up at me through thick eyelashes. "Stay." He sweeps a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. "We close at midnight. I'll tell you what I know about the family you have on this paper if you stay."

I fight the urge to push my cheek into his palm, my scrambled brain failing to send a warning signal.

"Please?" He gives me puppy eyes, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

Fuckkk. "Maybe."

He studies me for a second longer, then nods, only turning back to the bar when someone yells his name. "Shut up, you old geezer," he shouts, laughing.

I watch him go, unable to tear my gaze away. I swallow heavily. This feels dangerous.

11

By the time I drink the last of my beer, my laptop is close to dying. I usually don't use it in the pub, but if Jack was right, I have a ton of new research ahead of me. I lean over to look for an outlet under the table. Nothing. Hmph. I scan the wall until I get to the only visible outlet, nothing except for one in the hallway leading to the kitchen. Then I spot one on a support post by the bar. Of fucking course. I debate in my head for thirty seconds, ultimately deciding that it's safer not to put myself anywhere near that specimen of a man.

Jack pulls the laptop from my hands. "You didn't believe me?" He walks over to the bar and plugs it in.

"Believe what?" I ask, trailing behind him.

"When I told you I wouldn't bite."

"No, I don't believe that at all."

"Good girl." He winks, his eyes sparkling.

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