Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (75 page)

“They always this slow?” the man asked, looking around like he could conjure up another bartender if he scowled hard enough.

“No. Usually she’s pretty quick.”

“Huh.” The man leaned back and opened his legs wide, as if his dick were as big as an elephant’s and had no business being sandwiched between a mortal man’s legs. His knee nudged mine, totally invading my legroom.

I didn’t budge. He needed to come to grips with the feel of his balls. All there was to it.

“So anyway. You here on vacation or what?” The man jerked his chin, accentuating his question. Clearly he was passing the time. I welcomed the rude, brusque tone. It was a nice change.

“Work.”

He grunted and leaned further on the bar, tracking the movements of the bartender. His lips thinned as he glanced around him and then looked me over. Without expression, he said, “Had a bad day?”

“Yes, actually. Trying to fix it with Jose Cuervo.”

He huffed. “Yeah. I hear that. I’m here for a wedding. Flew ten hours so I could stand around in the sand and sweat my balls off, know what I’m sayin’? Doin’ the bachelor party here.” He scratched his chin and leaned in to me while looking elsewhere. “No offense or nothing, but Hawaii is a chick’s place. Layin’ out, gettin’ massages—that’s stuff chicks do. So what are we going to do for a bachelor party?”

“Get girls drunk and ask them to kiss each other?” I tried.

He coughed out a laugh. “I’d rather just pay them a flat rate. Then it’s a sure thing.”

“Probably true. But where’s the challenge?”

He turned straight again and put his hand in the air. That was the moment the bartender decided to travel to the other side of the bar to help someone not strictly on her turf.

“What’s this broad’s problem?” he muttered. After a quiet moment, he leaned toward me again, his body clearly moving wherever his focus was directed. “So work, huh?” He put out a hand with his pinky pressed against my shoulder. “Am I buggin’ you?”

“Your pinky ring is bugging me, but no, you’re fine. It’s a nice change from the guys hitting on me.”

He put his hand back on the bar. “I bet. When I have a drink with my sister, she’s got knuckleheads hittin’ on her all day long. It’s not a good way to treat a lady, I’ll say that much. You should make sure you carry pepper spray, just in case.”

“Got it.” I took a sip of my drink.

“Pretty cool you get to come here for work, though. You know, bein’ a chick ’n’ all.”

I laughed. “Yes. True. I laid out today. As you see.”

He glanced over. His gaze lingered on the patches of red on my shoulder. “Missed a spot.”

“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed the burning sensation.”

He barked out a laugh as the bartender finally walked over.

“Yeah, I’ll take some beers. Whaddya got on tap?” he asked, bracing against the bar with his elbow.

I zoned out for a moment as they went over the beer options. I came to when I felt his pinky against my shoulder again. “You need anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” I gave him a genuine smile.

He nodded and finished his order. When he was done, and the drinks—three of them—were placed on the counter, he stood and wrapped his large hands around the pyramid they created. “Take it easy.”

“Thanks, you too. Enjoy your wedding.”

A grunt was his only response.

I followed his example and leaned heavily against the bar. In all honesty, I felt a little lonely in his wake. He had that dry,
I don’t give two shits
kind of mentality that Rebecca had. It was fun. And entertaining.

I sighed and decided to get the check. I’d go back to my room, open the door to the warm night, hope a flying cockroach didn’t come in, and look at that concrete rooftop.

“I found you.”

My stomach flipped over. I turned slowly toward that baritone voice I somehow recognized like I’d been hearing it all my life. That was always the first sign of trouble.

A
handsome smile
greeted me below beautiful blue-green eyes.

He stuck out a large hand. “We never properly met. I’m Brad.”

Without my shield of
jaded
, I was struck dumb for a moment. His sparkling, slightly hooded eyes offset his straight nose and strong jaw. A five o’clock shadow gave him a masculine quality that made tingles float up my spine like champagne bubbles, heightened by the almost regal arch of his brow. And that was just his face. The man was a stunner, no two ways about it.

“Hey, Brad. Delilah.” I took the proffered hand and then abruptly turned back to my drink. In all honesty, I was a little shell-shocked.

“May I sit?”

He was the first one to ask.

I motioned to the open seat. “I’m your huckleberry.”

“My what?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen
Tombstone.”

His brow crinkled. He shook his head and his lips formed the word “no.”

“No!” I held up my hand and turned my face away before he could utter the damning word. “Don’t tell me. That’s ridiculous. Put that on your to-watch
list. Until then, any friendship we may or may not have is temporary.”

He chuckled and relaxed into his seat. “Understood.”

“Okay then. Now. What do you want?”

He laughed harder. “Lovely. You’re still in a great mood. I was worried you would’ve gotten grumpy after frying your feet.” He noticed my dwindling supply of Bad Decisions Juice and turned for the bartender.

I held up a hand. “You don’t need to buy me a drink.”

“I wasn’t going to. You’ve got the situation all wrong.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The bartender stopped in front of us. Her eyes flashed. It didn’t take a genius to know what thought raced through her mind:
sex.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

“A dry gin martini with a twist in a short glass. And a margarita for the lady—”

I held up my hand again. “No thank you, I—”

“She’s paying,” he finished. Then turned to me. “It’s your round. Thanks for the drink.”

My mouth dropped open. The bartender surveyed me for a second before smiling and walking away to get our drinks.

“But just because you bought me a drink, don’t think I’m going home with you,” Brad said seriously, his eyes solemn. “I’m not that kinda guy.”

The guy on the other side of me glanced over. He probably wanted to warn Brad about the herpes…

“Well played, sir,” I muttered, grabbing my straw with a smile.

Brad shrugged. “Only fair, right? I bought you a drink this afternoon. I’ve come to collect.” He glanced through Alcohol Island and the Sea of Faces beyond, probably watching the band. “How did you get out of the sand?”

“Got my feet wet, ran, and then towel-hopped.” I sucked my drink dry. “I made a few enemies. I’m probably not welcome on that beach anymore.”

“I bet.” He looked under the bar at my feet. “Did you buy those, or…”

“Yes. I found a nice little shop near the beach run by someone who clearly has no taste. Or decent sizes. I found these little lovelies front and center.” They were a sort of clear rubber material with sparkles that were extremely popular in the early nineties, decorated with rhinestones and sporting a two-inch square heel. Not only were they the ugliest things in Hawaii, they were the most uncomfortable. “It’s really amazing they weren’t snatched off the rack before I got there…”

“Let’s see.”

I brought my foot up for him to inspect—awkward, considering how close I was to the bar. Electricity sizzled across my skin as he gently grabbed my foot to hold it steady. He nodded as he inspected it, and then lowered it before letting go.

Was it just me, or did his thumb softly stroke across the top of my foot?

Was it just the tequila, or was that extremely intoxicating?

“Congratulations: you found the most hideous shoes on the island.” He smiled at the bartender when she set down the drinks. “Thank you.”

“Just let me know if I can get you anything else,” she said. Her wink at me spoke volumes.

Get it, gurl!

Uh oh, the tequila had gotten a hold of me. This wasn’t good…

“So besides buying ugly shoes that are causing some serious blisters, what else did you do with your day?” he asked in a conversational sort of way. An easy way. That didn’t set off any of my alarms or make me want to punch him with honesty.

I wiped the condensation down the side of my glass. “Drank, mostly. Spread rumors about myself.”

“Spread rumors about yourself?” His eyebrows lifted. “Do tell.”

“Oh, you know, drugs, herpes—I told one guy earlier that I was in the market to buy some pot plants. He was about to tell me how to score some weed when I pretended to reach for my badge. He got lost pretty quickly after that.”

“And this is a normal problem of yours?” he asked.

I was about to say, “Yes, a single woman sitting alone at a bar gets hit on all the time, which is why I seldom go to bars alone,” when he finished with, “You lie a lot?”

I barked out an unexpected laugh and spat all over him. “Sorry!” Laughing harder, I wiped my hand across his face, leaving a trail of wetness from the condensation I’d wiped off my glass. “Oh no. That wasn’t spit!”

Laughing harder, I reached for a napkin at the top of the bar. My balance got away from me. My elbow hit off the bar and I fell, clawing and scratching at the wood, trying to right myself. He reached for me, but caught my wrap instead. I fell into his lap, headfirst. My wrap pulled free as my face hit crotch.

“Oh, ew.” I scrunched up my nose and tried not to breathe as strong hands grabbed around my torso. Hand glanced boob. My whole body tightened like I’d grabbed a live wire. The hand disappeared in what felt like a flinch, and his body jerked back.

I was on my own.

And I was headed downward.

My limbs slapped off the concrete and I took out my stool in the process. The wood made a hollow sound as it hit the ground. My head didn’t. More like a solid
thunk
.

Everyone around me sucked in an audible breath.

“Ow.” I just lay there for a moment, staring at the overhang of the bar. Beyond that, a few stars twinkled down, flickering in what must’ve been laughter.

“Delilah, are you okay?” The concerned and oh-so-handsome face of Brad interrupted my view. He took my limp hands and pulled, trying to help me up. After a moment of unhelpfulness, wondering if embarrassment would, indeed, kill me, I finally tightened my arms and let him stand me up.

The guy on my other side was up, too, with his girlfriend peeking around him at me.

“What’s my score?” I asked, wiping the wisps of hair out of my face.

“What’s that?” Brad asked, breathless.

“My score. For that landing? I stuck it, I think. That was a good one.”

“She okay?” someone asked. The bartender stared over the bar at me.

“Let’s get some ice on that, huh?” Brad said, his genuine concern flavoring his tone. It was nice of him to care. But he didn’t know me very well. There was a reason I had been christened with a nickname like “Devastating.”

“No, I’m good. Seriously, I’m fine. I’ve done worse, believe me. While sober.” I checked my top. After ascertaining that it was still on and my breasts were still inside, I checked the bottom half. Good thing for that thorough wax, or else I would’ve blasted everyone with a seventies flashback.

“Oh. Uh…here.” Brad pulled the wrap around me, his gaze snagging on my chest for a moment before he jerked his eyes away and secured the cloth. “You might want to tie it. I’m not sure how.”

“Used to taking clothes off, not putting them on, huh?”

“Something like that,” Brad whispered as his lips pulled up into a smile.

After knotting my wrap, I sat down to my drink. “I probably need to move locations. People will be staring at me for the rest of the night, wondering if I’ll fall off again.”

“Sure. Of course. Yeah.” Brad made the “check” sign in the air at the bartender.

I fingered my head while the bartender moved away to get my check. Hopefully. Because I imagined my face color matched the blotches of sunburn speckling my body.

“Seven,” Brad said as we waited.

“What’s that?” I asked, feeling a spot that would develop into a knot. No way was I asking for ice, though. More tequila would fix me right up. While also making me worse…

I struck that last thought from the record. It wasn’t helping.

“You did stick the landing, but I had to take off style points. Your execution was messy.”

I wheezed out a laugh. Thankfully he was making light of the whole thing. “Yeah. I’m not on my game.”

The black leather landed in front of me, containing the white slip of my bill. Before I could grab it, Brad swiped it off the bar and peeked inside. “Wow. I’m behind.”

“Okay, Big Brother.” I shook my hand at him. No way was I reaching. I didn’t need a second dive.

“Nah. Let’s go. People are staring.” He slipped a few bills in and pushed the leather to the top of the bar. Before I could protest, he was helping me off the stool with a firm grip. “Let’s go.”

“Hey.” My friend from earlier stalked in front of us. Six feet tall and seemingly just as wide, he planted his feet and leaned toward Brad with a sort of menace that wasn’t teachable. “This guy bothering you?”

Somehow, Brad didn’t flinch. He didn’t even flex. He stood his ground with a placid expression, apparently not the least bit worried.

“No, he’s okay. I’m drunk, not clumsy. I mean
drunk,
not
clumsy.
I mean— Shit. Okay, maybe both. But he’s fine.”

“You’re not thinkin’ so clear, if you don’t mind me sayin’,” the man said to me, even though he was still glaring at Brad.

“Definitely not, no. But he helped me out of a tight spot earlier, so I think I’m good. I won’t be going home with him. Or, you know, back to his room.”

“You hear that?” the man said to Brad. He tensed—he was probably flexing, though his muscle was obscured by a layer of fat. I didn’t imagine it made him any slower or any softer. This guy seemed like he’d hold up his end of a fight pretty well, whether it be with his muscles or a weapon. A weapon that he was possibly concealing in his waistband under his flowing shirt. “You’re not gettin’ anything outta this. So if you don’t like that, you better get lost. I’ll see she makes it back safe.”

“Understood, bro.” That was all Brad said, still perfectly at ease. He might’ve been talking to his grandmother instead of a rabid stranger with a protective complex.

Not that I was complaining. I’d rather that stranger be on my side, as scary as he was.

“Okay.” The man fished out his wallet. For a dizzying moment, I thought he’d give me money for some reason, but he handed me a card instead. This was the first time in our acquaintance that he’d looked directly at me. “You take this. You need anything, you call me, got it? This guy gets handsy, I’ll sort it out, okay? My sister would want me to look after you.”

“I will,” I said meekly. And took the card. I had nowhere to put it, so I held it with my papers and phone.

“What’s your name?” The man pointed at me. I nearly peed myself. He really was a terrifying specimen.

“Delilah,” I said in an embarrassingly shaking voice.

“Delilah. I’m Frank. You use that card. I’m never too drunk to take care of business.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Okay.” The word was like a pressure valve releasing. Frank stepped back, pounding Brad with his hard eyes. He didn’t have to say it, but I heard it all the same: “I’m watching you, Brad.”

We passed him quietly, and after a few moments, Brad said, “I take it that wasn’t the guy you told you had herpes?”

My laugh was more a wheeze riddled with anxiety. “No. He was pretty cool when I talked to him, actually. I didn’t know that was coming.”

“You are quick to charm people.”

“Yeah, right. Ms. Congeniality.”

“Here, there’s a bar just here. Unless you want me to take you back to your hotel?” He threw up his hands. “Just to get you there. Not to betray Frank’s trust.”

“A drink to end the night sounds good. Still my round, after all.”

“No. You owe me a few rounds, at least. I’ve got you on the homie fund.”

“The what?”

His shapely lips turned up into a smile. “The homie fund. You spot someone without expecting reimbursement. But the next time you need something, they’ll get your back.”

“What if your homie is a taker, and she never gets you back?”

“Then she isn’t your homie.” Brad steered me around a slow-moving old couple before glancing down at my feet. “Let me know if I’m going too fast.”

“Jeez. It’s not that bad.”

“Looks that bad. Those shoes would trip up a clown.”

“That’s who they were made for.”

“Nah. Too small. Just here.” He pressed on my middle back with the slightest of pressure, directing me toward a restaurant. At the host, Brad half muttered and half motioned toward the bar area off to the left.

As I was settling onto a stool, Frank’s card broke free and fluttered to the ground. Brad bent to retrieve it and then placed it on the bar next to my phone. “You should enter in that number so you don’t lose it.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me you plan to take me out back and slit my throat? You know, just to give me a fighting chance?”

“He was genuine, and you don’t know when you’ll need a friend in your corner.” The joking tone had dripped away from his words. He sat down beside me with a serious face. “There are a lot of hotheads here this weekend. They’re running around all over the place. I’d hate to think you wouldn’t have anyone else to call if you couldn’t get a hold of me.”

“A hold of
you
?” Butterflies surged through my stomach. It was kind of a sweet thing to say.

Embarrassment flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, so fast I almost thought I’d imagined it. His lips pulled to the side in a half-grin. “I can’t let Frank out-gentleman me. C’mon.” He shrugged.

“Well, O cardless wonder, it’ll be hard to beat Frank without—” I cut myself off and took up Frank’s card. Pleasant tendrils of heat wormed through my blood, and it wasn’t all from tequila. If I had Brad’s number, I might get the Fire Down Below and drunk-text a booty call. That was not the way. I didn’t know the way, but I knew that was
not
it.