Intoxicated (2 page)

“I missed your birthday? Happy birthday!”
 

“Really? That’s all you got out of that sentence?”

“I heard you.” He nodded as if pleased with her answer. “You guys were together for awhile, right?”

“Eight years.” She lifted her glass to drain the last drop, looking for strength in the liquor and finding nothing but the bottom of the glass. “We were going to get married.” Spoken aloud, the confession seemed pathetic, that she had clung to a relationship for a third of her life with someone who didn’t love her.

“Eight years? Wow.” He wasn’t impressed. “Excuse me if I’m out of line here, but a guy who dates you for eight years has no intention of marrying you.”

“What would you know about it, Mr. Manwhore?” She raised her nose in her best haughty stare. The room wavered and tilted. How many drinks had she had already? Four? Six? By no means a lightweight, she could handle her liquor, but she hadn’t eaten all day. In an effort to stop the spinning room, she leaned her elbows on the counter and glared at him as he went back behind the bar.

“Manwhore?” He took away her drink and leaned down on the counter to study her face. “That hurts. A whore has sex in exchange for financial compensation. I’m a lover of women and that’s a whole different thing.” The scowl on his beautiful face would have frightened a more sober person.

“Exactly my point.” She waved her hands in the air for emphasis. “For your information… what were we talking about?” She frowned and wobbled on the barstool, distracted by the effort to stay upright.

“I may not be a relationship expert but I’m a guy and I know how guys think. If he was going to marry you, he would’ve done it by now.”

“Like I would ever listen to your advice,” she said with a snort to cover the sting of his words. It seemed so obvious now; Brian had never intended to marry her, he was just waiting for someone better to come along.

“So where’s the ring?”
 

Damn the arrogant bastard, pushing all of her buttons and – by his smug expression – enjoying every minute of it. There was no ring just as there had been no wedding date. Brian had never been in any hurry, and she’d been too busy with her career to push for either. At the time she’d thought they were being conservative, but now the oversight spoke volumes about the relationship. She scowled at Jack. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I’m just saying is all,” Jack shrugged and changed the subject. “So what do you do?” As he talked, he took a coffee cup from underneath the counter, set it on a saucer in front of her and filled it halfway with rich black coffee. “I mean when you’re not darkening the doorstep of my bar.”

“I’m a controller.” The coffee cup slid silently over the polished counter as he nudged it toward her.

“Yes, I bet you are.” He smiled. More dimples. “I mean, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a controller.” She pushed the coffee back towards him. “Get me a whiskey and Coke, please. I’m a CPA – certified public accountant – and I have a very important job with a big company.” The words came out boastful and arrogant; she sounded like a drunken idiot and cringed inside.

“I know what it stands for. Drink.” He nudged the coffee back at her. “I guessed it was something boring like that…although I had you pegged for a kindergarten teacher.” He cocked his head and studied her. Before she could stop him, he took her hand in his and wrote something on the palm of her hand with the pen from his back pocket. “That’s my cell number,” he said. “In case you ever need to talk to someone or whatever. If you get any more bottled up, you might explode.”

She opened her mouth to make a smart-ass retort, but two people at the opposite end of the bar caught her attention. Her heart fell out of her chest and landed on the sticky bar floor with a sickening thud. Brian, ex-fiancé and thief of dreams, stood next to Jack’s Seat of Shame with her ex-best friend Becca, laughing over some private joke – probably Ally and the humiliation they had forced upon her last week. Ally’s fingers dug into the counter as Brian leaned over to give Becca a kiss. The whole room spun at the tender brush of lips. Suddenly and painfully sober, Ally curbed the urge to crawl underneath the bar to hide and lick her wounds.
 

Damn it, what were they doing here? Brian had a business dinner scheduled for tonight, one that she was supposed to attend as his date before The Breakup. She’d assumed that he would take Becca in her place, and they’d be too busy fornicating on the living room sofa afterward to show up at Felony. Yet, here he stood with his hand in her ex-best friend’s back pocket, looking as if he was having the time of his life.

 
Thinking she might be sick, Ally hopped off the barstool and sprinted toward the restrooms, abandoning her purse on the bar counter.

Jack took Ally’s purse and stowed it behind the bar for safekeeping until she returned, tried and failed to resist the temptation to snoop through it. He rooted through a half dozen tubes of lipstick, slender leather billfold filled with credit cards, a Reyes Corporation security ID, two large chocolate bars, and a cell phone. Nothing much of interest. Certainly nothing to give insight into her enigmatic life or dampen the flames of his ever-growing curiosity.

Something was different about her tonight. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what had changed…the tilt of her head or the squared posture of her shoulders? Maybe it was the hint of rebellion that sparked in her eyes or the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Whatever it was…the subtle difference in demeanor sent a jolt of attraction straight into his groin.
 

Felony housed scores of pretty faces in Felony, but it was Ally who caught and held his attention. An air of reserve set her apart from the cheap girls with their heavy makeup and too-tight clothing. There was nothing aloof about Ally’s moss green eyes, however. Their clear depths sparkled with intelligence as they took in the room, and he had no doubt that she saw and heard much more than she let on. Tonight those eyes were turbulent and willful, a combination that fanned the flames of his lust.
 

 
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going to tap that.” Randy, an imposing giant of a man with dark auburn hair and stormy gray eyes, stepped up to the cash register and rang in an order with quiet efficiency. “Chick’s way out of your league, my friend.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jack continued to polish the glass in his hand, absorbed in thought. Randy – best friend, wingman, and head of bar security – knew him better than anyone and read his thoughts with a perception that he found irritating at times like these.
 

Randy shook his head as he poured four beers from the tap and set them onto the waitress’s tray. “She’s not the kind of girl to fall for your bullshit, bro. I hear she’s some kind of girl-wonder, works for Alessandro Reyes, practically runs the place. Girls like her don’t date guys like us.”

“Hmmph.” Jack cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Seems the sex gods are smiling down on me. She caught her ex and best friend in bed last week.” He jerked his head toward the couple at the end of the bar engaged in an embarrassing display of affection.
 

“Oh, yeah. I know that guy. He’s a dick,” Randy said with his usual blunt honesty. “I’d do that girl he’s with though.”

“Is there anyone you wouldn’t do?” Jack shook his head and opened a new bottle of tequila for the well.
 

“Said the pot to the kettle.” Randy looked away from the couple, his attention caught by a pair of rough-looking men near the exit. As he turned his head, his tousled hair brushed an angry red scar visible above the collar of his t-shirt. The slash ran from ear to collarbone and gave him a dangerous air. “Not everyone has your luck with women, dude. You sweep through this place like a tornado every weekend. Some of us have to work to get laid.”

Jack smirked at Randy then returned his gaze to Brian and Becca. They seemed oblivious to anyone and anything outside of their own intimate bubble, laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. He’d seen the hurt in Ally’s eyes as she scurried off to the ladies room. Jaded as he was, it seemed callous to flaunt your infidelity under the nose of your ex. That kind of exploitation was the very thing he abhorred. Right from the start, he made damn sure that any woman who slept with him had no expectations beyond a mind-blowing orgasm and coffee the next morning. If they had any delusions of feelings on his part, then that was their own damn fault and not his.
 

“Fifty bucks says you can’t get past first base,” Randy said, pulling a wad of bills from his front pocket and Jack from his introspection.

 
“You’re on.”

CHAPTER TWO

The ladies room was a tiny four-stall affair with graffiti on the walls and a dingy linoleum floor that always seemed wet. Someone sniffled and sobbed from the far stall, visible only by black leather boots underneath the stall door. The drums of the band thudded through the walls, a muffled and distant throbbing like a heartbeat. Ally stepped into a stall next to the sniffler and drew in a deep breath to slow her racing pulse. Her physical reaction to the sudden appearance of the happy couple irritated her. After all, they were bound to run into each other eventually. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe she should have stayed home until the wound was a little less raw.

She used the bathroom then washed her hands. Jack’s phone number stood out in bold relief against her fair skin. She smiled at his arrogance and shook her head, amused. His empty flattery gave her flagging ego a well-needed boost even though she knew better than to take his pretty words to heart.
 

When she was done, she considered going straight out the front door and as far away from the backstabbing pair as she could get. That would be admitting defeat, however, and she was too stubborn to do any such thing. After all, she had done nothing wrong and damned if she would validate their behavior by running. They were the ones who should be embarrassed. They were the ones who should slink away in shame. Instead of leaving, she lifted her chin, reclaimed her barstool, and set about the task of getting shit-faced drunk.
 

Miss Ponytail had taken up residence in Jack’s Seat of Shame. The girl had one hand on Jack’s arm, rubbing the swell of his tattooed bicep with a sly smile on her crimson red lips. Upon seeing Ally, Jack deserted the new girl, grabbed two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the bar, and took up the empty barstool next to her.

“That’s some crazy shit, them showing up here like that,” he said as he filled both glasses and pushed one towards her. “I admire your control. I probably would’ve punched one of them in the mouth.”

For the millionth time that day, she withered with embarrassment. She decided to pretend indifference to cover her shame. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
 

“That. Over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the happy couple. “They’re having a bit of a disagreement over whether to leave or stay. Seems your presence has shaken them up a little. Wanna know what they said?”

The question gave birth to a dozen more emotions that she didn’t want to face. A flush crept up her neck and into her face. The heat of it burned her cheeks. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that eavesdropping is impolite?”

“She did,” he admitted with a flash of dimples, “but I learn the most interesting things that way.”

 
She considered crawling inside her peep-toe pumps and never coming out. It was bad enough to be at the center of a devastating breakup but to rehash it with Captain Mayhem – a perfect stranger – was beyond demeaning. Jack stared at her with a half smile curving his full lips, dark eyes serious and watchful like a cat stalking a mouse hole. This was some kind of twisted game to him, a test to see if she measured up to whatever standard he had set for her.
 

“Thanks for the concern but I’m fine.” She tossed back the shot and slammed the glass down on the bar in one smooth motion. “I thought I was cut off.”

He grinned and refilled both their glasses. “Seems I misjudged you, Popsicle. You’ve got a higher tolerance than I thought.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Why did you call me that? I hate it.”

“Call you what?”

“Popsicle.” She glared at him.

He grinned again, mischief flashing in his dark eyes. “You remind me of a popsicle – sweet and cool – with a stick up your ass.”
 

If anyone else had said that to her, she would have been offended but the way he said it with such obvious delight over his own cleverness – well, it was adorable. She bit her lip to hold back a smile. How did he do that? How could he make her want to laugh when everything had gone so horribly wrong? Even more troubling was the sweet pang of attraction she felt for him when her former fiancé stood a few feet away.
 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Maybe he would take the hint and go away. She had so many wayward thoughts to work through and his tempting presence only distracted her.
 

“Probably, but this is way more fun.” He tossed back his own shot. “I consider this part of my job. You know – customer interaction.”

The focus of his gaze left her face, slid down to her pink polished toes, and lingered for an indecent amount of time on her cleavage. That sinful look violated every prim and proper notion she had ever had about herself. In fact, it turned her on in a number of ways, most of which God and her ex-Marine father would never condone. Thank goodness she wasn’t religious and her dad was on a trip to the Hamptons.