Page 1 of Resist

CHAPTERONE

“Jesus.I ain’t straight, but damn if that man doesn’t make me think I could learn to like dick.”

Ainsley Hall finished pouring a beer, pushing the tap back then glancing toward the tavern door, curious who could have captured the attention of sixty-two-year-old retired Marine and hardcore lesbian Maren.

Because Maren didn’t do guys.

Period.

Then Ainsley saw…him.

“Hello, Thor,” she murmured under her breath. “Jesus Christ.”

“Right?” Maren replied with a deep, raspy laugh that said the waitress should at leasttryto curb her two-pack-a-day habit.

Ainsley let her gaze slide down the guy—it took a while because he was so tall—then back up again, grateful for the unexpected eye candy.

“He must be lost,” Ainsley said, when the man hovered in the doorway of Mick’s Tavern.

She followed the direction of his gaze, even though she knew exactly what he was seeing. Ainsley had grown up in this place, her dad the owner and namesake. Some people would probably think it was cool having a dad who owned a bar, and if her dad had owned one of those upscale, ritzy waterfront bars on the Inner Harbor, she would have agreed. But Mick Hall owned this piece of shit in the middle of Cherry Hill, one of Baltimore’s less-than-desirable neighborhoods.

Mick’s Tavern was the stereotypical dive, with too-dim lighting, windows covered with thin curtains that used to be white but were now yellowed with age and dust, sticky linoleum flooring that was torn in too many places, booths and chairs upholstered in cheap plastic—many of which were cracked with the stuffing coming out.

The place didn’t just need a facelift to be habitable. It needed to be completely gutted and rebuilt.

Not that the regulars gave a shit what the place looked like. Mainly because they matched the décor.

Grizzled old men occupied the tables and stools in front of the bar, dressed in dirty jeans, faded flannel shirts, and scuffed boots.

A few patrons were looking the same direction she was, studying Thor, who was still standing by the door. New faces at Mick’s Tavern were rare. Guys who looked like this one, in his crisp, new jeans, name-brand sneakers—though she didn’t have a clue which brand, because she’d never been able to afford anything with a name—and button-down shirts never darkened the door, so it stood to reason he captured a bit of attention.

Ainsley crossed her arms when his perusal of the tavern ended with her. She raised one eyebrow, giving him her best “well?” expression, because she expected him to turn tail and get the hell out fast. Or maybe he’d ask for directions to anywhere that wasn’t this dump because there was no way he was sticking around.

She was surprised when he held her gaze for longer than was polite, and then—what the hell?—smiled at her. And not a fake smile or a smirk but a real one. One that looked…friendly. The fact that a smile took her aback was definitely a sign that she was not hanging with the best crowd.

Or any crowd really, unless she counted Maren and this room of miserable misfits, none of whom flashed their pearly whites—okay, stained teeth—much.

“Do you know him?” Maren asked.

Ainsley shook her head. “I don’t think so. Pretty sure I would remember if I did.”

“True. You don’t forget a guy like that.”

“Maybe he’s already drunk? Or lost a bet?” Ainsley continued trying to come up with logical reasons why a guy as sexy as this one would walk into Mick’s Tavern and smile at her.

Before Maren could add her own theories, Thor approached the bar and sat down on a stool at the end.

Ainsley walked over to him. “Uh…can I get you something? Directions or…”

The man—who was even more gorgeous up close—nodded his head toward the taps. “I’d like a Natty Boh, please.”

Please?

Jesus. She really needed to get out of the bar more often if this man’s smile and manners were throwing her for this big a loop.

“Sure thing.” Ainsley grabbed a mug from the shelf behind her and poured the beer, surreptitiously stealing looks at the man.

He was at least six-five, and practically that wide, with broad, muscular shoulders and thick arms. He looked like he could bench a couple hundred pounds without breaking a sweat. She appreciated that he wasn’t one of those guys who felt like they had to wear their shirts a size too small to accentuate their beefcake statures. Thor did the opposite, because while his clothing fit, it was a tiny bit loose. Not that it was hiding anything. He was built like Mt. Everest, and she sure as shit wouldn’t mind scaling him to reach the top.

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