Page 12 of Resist

Coulton smiled at the offer. He’d become quite close to Slade’s family over the past year. “Afraid I can’t tonight. Got plans.”

“Oh yeah? Please tell me these plans include some hot chick, because dude…you realize you’re wasting your superpower?” Jerome, like Tank, believed Coulton should be using his professional athlete status to get laid every night.

“I was going to stop by Mick’s Tavern for a beer.”

Jerome frowned. “Is there another Mick’s? Because I know you don’t mean the shithole down the street,” he said, pointing in the right direction.

“That’s the one.”

“Don’t you have any rich-guy bars on your side of town?”

“Mick’s is fine. I stopped in there last week.”

“Were you wasted?” Jerome asked. “Did you lose a bet?”

Coulton chuckled. “No. It reminded me of a place where my dad used to drink in Detroit, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Okay. That explains the first time, but, bruh…”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerome lifted one eyebrow in genuine disbelief. Coulton didn’t blame him, because the placewasthat bad. It was the company, however, that wasn’t.

“It’s your funeral, man. Hey, do me a favor and tell Ainsley I said hey,” Jerome added.

“You know Ainsley?”

“Yeah. We went to school together. Me and her and a bunch of our gang skipped our last-period class a shit ton during our senior year to get high.”

Coulton laughed, instantly adding that tidbit to the list of ways Ainsley didn’t fit what he considered his type. His past girlfriends would never get stoned. Hell, Evelyn barely even drank, unless he counted the occasional glass of what he’d referred to as her “bubble-gum pink wine” with dinner. Even now, just the thought of her ordering the super-sweet Moscato made his teeth hurt. “What class did you have last period?”

“Algebra with Mr. Dickinson. And believe me, the first part of that name was right.”

“You and Ainsley don’t hang out anymore?”

Jerome shook his head. “Nah. Not since we graduated. I know her dad is sick, so she runs the bar. I see her around the neighborhood every now and then, and we catch up real quick, but that’s it.”

“Gotcha.” Coulton wasn’t sure what to add to that without making it obvious to Jerome that he was interested in Ainsley.

“Well, see you ’round, Coulton.”

Jerome lifted his fist and Coulton bumped it, the two of them saying goodbye.

Coulton climbed into his truck. If he was in his neighborhood, he’d just walk to the tavern because it wasn’t more than five or six blocks away, but in Cherry Hill, he felt better having his vehicle close by, where he could keep an eye on it. Considering Slade always looked genuinely surprised each time he picked him up and they returned to the street to find his truck still there, it told him he was right to be concerned.

Parking near the tavern, he crossed the street and walked in.

Just in time to see Ainsley thrust her finger in some mammoth guy’s face.

“I told you, I’m not serving you, Tuffy, so stop fucking asking for a beer. Goddammit, I’m sick of this shit!”

Coulton took a step closer, concerned about Ainsley’s safety, especially when the man scowled and leaned toward her.

“Jush wanna beer. Not whishkey,” Tuffy struggled to say.

“Jesus Christ,” Ainsley barked, taking a step back. “Do us all a favor and invest in a toothbrush, you gross bastard.”

Several of the guys sitting at the bar chuckled, but none of them seemed overly concerned about the safety of their bartender. In fact, their lack of interest in the whole drama made Coulton wonder how often this same scene played out.

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