Page 2 of Resist

Because having a body like his should be blessing enough, but the man also possessed a seriously hot face. He had dark hair and eyes, a chiseled jaw, and he sported a beard.

Sure…most of the old guys in this place had beards. However, theirs were unruly and long and made them look like a bunch of rejects from a ZZ Top audition. But not Thor. Nope. His beard was neatly trimmed, short, and the perfect frame for his perfect face.

Ainsley shook herself for staring like an idiot, then walked over to deliver his beer. “Here you go. Wanna start a tab?”

The man nodded and tossed her a credit card. She ran it, sneaking a peek at the name.

Coulton Moore.

She snickered when she realized his last name rhymed with Thor.

Appropriate.

She handed him the card back, then glanced at the sketch pad behind her on the counter. On slow evenings like this one, she passed the time by drawing. It was either that or play games on her phone, because she had zero interest in watching whatever sport was in season and playing on the ancient TV hanging behind the bar.

She started to pick up the pad when Maren returned from making a trip around the tavern, gathering dirty glasses and plates. She gave Ainsley a pointed look, then not so subtly tilted her head toward Thor…er…Coulton.

Ainsley narrowed her eyes and shook her head, because in what world would a guy who looked like him pay even the slightest bit of attention to a girl like her? She didn’t need to know a goddamn thing about Coulton to know she wasn’t his type.GQGreek gods didn’t typically go for scrawny women with too many tattoos and piercings, jet-black hair tinted magenta at the ends, and a fashion sense that ran strictly along the grunge line.

Tonight, she was rocking black jeans that were ripped to hell—torn naturally through years of wear—and a faded Steve Miller Band T-shirt she’d lifted from Dad’s dresser this morning because she was behind on laundry. It was also due to a lack of clean clothes that she was going commando right now.

Ainsley was Courtney Love.

Coulton was Captain America.

Maren, her beloved waitress and only friend because she had zero social life, had been riding Ainsley’s ass lately about dating, something she hadn’t done much of in the past year or two.

“Much” was probably the wrong word. Because Ainsley didn’t date at all.

She’d washed her hands of the entire male population because, in her experience, they were shitheads and not worth her time. Of course, she knew they weren’tallshitheads, but Ainsley had learned the hard way that the only ones she seemed to attract sure as hell were.

She’d only had three long-term relationships in the past, and that included her high school boyfriend Tiger. Tiger was the actual name on his birth certificate, which probably should have been Ainsley’s first red flag because it turned out the asshole was always on the prowl. Tiger—unbeknownst to her—slept with at least a dozen other girls while they were dating, several of whom had been good friends.

From there, she moved on to Jagger, a struggling musician who struggled to hold down any real job for long. She’d dated Jagger for three years, and for about half of it, they’d been happy. Happy enough that she agreed to get an apartment with him because she was desperate to move away from Mick and her brother Eli.

Unfortunately, after they became roommates, Jagger’s true colors were revealed. He had a drinking problem, and damn…he was a mean drunk. Ainsley didn’t consider herself weak or a pushover, but she was also tied to a stupid lease. Which sucked, because Jagger was a stage-five emotional abuser, textbook example. When drunk, he found countless ways to tear her down, only to apologize and beg for forgiveness the next morning.

It was the explosive end of her relationship with Jagger that led to the third—and last—guy she’d ever slept with.

Montgomery Miles.

Again…the name should have been an indicator of trouble ahead, because Montgomery was a prep-school, country club, up-and-coming prosecuting attorney. Completely different from every guy she’d never known. She’d thought all those Richie Rich things were incredibly impressive when they were dating. It was only after the blinders were ripped off that she realized his background served to make him the snooty-ass, condescending jerk he really was.

So yeah…

Three strikes and she was out.

Done.

Maren held Ainsley’s gaze, lifting her eyebrows in that stubborndo as I sayway of hers.

“Talk to him,” Maren mouthed.

Ainsley shook her head again, so Maren—the bitch—casually picked up Ainsley’s drawing pencils, slid them in her back pocket, and walked through the swinging door that led to the bar’s small kitchen to wash dishes, smirking over her shoulder as she did so.

Ainsley didn’t care. She still had her phone, so the last laugh would be hers. All she had to do was pull it out and play games to kill time, but she made the mistake of looking at Coulton instead.

She expected to find his gaze glued to the TV, so she was shocked to realize he was looking at her. Shit. Had he just watched that whole exchange?

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