Page 82 of Fallen Hearts

“Yes you are. Sometimes it’s good to let loose. Down it.”

“Beck.”

He started chanting for the handful of people who were at the bar to participate. And they did. After a few choruses of “down it,” I finally took a drink, sucked it back and slammed it on the bar.

“Should the bartender really be encouraging his customers this way?”

“When the customer is you, yes. This time, I’ll join. As a matter of fact…” He stepped back and called out, “Shots on me. It’s Friday night, people, let’s make some noise.”

He was out of his mind.

Two shots and a half glass of vodka soda later, the bar began to get busy. Our talk, I assumed, was over. But Beck came over, leaned in and said, “It’ll be a game-time call. Mace has wanted to be a cop most of his life. On the other hand, he hates the city, loves the inn and really likes you so… hard to say.”

I was still taking in his words when a soft voice said from behind, “A little birdie told me you were here.”

Like every time he was close, goose bumps spread all over me. Or at least, it felt that way. I turned my head, unsure how public he wanted to be since most of our intimacy this week had been at the inn. I’d even begun to wonder if Mason kept it that way on purpose.

His long, lingering kiss answered that question pretty firmly.

“That’s enough.” Beck’s voice broke through the fog that was my attraction to Mason. Since we’d gotten together, it had only grown. After staying with him for the night, sleeping in my empty apartment bedroom all week had been a major letdown. “Or get a room.”

“Have plenty of them,” Mason said, sitting. “But I’d rather annoy you.”

“Dude, if you want to pack on the PDA, be my guest. I’m just here to serve,” Beck said, getting Mason a beer.

“Speaking of…” I’d always wanted to ask. “Mason said you have a business degree. Ever think of using it?”

Mason’s expression said it all. Apparently this was a sore subject. At least Beck didn’t take offense.

“Not really. I’m pretty happy here, especially now that I’m not paying rent.” He leaned over the bar to pat Mason on the back. “Thanks, buddy.”

As Beck moved away, I waited for the hammer to drop, letting the topic of the bartender’s life plans go for the moment.

Looking into his eyes, I tried not to let pleading define my gaze. I was here to prove that I was worth more than my asshole boss thought, not fall head over heels for a guy to seek his validation too.

“He drove a hard bargain.”

What did that mean? I remained calm. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mason said, taking a swig of beer. “Paul came prepared. He’d done his homework, that was for sure.”

I grabbed my vodka soda and took a long drink, needing the liquid courage. This did not sound good.

“Pia Russo. Are you tipsy?”

Not what I’d been expecting.

“Maybe. Someone was feeding me shots.”

“Someone? What time did you get here?”

“Not sure,” I said, hearing the slight slur in my voice that had given me away. “I don’t handle shots well.”

“And why did you come to O’Malley’s in the first place?”

I lifted my chin. “Am I in trouble? Work was done for the day, none of the guests were in house and?—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

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