Page 56 of Long Shot

“Interesting. Why didn’t you?”

“I love food.”

I nod at her simple but sincere response.

“There’s something I’m curious about.” She lifts an eyebrow.

“What?” I take another sip of the smooth spirit.

“You mentioned that your father was an alcoholic.”

“Yeah.”

“And yet here you are . . . owner of a bar.”

“It does seem ironic, doesn’t it?” I shrug. “I don’t drink much . . . but I do drink.” I meet her eyes. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Clearly you’re not.” She shakes her head. “But you could have an entirely different attitude toward alcohol.”

“I could. After seeing alcohol destroy my dad’s life, I could be a preachy teetotaler. Sometimes I am preachy. I don’t like seeing people get wasted. We’re careful about that here.”

“I’ve seen that. Another thing I admire.”

More heat shimmers between us. I get my fair share of feminine approval from women I meet, but her compliments strike something deeper inside me. Women admired me in my uniform—and out of it. But this feels like more. Like she sees inside me to the man I want to be.

I was successful in my Navy career. I proved to myself that I’m worth something. But I never quite got over being hard on myself. The scars of my father’s emotional abuse go deep.

“When I see people with a beer or a drink, laughing and happy and relaxed, I like that. I want to be a normal guy, who can have a beer and a good time. I admit to overdoing it a few times in my life. Just ask Beck and Marco.” I grimace, and a smile flits on her lips. “But I don’t like losing control.”

Her smile deepens. “Imagine that.” She tilts her head. “But now I can better understand why that is.”

Yeah. I’m sharing more about myself than I usually do. “And I like it when people come here and have a drink or even a few and they’re having fun. I know alcohol can be evil. Alcoholism is a disease. Sometimes I struggle with the conflict of it myself.” I shrug. “The one thing I learned from my dad, though, is that in the end I can’t control anyone else but myself.”

“That’s very true.” Her eyes fasten warmly on my face. “Your life could have turned out very differently.”

“Yeah. I know it. But I was determined not to let it.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

I search her face for any signs of pity. Because I fucking hate that.

She holds my gaze with a steady, clear-eyed expression.

“Thanks,” I say gruffly. “How’s Jack? Did he recover from his surfing lessons?”

“He was sound asleep when I left. Poor guy.”

I love how her expression softens and warms when talking about the dog. “I think he liked it.”

“I think he did, too.” She pauses. “Thank you. I’m not very . . . adventurous lately.”

“Lately?” That catches my interest. “I’d say moving across the country where you don’t know anybody to start a new job is pretty adventurous.”

“Adventurous? Or cowardly?” She shrugs. “Never mind.”

“Cowardly? That makes it sound like you were running away from something.” My gaze sharpens on her. “Or someone.”

“Hayden and Carrie think I’m getting over a bad relationship.”

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