Page 8 of Late to Love

“Shut up,” I respond.

“Is that how you talk to your patrons?” Aaron Joseph, one of our paramedics and the husband of a woman on Darcy’s bowling team, laughs as he takes his spot next to Ox.

“It is now,” I grumble, but it’s hard to keep a straight face when Ox is around. He’s always been the joker of the family, and thank God for it.

“He’s just mad that he ended up the oldest and ugliest,” Ox quips.

Aaron laughs, nodding a thanks as I slide a draft beer in front of him. He’ll have one beer and then switch to water so that his wife can be the one to have a few drinks. “As the baby of three boys, I understand.”

“You’ve got two brothers?” Ox asks. “Where are they?”

“Up in Talladega,” comes the answer. “One’s the fire chief up there, and the other runs a bed-and-breakfast—but he used to be a fireman as well.”

“Tell them drinks are on me if they ever visit.” I slide the margarita across the bar as soon as Aaron’s wife appears.

“Thanks, Anthony,” she says with a smile.

“Devon, how are you?” Ox asks. “Do you get the summer off?”

She snorts a laugh. “No way. I’m the school system administrator. I don’t get summers off. A well-deserved vacation here and there, but definitely not the same kind of break that a teacher gets.”

Agatha and Darcy are next, ambling up from the front. Agatha is my chardonnay patron—I keep bottles of the decent stuff for her and her alone—and Darcy? She changes her order all the fucking time. Because of course she does. Why make things easy for me?

The closer she gets, I can see that she’s showered and changed from when I saw her just two short hours ago. She wears a fitted cheetah-print skirt and a patterned button-down shirt that ties at the waist, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of soft belly with every step she takes.

Dammit. I can’t catch a break with this woman.

Her lips are stained their usual cherry red, and her dark hair hangs loose and wavy around her shoulders, which makes me nearly swallow my tongue. Because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her hair completely down. And thank fuck I haven’t, because I probably would have been a goner long before now.

She’s fucking adorable.

And the smile she tosses at me, as though she’s perfectly aware of how edible she looks, is enough to make my jeans tighten. “Mr. Hall.”

Andthatis another thing. I can’t have her calling me that. All it makes me think of is how it would sound coming out of her mouth as I pound into her from behind, pressing her against the brick wall upstairs, hearing her pant as I dig my hands into her soft ass. “Anthony.”

Her grin morphs into a smirk. “No drink ready for me?”

I scowl. “You change your order too much for me to know what you want.” Even though I’m fairly certain I know what she’s going to order, I wait.

She tilts her head and taps her chin, like she’s thinking. “You’re right. I do. Let’s go with...rum and coke, please.” A pause. “With cherries. Lots of them.”

I knew it. Holding back a satisfied smirk, I make her drink. When I slide it over to her, she wraps those red lips around a cherry and sucks it into her mouth, and I swear to fucking God she knows exactly what she is doing to me. If she doesn’t, then I’m a damn alligator.

“Ready?” she asks the girls. That includes her fourth teammate and woman I think is her best friend, Amanda. Sweet girl. Vodka soda with lemon.

They take off to their reserved lane, which is always the one closest to the bar. I make sure it’s the best oiled, too—not that any of them would know that, and not that they need to. They’re terrible at the game, and their form is heinous, but the least I can do is give them a slick lane.

Does that sound dirty as hell? Yeah. But whatever.

Aaron turns from watching Devon walk away and tips his beer at me. “Cheers.”

I nod.

“So, you’re the oldest?”

“Ox has a twin.”

Aaron looks at my brother, eyes wide as he smiles. “Holy shit—there are two of you? How did I not know that?”

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