Page 36 of 28 Dates

“Well, I try not to be a dick. But what makes you presume all of that?”

“You said please, which guys never do when they talk to bartenders, and you let me order first, and I don’t know,” I flip my hand out toward him, “you just seem like that kind of guy.”

“I’m not sure beingthat kind of guyusually sounds like a good thing, but I’ll take it. And to answer your question, yeah…my mom was pretty insistent on teaching me how to be a good man. With a mom and three sisters it comes naturally now.”

He’s already mentioned his sisters to me. “You must have been picked on quite a bit.”

“How about we go grab one of those tables, and I’ll tell you all about the time they dressed me up like Princess Aurora?”

As easily as our conversation has kicked off, I’m not too concerned anymore about ending up on Twitter with the hashtag #FirstDateFail following me around.

“Sure.” Before I can grab my own drink, Logan has the thin stem of my martini glass clasped between his fingers. He backs up and gives me space to slide off my stool without bumping into him.

“See.” I nod toward my glass. “Gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes playfully and gestures for me to go in front of him. I’m teasing him, but in honesty, this all feels nice even if it is simple. It’s been so long since I’ve been on an actual date, I didn’t realize men still practiced chivalry.

“We might need to have a conversation about your standards,” he replies.

And that’s so funny, for some reason, because he doesn’t know my standards—which are Be there and Be gone before morning—I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh. As I’m coming down from the shock of that, I readjust my purse strap, and my eyes snag on Jonas.

He’s in the middle of the bar. Customers are lining the space across from him. His hands are firmly planted on the bar, arms straight and tight, and his glare?

That’s not directed at a drunken customer.

It’s landed solely on me.

Chapter 13

Jonas

Telling Caitlin it was okay to meet her dates here is the absolutely, one hundred percent, worst fucking decision I’ve ever made in my life. For a moment, I wanted to ignore her, let her do her thing and stay out of the way.

But damn it all to hell, like I can resist being around her. So yeah, I had to go and torture myself, inhale her sweet flower scent that I know is from her shampoo because she doesn’t wear perfume. Hearing her say she was meeting someone else, when it used to be me she’d pull up a seat at the bar for, stung worse than I expected it to, especially since I knew it was a possibility. I’ve done a pretty damn good job of ducking into my office when I’ve seen her headed into Dirty’s in the last couple of weeks just so I didn’t have to torture myself with this. Tonight, escape isn’t possible.

This feels like I’ve gotten whacked by a two-by-four to the kneecaps.

And the guy she’s with? Total tool. He’s the guy who comes across as nice and smooth, charming and sweet. Then he hangs out with his bros from college, and a six-pack in, he’s lambasting everything that’s wrong with the world and how shit would just get right if women knew their place in it.

I’m a bartender. I’ve slung drinks from New York and Boston all the way to Portland since I left home at the age of eighteen. I’ve seen a thousand men just like him. Shiny and endearing until they’re not.

Watching Caitlin enjoy being with him? That makes it so much worse because I figured she’d read this guy coming from a mile away. And her laugh? Ice picks down my spine. It’s beautiful and boisterous and something she rarely shows because she’s so damn busy protecting her heart from people.

Tucker shoves me to the side, and I stumble once before remembering where the hell I am.

Behind the bar. At my bar. Which I own. Right. Fuck! She’s got me all screwed up in the unpleasant kind of way.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“No worries, but you putting a stop to this bullshit?” Tucker asks as he fills a glass with ice.

“What? The douche Caitlin’s with?”

“No, dumbass. Acting like you don’t still want her even though I know if I let you leave this bar right now, you’d go over there and rip his head off with your bare hands.”

“Yeah, because she deserves better.”

The humor in Tucker’s expression flees. “Not sure that guy’s you, either, though, if you don’t get over this bullshit. You could stop it at any time.”

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