Page 10 of Jaded

“Have a menu.” She slides a laminated sheet across the countertop. “And welcome to Day River. Hope it doesn’t bore you too much.”

“Honestly, I think I’m gonna like it.”

“Really?” Her brows wrinkle in confusion. “Where are you from, Greenland?”

I laugh. “Miami.”

“Shit, I would kill to go to Miami.” Her eyes dance over me; I do probably look like an out-of-towner. “You sure you want to live here?”

“I mean, I’ll miss the surfing.” My fingers tangle through my shorn black curls. “But I don’t really have the hair for it.”

She laughs again. “Tell you what, first drink’s on me.”

“How about you drink it for me?” I wince. “Unless you can’t drink at work, in which case maybe I should ask what time your shift ends?”

“Are you flirting with me?” Her brows lift in what might be described as interest, and I laugh a little.

“Actually, no. I’m gay. I’m making friends now. Is that, like, not obvious? I’m Olli.” I extend a hand.

She takes it. “Anita. You being gay makes me crush that much harder, you know that, right?”

“Is it my adorable brown eyes?” I wink. “Or the non-ghostly skin? I am the most glowy person in this very, very pale establishment . . . Oh, and I’ll have a Caesar salad, by the way. With chicken.”

I slide the menu back across the counter, earning another confused wrinkling in the forehead department. “A salad? At a bar?”

“I’m a weirdo. Not even a healthy eater or anything, just need like . . . green things after being on the road for days.”

“You drove from Miami?”

“How else was I gonna get my sexy truck up here?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but someone slides onto the bar stool next to me. I might not have noticed, might not have looked over, except the hand that slips over the countertop beside mine draws my gaze.

Because damn, those are some fine hands: the fingers tattooed on both joints, scabbed a bit at the knuckles.

My head turns of its own accord.

Two heavily inked forearms rest atop the counter, corded with thick muscle. Two huge biceps swell up over them, both inked as well, disappearing into a fitted black shirt. This manclearlyspends some time in the gym—and the tattoo parlor, maybe fighting if those scabs are any indication. And that deltoid, my Lord.

It’s all ink and muscles leading up to rounded shoulders, the elegant sweep of neck—also inked—and then a chiseled male jaw with a line hard enough to cut. My brain goes all white and fuzzy as I trail that sharp jawline up to an angled cheekbone, a straight nose, the tousle of messy black hair beneath a backwards ball cap.

The soft scents of vanilla and spice, mixed with something a little sharper, like whiskey, drift against my nostrils, making my senses buzz—or maybe it’s my brain buzzing.

Sweet mother of Moses. I think he might be the most beautiful, perfect human specimen I’ve ever seen.

“Look who’s out on the town tonight.” Anita’s voice snaps me out of my mental meandering. Her whole face lights up, and her mouth cocks into a half grin. “What’s the occasion?”

“Charlie was supposed to be here,” the man says, an exasperated sort of fondness to his voice. “Syd’s at Brenda’s and everything. But I guess his new boyfriend was more interesting.”

Anita chuckles. “Fair. Not working tonight?”

“Nah, done.” The man laces his fingers together atop the counter. “Already dragged Syd along for a vol up on the rez.”

Whatever the bejesus that means.

“Hey, that’s good news.”

“Sure.” He huffs an ironic sort of laugh. “Work is work. Can’t complain about the money.”

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