Page 13 of Waiting for Redemption

“Go be immature brats somewhere else ladies. Maybe pick up some manners on your way. Whatever you do, don’t ever come back to this bar.” I hear his footsteps getting closer, meaning he’s probably headed towards the bar, and though I’m itching to turn around and catch one more glimpse of him in nothing but his blue jeans and tattoos, I won’t chance getting caught. With my eyes trained on the bathroom door, I hear an appalled scoff and several small footsteps stomping away. They exit the bar at the same time I enter the lady’s bathroom.

I wonder if Tank has an extra bra lying around somewhere, cause mine is soaked.

As I’m rinsing my shirt in the sink, I hear the bathroom door open.

Guess I could have locked that before stripping down to my bra.

I don’t bother freaking out nor do I apologize for being indecent, since anyone who just witnessed what happened would probably expect to see this. When I hear the door lock my head snaps up in a panic, but when I seewholocked it, my heart starts racing for a completely different reason.

“Tank, what the hell are you doing in here?” I stare at him wide-eyed until he turns to face me. When I see his eyes drop and his jaw tighten I follow his gaze to my exposed body. I quickly drop my shirt in the sink with the water still running and cover my stomach with my arms. His eyes finally make their way up to mine and he takes a step closer.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” He nods towards my arms. “Hide from me.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing in here?” I repeat.

“I wanted to check on you.” He shrugs so casually, like we’re not both locked in the women’s bathroom shirtless right now.

“I’m fine. I smell like I’ve been on a week-long binge, and wish someone would rearrange Barbie's face—or give her a bad haircut at the very least—but I’m fine.” I huff, causing an amused smirk to come across his face.

“You say the word and I’ll find some scissors.” I want to think he’s joking, but there’s absolutely no hint of sarcasm in his voice. I finally let myself study him for a moment, no longer worried what he might think by my staring. One of his brows raises slightly, but he doesn’t say a word or comment on my silent assessment of him. He simply lets me look at him.

He’s so unreadable, always so quiet, never gets in anyone’s business, and definitely doesn’t let other people into his. So I can’t figure out why he stepped in and put himself in mine today?

“Why did you do that?” I ask, letting my eyes bounce between his.

“What? Offer to cut her hair?” he asks, his brows knitting together.

“No, this,” I say, holding up his shirt from the dry part of the counter. He takes in a deep breath, and another step closer to me.

“I don’t like bullies. Never have. No one is going to treat you like that as long as I’m around,” he answers, stealing the breath I’ve been holding captive in my throat since he walked through the door.

“And what about when you’re not around?” Though I mean for my voice to sound strong and playful, it comes out as barely a whisper.

“Then you give me a call and I’ll grab my scissors.” He smirks, making me laugh.

“Tank?”

“Hmm?” The deep rumble of his simple response and the fact that his eyes fall briefly to my lips send goosebumps down my arms.

“Doyouhave another shirt to change into?” I ask, my eyes falling on his still-exposed chest.

“Umm. No. That’s another reason why I came in here,” he says, glancing down at himself. “How about I takethis,” he says, reaching behind me to grab his shirt, “and I go grab you a uniform from the box under the bar?” With his chest grazing my shoulder and the scent of sandalwood and musk surrounding me, I almost forget to respond. When he pulls away, leaving his intoxicating scent embedded in my memory, I nod my head in agreement.

“Tank…” I call before he opens the door. He turns his head to face me. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Honey.” The soft and genuine smile he gives me before walking out the door sends a twinge of heat to my cheeks as I wait for him to return.

CHAPTER7

TANK

I’ve spentthe last week and a half filling out more applications than I would ever care to admit to. I’ve applied to every Police and Fire department within a ten-mile radius, as well as assistant instructor positions at gyms around town. I’ve gotten rejections from some, silence from others, and am starting to lose any hope I may have had about hearing from the rest. It’s the week of Thanksgiving so I’m sure some places may be waiting until after the holidays to go through applications or reach out to applicants, but the waiting is fucking torture.

In an effort to distract myself from the chaos of my own mind, I came to Mulligan’s for a beer. Mulligan’s is a small pub right down the road from my apartment and isnothinglike Chattahoochies. It’s very… plain. No Viking aesthetic, no war memorabilia, pictures of motorcycle clubs, or neon signs. It actually almost makes memissbeing at work.

“Landry?” I hear a voice call from behind me. I spin on my barstool to see an old buddy from my days on the high school wrestling team walking in my direction.

“Rodgers. Holy shit man, how the hell are you?” I stand, shaking his hand.

---