Page 41 of Coming In Hot
Pharo steps back, clearly wrestling with something behind his eyes. "You’re a pain in the ass, Jax. You know that, right?"
“I’ve been called worse,” I reply, trying to keep the teasing edge in my voice even though my heart is hammering in my chest. “But yeah, dinner. You owe me that much, at least.”
There's a beat of silence before he sighs, running a hand over his face. “Hell, I thoughtyouwere buying. I’ve had a hell of a week.”
And just like that, everything changes. The teasing, the tension, it’s all pushed aside, replaced with something deeper. Something real.
“Buy me a burger and tell me about it. I’m dying to know who Arlo is.”
* * *
The Black Mountain Tavern is, hands down, the best spot in town—at least,in my humble opinion. The burgers are perfect, the pasta is killer, and don't even get me started on the chicken. They've got a full bar, live music, a jukebox, a dancefloor, and best of all, karaoke. Honestly? You can’t beat it.
The place has this cozy, old-school charm—wood floors that creak underfoot, rustic beams hanging from the ceiling like something out of a country music video. I come here with the Bitches all the time, but never on a date. Not that this is a date. Definitelynota date. Honestly, I’ve never been on a date. Why start now—with this asshole?
Neither of us says a word as we look over the menu. The tension grows more awkward with each silent minute that passes.
Our waitress struts over, all smiles and energy. “Hey, what can I get you guys tonight?”
Before I can even open my mouth, Pharo jumps in, his voice smooth and commanding. “I’ll take the blackened pork chop with a loaded potato, and he’ll have the jalapeno, onion, and Monterey Jack burger with fries. Oh, and don't forget the pickle. In fact, maybe you could bring him an extra one?” he adds with a grin and a wink.
I wait for her to walk away before I shoot him a look. “I can order for myself.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, did you want to change your order?”
“No," I snap, "but that's not the point.” The fact that heknowsmy order grates on me more than I want to admit.
Pharo chuckles, the sound annoyingly smooth. “Pull your twisted panties out of your ass and take a deep breath.” He pauses, glancing down to silence his phone, and that tiny, casual movement somehow makes the tension in my chest tighten even more. This is important to him. “Should we talk about that kiss?” he asks, his voice hesitant but still probing.
“Anything but that,” I bark, my pulse picking up.
He tilts his chin, shifting in his seat. “I really appreciate you checking on my mom while I was gone.”
“Definitely not that either,” I mutter, my frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
Pharo grins, and something about it makes my skin prickle—like I’m some sort of amusement to him. “What’s a safe topic, then?” he asks, the challenge clear in his tone.
Just then, our waitress returns with our drinks. I unwrap my straw, taking a sip of my ginger ale, trying to keep my cool. “How about we start with where you went?”
“Egypt,” he replies easily. “I was deployed for work.”
I narrow my eyes, setting my drink down. “So that part wasn’t a lie? It’s getting hard to separate truth from fiction with you.”
“Did you miss me while I was gone?” he teases, his grin widening. “Tie a yellow ribbon around the tree? Light a candle for my safe return?”
Smug bastard. He knows I didn’t. “So what is it you do over there?”
“Pilot the helicopter. A Blackhawk UH-60A. She’s a beauty. I named her Raven.”
He takes a sip from his glass—no straw, because Pharo’s too cool for straws. “Raven? The harbinger of death. Fitting, I guess. What’s your call sign?”
His grin widens, almost like he’s savoring my reaction. “Havoc.”
“Of course it is,” I sneer, unable to hide the irritation creeping into my voice.
“What?” He laughs, playing the clueless act, but I see that spark in his eyes—he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Just looking at him makes my blood boil. With his sun-kissed shoulder-length hair thatnaturallycatches the light, those topaz eyes that could melt women’s—and men’s!--panties straight off their asses, and that golden skin. His rugged, angular face could’ve been carved from stone—or cast in a movie. Ugh.
