Page 1 of Falling for the Bad Boy
CHAPTER 1
Oliver
"Can I get you a drink?" I stopped in front of the woman who’d just stepped up to the bar. The wet woman. The very wet, good-looking woman. Water dripped from her long, dark hair, soaking through her thin white T-shirt, making it stick to her petite frame. I could see the polka dots on her bra through the drenched material. My pulse ticked up at the sight of the tiny hot pink dots as I imagined what I might find underneath if given the opportunity.
"Do you have a towel? Maybe some napkins?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.
I grabbed a clean bar towel from under the counter. "Not sure if this will help. Restrooms are in the back hall if you want to use the dryer on the wall."
She snagged the towel off the bar then crossed her arms over her chest like she could suddenly feel the heat of my gaze. "Thanks. I think I will. And I'll have a gin and tonic. Easy on the tonic."
I lifted an eyebrow and gave her backside a once over as she walked toward the hallway. Not many patrons ordered gin in this place. Tapped was more of a college bar where jugs of beer and rounds of shots reigned. Then again, she didn’t look like our typical customer. But nowadays, who did?
I’d been working behind the bar part-time for a year. Even in that short amount of time, the women seemed to get younger, and the guys seemed to get cockier. And I loved it. The college town of Newbridge, Indiana, was half a world away from the tiny town in New Zealand where I’d been born and raised. Literally and figuratively.
As I waited for the woman to come back for her gin-light-on-the-tonic, I filled a couple of drink orders and leaned against the bar. I’d only been in the States for a few years but already I dreaded having to leave. Once I finished my MBA, I’d have no reason not to return to the family farm in rural New Zealand. That made the time I had left all the more precious. My jaw clenched like it did every time I considered my predicament. Unless I could figure out a way to switch my student visa and find a permanent job using my degree, I’d be on a plane to Christchurch in the next three months.
I turned to help another customer, and by the time I looked back, the woman had returned to the bar. She hung her bag and a flimsy scarf over the back of one of the tall stools and reached for her glass. I’d given her a double. If I’d been the one caught in the early spring thunderstorm, that’s what I would have wanted.
"So, I don't think I've seen you here before." I filled a pint glass from the tap as I let my gaze meet hers. Most likely, she was associated with the college in town. "Are you a student at Tempest?"
She lowered the short glass from her lips. "No."
Hmm, not so talkative, this one. Not the typical barfly who was only there to pick up a guy for the night. I could spot them from a mile away: made up, came alone, sat at the bar and struck up a conversation with any guy walking by. So far, the only box she checked was the fact that she was alone.
"Meeting up with friends?" I tried again. The only two reasons a woman might show up solo at Tapped were either to find someone to take home or to meet up for girls' night out.
"Not exactly." Her green eyes—bright and sharp like the pastures where my family’s sheep grazed—sized me up, a hint of a smile at the edges. "Are you always this chatty?"
I spread my arms wide. "It's a slow night. Just trying to make conversation."
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” She gestured to a trio of women taking their seats. “Looks like you’ve got some new customers.”
“Thanks for looking out for me.” I shot her a grin, my smile growing wider as her cheeks tinted a slight shade of pink. Then I left the woman with the bright green eyes and moved down the bar. "Hey ladies, what'll it be tonight?"
They put in a standard order of vodka cranberries. No surprises there. Even though I hadn’t been pouring drinks that long, I prided myself on my ability to predict what people would order as they sat down. It was a little trick I’d learned from my predecessor.
I’d been right about the guy who ordered the local craft beer, a dark stout. I’d also nailed the table of guys playing pool. They’d gone with a pitcher of the cheapest swill we had on tap.
But the gin and tonic had thrown me. I’d figured her for something classy and a little off the beaten path. Maybe an Old-Fashioned or a Dark and Stormy. I never would have guessed gin. That, coupled with the fact she seemed reluctant to engage in a little harmless banter, made me wonder what the hell she was doing there.
As I swiped a towel over a wet spot on the bar, she waved me over. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"
"That depends."
Her eyes widened. "Really? On what?"
"Is that the question you wanted to ask?"
"No." She tilted her head, evaluating me with a spark of something in her eyes. "I'm wondering if you have the landlord's number?"
I flipped the bar towel over my shoulder. "For this place?"
She nodded. "He owns the whole building, right?"
"Yeah. Can I ask why you need the number?"
Leaning forward, she let her elbows rest on the bar. "Well, you could, but I might not answer you."
