Page 2 of A Deeper Blue
Someone pushed up to the bar, squishing in between her and the couple next to her, slamming large hands down on the bar top. She glanced over at him. He was tall and ripped—biceps stretching out his gray Henley that was pushed up to the elbows—with a dark brown beard and tattoos covering his forearms. He was carrying a black motorcycle jacket that he threw onto the bar, ignoring the annoyed glares of the couple as they moved their drinks further down the bar.
“Emilio!” he barked at the bartender.
“Yeah, Rafe, I see you!” the bartender yelled back. “Give me a sec!”
She guessed his name was Rafe, which was unusual but interesting.
Azure looked more closely at the tattoo on the arm closest to her and frowned. There was a symbol buried in a wave that looked suspiciously like a Fae rune for protection. She realized that she had been staring for longer than was polite and also that he had noticed. She looked into his eyes and found herself caught by their color, which was green with darker striations like celadon glazing on pottery.
“Nice tattoo,” she said, looking for something that didn’t make her sound like an idiot.
“Sweetheart,” Rafe said, looking down at her. “I wish I had the time, I really do, but I don’t.”
“Oh, OK,” said Azure, rolling her eyes and restraining herself from adding the wordassholeto the end of her sentence.
She had just turned back to her last taco when her second sight kicked in hard. She swung her barstool around, grabbed Rafe by the shirt collar, and yanked him toward her just as a black eight ball zipped through the air where his head had been, smashing three bottles of booze and burying itself in the mirror behind the bar.
Rafe was now wedged between her thighs, his face inches from hers.
“You know, when you’re right, you’re right,” he said. “I should make the time.”
Then he kissed her.
Episode 2
Montana
Rafe
He’d noticed her the second he’d walked up to the bar. Rangy and gorgeous, with miles of black hair and long legs to go with a pair of tall black boots and to-die-for summer sky blue eyes, the girl was worth a whole week of anyone’s time. Unfortunately, if he was going to beat the coal train before it pulled out of the station and blocked the freeway on-ramp for the next half-hour, all he had was ten minutes. And that was not nearly enough to do a tenth of what he wanted.
He yelled impatiently at Emilio. The lone wolf was a good guy, and Rafe usually liked stopping at Emilio’s bar when he was roaming in this direction. But tonight, his entire mood was colored by the fact that Rafe was on a mission for his father—a father who shouldn’t have any claim on him at all. The fact that he had to leave a beauty like the girl at the bar alone only drew an underline on his mood.
“Nice tattoo,” she said. Like that was a good pick-up line. Of course, with that face and that ass, she didn’t have to be creative.
“Sweetheart,” he replied, “I wish I had the time, I really do, but I don’t.” He meant it as a compliment because he genuinely wished he did, but she didn’t take it that way.
“Oh, OK.” If she rolled her eyes any harder, they would have fallen out of her head. She turned back to her plate, and he got the feeling he’d completely misread her interest. Maybe she had actually just been looking at his tattoo? He glanced down at his arm. Getting ink to stay on a shifter who could heal from cuts in seconds took a spell-wielding tattooist, a magic needle, and a high-pain tolerance. Ordinarily, he appreciated compliments on his tattoos, but now it felt like a second-place prize, and he felt like a dumbass. He raised his hand to wave and yell at Emilio again, but the girl suddenly spun back in his direction, grabbed him by the collar, and nearly hauled him off his feet.
It wasn’t that he was unaware of the ball whistling through the air inches from his head or the shattering glass on the other side of the bar. It was just that he was much more aware of those sapphire baby blues boring into his. He couldn’t remember what he said—it was probably something smartass because that was his default setting—all he remembered thinking was that when presented with an opportunity, it was best just to go for it.
So he kissed her.
For a moment, the universe consisted entirely of her lips. Soft, warm, slightly parted, and God, she tasted good. For an eternity, nothing else mattered.
Then she slapped him. Hard. The world spun, along with his face.
“Consent required, asshole!”
Right. He knew that.
“Rafe!” yelled Emilio.
“But she’s really hot!” Rafe yelled back and then realized that Emilio wasn’t screaming about the lip-lock. “Fuck!”
He grabbed the girl’s plate and threw it at the guy attacking Emilio.
“My taco!” she yelled.
