Page 11 of Can't Get Over You
Jude twisted the caps off six ice-cold beers and set them on a tray.
Before grabbing it, the server slapped a cocktail napkin on the counter. “This is from the blonde at table nine. She wants to know if you’re single.”
He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. Ignoring the napkin, he dropped lime wedges onto the rim of two mojitos and handed them off.
He’d been working at this bar in the Florida Keys for a few weeks and had a running list of pros and cons. The owners of the bar wanted to retire, so they’d neglected some upkeep. But the shitty speakers and broken faucet were easy fixes. The pros were the great location and demographics. If he flipped this place, he’d bring in live bands and host events. Make it the social focal point of the area.
He’d wait for the financials, but it seemed like a winner.
The worried expression of the woman at table six caught his attention. A while ago, some guys had joined the group of nurses. It had taken a matter of minutes for them to couple up. Lots of laughter, lots of flirting.
Except for that one woman. She didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. He lined up glasses for espresso martinis. He poured vodka into the shaker but kept his eye on her as she got up, grabbed money from her wallet, and threw it on the table.
The guy who’d been hitting on her watched her walk away. Jude didn’t like the hard look in his eyes as he tracked her progress toward the exit.
But his skin went tight when the asshole got up to follow her out.
Jude set the coffee liqueur down. “Take over for me,” he said to another bartender before lifting the bridge. He came out from behind the bar and strode across the room. By the time he caught sight of her, she was outside and heading for her car. The guy lagged just a little behind.
“Hey,” Jude called.
Both of them whipped around at his harsh tone.
The woman noticed the creep not five feet from her, and her eyes went wide in fear.
“What’s up?” Jude asked the guy.
“Just came out for a smoke.” His gaze slanted sideways, as if looking for a way out of the conversation.
“Yeah? Where are the cigarettes?” The guy clearly didn’t have any, so Jude got right up in his face. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”
After giving Jude a quick once-over—taking in his height, ink, and muscles—the guy pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed off to his truck.
“You okay?” Jude asked the woman.
Relief softened her features. “Yes.” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “I had no idea he was following me. God, if you hadn’t noticed…” She hit the button on her remote, and the lights flashed on her car. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat before turning to face him. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“No problem. Have a good night.” As he hustled to get back inside, he took a moment to check his phone. The family chat was on fire tonight.
Boone: Nice catch, butterfingers.
Jude smiled at his youngest brother’s comment, but it also reminded him that he’d missed Decker’s game against Cincinnati.
Decker: Fuck off. We won. That’s all that matters.
Times like this, he regretted the distance. With Decker in the NFL and Jude in Florida, their schedules rarely aligned for family get-togethers.
Ava: Congratulations, Decker. It was a nail-biter.
Dad: Who the fuck took my work gloves?
Decker: Oh, hey, thanks, Dad! Appreciate the support!
Dad: After you pulled your head out of your ass, it was a good game. That was a nice forty-five-yard strike on a third-and-fifteen play. Now, who took my fucking work gloves?
Boone:
Wyatt: Me. Remember, we had to sedate that wolf with the abscessed thigh? You helped me crate it.
