Page 9 of Single Girl in the City
“The senior center on Ninth. I have some condoms to deliver.”
Chapter Three
Happy Things:
Impeccable BS meter
After eight years of running his own business, Owen had become a master multi-tasker. But today the universe was testing him.
He stood behind the hostess booth of his family’s historical gastropub in downtown and let loose a string of choice words beneath his breath when the phone rang. Again. Stout had been open thirty minutes and already the chaos had begun.
It was an all-hands-on-deck situation, where the boat could go under at any moment, and he was ridiculously understaffed, leaving it up to him to man the ship.
In addition to running the front and back of the house, he was playing hostess, since he was an hour late. He was also juggling being a receptionist, a bartender, and playing cheerful owner—all on three hours of sleep.
The line of waiting customers went out the door and the bar seating was already full. He’d over-seated one section, which had Mandy running food like it was an Olympic sport, and under-seated the booth section. Then there were the people calling to get reservations, to ask about restaurant hours, or to find out when one of his famous brothers was supposed to visit—not that he gave out that kind of information.
Stout wasn’t just a place his brothers could come for a beer without being hounded, it was the last tie to their late father. The brewpub was known not only for its deal-making environment, working as the official meeting place for politicians, businessmen, and celebrities, but it was the Easton family legacy. It was the place his brothers gathered to hang and catch up. Owen didn’t want that to change.
But after the day he’d had, he was at the end of his rope. He wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot shower, and grab a few hours of shut-eye—maybe even head over to Hardcore Inc, the tattoo shop where Owen rented space. Between work and family obligations, he hadn’t managed to break away long enough to be creative in over a month.
He’d just finished seating a party of nine when his hostess, Lake, came rushing in. She pushed her purse under the counter and into the lockbox. “I am so sorry I’m late. My car broke down.”
Owen considered telling her she needed a new car since it had broken down three times in the past two weeks. Coincidentally, the problem coincided with her boyfriend comming to town.
“You good?” he asked, pointing to the line.
“Absolutely.” Before he could say another word, she was down to business. Lake might be a little flaky, but she was great at her job—when she showed up.
Confident that she had it handled, Owen headed back to the bar, groaning when he spotted three of his brothers sitting on some stools, smug-ass grins on their faces. His middle brother, Rhett, gave him a little wiggle of the fingers. Owen sent him a finger back.
When he reached the roped-off family section, Gage said, “This place is insane.”
Gage was one of the best agents in the country, representing everyone from musicians to professional athletes. He was also father to a seven-year-old spitfire, who had her uncles wrapped around her little fingers.
“Welcome to my life,” Owen said, giving each brother a fist bump.
“No wonder you can’t get laid,” Josh, the oldest and—up until a moment ago—his favorite brother, pointed out. He was dressed in his usual uniform of an Italian suit, wool coat, and dress shoes—looking the respectable district attorney that he was.
Before dealing with his brothers, Owen approached a bombshell a few feet over. She was a fiery redhead, all curves and cleavage in a tissue-thin tee, black bra, and enough sexual bravado to catch the eye of every man and woman in the room.
She was Owen’s type to a T. Confident, a little cocky and, by the look she was sending, open to a little flirting—and maybe even more. She’d come in a time or two before, chatted him up and let him know she’d be into a little fun.
Owen liked fun.
Resting his hands on the counter, he leaned in. “What can I get you?”
She glanced at his lips, the tattoo encircling his biceps, and back to his lips. “What’s on the menu?”
“What’s your preference?”
“Tall, dark, and tattooed.”Hot damn, his day was turning around. The way she held his gaze told him she’d like to scribble her number on his forehead with a permanent marker. “As for the drink?”
“Oh, I remember,” he said, showing off his mad memory skills. A party trick that was his ace in the hole for getting laid. “Jack and Coke for your friend. Shot of Patron for you.”
Her smile said she was impressed, which was a little misleading of him. Owen worked hard to memorize the orders of regulars—or pretty ladies who came in looking for him. Only now that he had her attention, he found himself glancing through the window at the tea shop next door.
Red looked over her shoulder and followed his gaze. She must have mistaken his lack of eye contact as disinterest because her expression dilated toyour loss.
