Page 5 of Blocked Shot
The pink-haired bartender swings by, swapping his empty bottle for a fresh one without asking. Jake mutters a thanks. As she moves on, a voice from the booth dips low.
“Is that Jake the Snake?”
His grip tightens around his beer. He hasn’t heard that name in a while. It used to mean something. Used to be chanted by crowds, whispered with a mix of awe and fear. Now it’s a relic. A reminder that he’s more past than future. He forces himself to relax, to shrug off the discomfort. He doesn’t need their approval. He just needs time.
Movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he glances toward a woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar. She’s got a book propped open in one hand, a glass of wine resting untouched beside her.
Who the hell comes to a bar to read?
Something about it grates on him, but he keeps looking anyway. She’s pretty, with dark hair curling down her back and sharp, serious eyes. There’s a quiet intensity in the way she carries herself, a depth that feels unexpected here. She’s a far cry from the giggling bunnies he normallymeets at bars.
With a grunt, he drains the rest of his beer in a few hard swallows and pushes off from the bar, debating whether to hit the john or call it a night.
He doesn’t get that far. The pack of muppets drifts toward the dark-haired beauty, trailed by the reek of drugstore cologne.
Jake watches, jaw tight, as one of them leans in close, voice low, eyes glued to her cleavage. Whatever he says makes her shoulders lift and her spine go rigid. Another one snickers and nudges her arm, trying to get her to look at him.
Jake’s fingers curl around his empty beer bottle, the pressure building until his knuckles burn.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with her nose in a book?” one of them jeers. “Waiting for someone?”
She doesn’t respond, her gaze remaining on her novel. Another guy, shorter with one of those stupid haircuts that remind Jake of broccoli, pipes in. “Maybe she’s waiting for the right guy to come along. I can help with that, sweetheart.”
The third one pushes closer to her, sloshing beer over the rim of his glass. “Don’t be shy. I’ve got something else you can bury your face in.”
Jake sees the woman say something to them, too quiet for him to hear. They laugh, and Broccoli Haircut leans even closer—too close—talking low in her ear. The woman shrinks away, pressing her back against the bar, trying to put more space between herself and him. “Just one dance,” he slurs, fingers brushing against her arm.
Jake sets his bottle down harder than necessary and pushes off the bar, closing the space between them in a few easy strides.
“Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise as he steps up beside them. His presence is immediate, his broad shoulders and tall frame casting a shadowover them. The guy leaning over her immediately straightens, hesitating.
That’s right, fucker.
“She’s not interested.”
Another guy—blond with enough hair gel to survive a hurricane—scoffs. “Relax, man. We’re only talking.”
Jake takes a step closer. His voice drops, all steel. “You heard me the first time.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we didn’t mean to wake the goon.”
You have no idea.
As they slouch away, one of them knocks against her, jostling her wine glass. The deep red liquid sloshes over the rim, spilling across the bar top and onto her open book. She curses, grabbing a napkin to blot the stain.
Jake turns back to her, his eyes scanning her face. “You okay?”
She exhales, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”
Jake reaches over the bar, snagging another stack of napkins and pressing them into her hand. Up close, everything about her shines brighter. Her long, glossy chestnut hair spills over her shoulders, and her honey-brown eyes catch the warm gold from the overhead lamps. Her lips, bare and free of makeup, are soft and full, flushed like she’s just bitten into ripe strawberries.
His gaze drops before he can stop it, drawn to the black tank top clinging to the soft, full curves of her breasts. Heat rushes to his face as he drags his eyes back to hers, guilt curling in his gut, tangled with the undeniable truth. She’s stunning.
He signals the bartender. “What were you drinking?”
She studies him for a moment, hesitating. “Cabernet.”
“I’m Jake by the way,” he says, offering a hand.
