Page 4 of Bountiful
He’d cleared his throat. “I know that. But you’re not happy with the way things are. And I don’t want to be the kind of guy who strings youalong.”
That’s when I’d stopped arguing. Because he wasn’t wrong. I wanted more than a quickie after work. Griff was one of the few single men around here who was going places. And I wanted to be a partofit.
He didn’t see itthatway.
So here I was on a Friday night, still single and tending bar. Same story. Same town. All I had going for me was a rapidly filling tip jar and the green stare of Mr. Hot over there on the bar stool, watching me work. I felt his gaze like the warmth from acampfire.
I should have stayed away. Instead I gotburned.
ChapterTwo
Dave
Even though I’dbeen to hundreds of bars in nearly as many cities, The Mountain Goat was rapidly becoming my favorite spot. And I had big plans for my visit tonight. So I settled in at the bar, taking in thescene.
For much of the year I lived on the road with my teammates. I’d been to chic urban dance clubs as well as quiet country dives. There was literally nothing in a bar that could surprise me anymore. And I hadn’t come to The Mountain Goat in Tuxbury, Vermont to be wowed. But there was something about this little roadside place thatcharmedme.
These past four weeks I’d discovered that Vermont had a way of making everything more genuine. This bar wasn’t phoning in its rustic decor. The place had clearly stood here for ages. It had weathered clapboards outside and dark paneling inside. The bar was a long expanse of walnut, polished to a high shine. Every few feet a votive candle burned in a little glass cup. Since Vermont took its craft brewing seriously, the beer list was impressive. I even liked themusic.
The best thing about the place, though, wasn’t a thing at all. It was thebartender.
Zara. Even her name was exotic. She had wavy black hair down her back, lean limbs and cheekbones that meant business. Hers was a dark-eyed, serious brandofsexy.
She wasn’t even my type. Or so I’d thought. She was skinnier than the women I usually picked up. But it worked on her. She had graceful arms and an elegant neck. I spent a long time looking at her neck, and thinking of how it would taste beneath my tongue. And whenever she strode the length of the bar, I imagined her slim legs wrapped aroundmybody.
Watching her was like rediscovering espresso after a month of weak airplane coffee. She’d turned my crank the first time I laid eyes on her. But making my move had taken awhile, because I kept coming in here with myteammates.
Tonight I’d decided I wanted a taste. Badly. So I’d wised up and arrived here alone. It was the best way to get what Iwanted.
And Iwanted.
She and I had been watching each other all evening, even though we’d barely had a conversation. But I was a patient man. When the right moment came, I’d turn on the charm. I was willing to play the professional athlete card, too. Although something told me that swagger wouldn’t be the right play for Zara. She might be too forthright to care that I got paid millions to fly around the rink a hundred nightsayear.
It wasn’t a hardship to bide my time during her shift, drinking excellent beer. In fact, it was downright entertaining early on. First had come a rather amusing spat with her brother. Watching Zara go toe to toe with him had done things to me. When she’d squared her shoulders and lifted her perfect chin, I’d felt my body respond. There was a spark in her eye and a flush on her cheekbones. I wanted her to turn all that firemyway.
But things seemed to go downhill for my girl as the night wore on. The door opened to admit a big, bearded man with a couple of his friends. There was nothing too interesting about him, except for the way Zara’s eyes widened when he came through the door. She’d looked away, as if embarrassed by something. Her body language changed after that, her spine lengthening even more. Her facetensed.
I was good at two things in this life: shooting a six-ounce rubber puck into a net, and reading people. The second thing actually made the first one easier. The ability to read the opposing goalie well was what made me such a valuablesniper.
My mind wasn’t on hockey, though. It was on Zara. And something about the bearded guy was bothering my favorite bartender. I could sense Zara’s disappointment. There was a story there, but I didn’t know whatitwas.
After that, a perky little blonde came in, sat down at the bar, and ordered a salad. I overheard Zara and this cute little stranger discussing the men who’d come in beforehand. “Watch out for that crew,” Zara said. “The Shipley boys think they’reGod’sgift.”
The perky blonde didn’t seem to heed Zara’s advice. Not fifteen minutes later she relocated to a seat at the bearded guy’sbooth.
And then? The whole bar watched as the blonde left with the bigbeardedguy.
Zara continued to serve the remaining customers with perfect efficiency and grace, but she didn’t look as fiery anymore. Instead, her dark eyes were downcast. And for the first time since I’d noticed Zara, her shoulders had an unhappy settothem.
Still, she watched me. I felt her eyes on me, just as mine liked to dart over to checkherout.
Customers trickled out one by one as the hour grew late. The kitchen closed and the cook went home. Soon it was down to a table of college kids in the corner, myself at one end of the bar, and another dude at theoppositeend.
That other guy was a piece of work. He was older than Zara or myself. The gray in his hair made him in his late forties, if I had to guess. But he was lean and muscular. What made him stand out was hismeaneyes.
Zara didn’t like him, either. She was very polite, but she avoided eyecontact.
The dude didn’t appreciate that. The more distance she kept, the worse his leer. His eyes were practically stapled to her chest. “Zara, honey,” I heard him say as he fished out his wallet to settle up. “Griff Shipley ain’t the only man in the county. You’re feeling lonely, you can come keep me warmanytime.”
