Page 84 of Bourbon Bliss
Seated along the bar and at some of the tables were some of the scariest motherfuckers I’d ever seen. Thick beards, thicker bodies, grizzled scowls. Most wore leather—the women and the men—and every one of them looked up with suspicion on their faces when we walked in the door.
“You need something, sweetheart?” the bartender asked, his voice low and raspy. He had a long gray beard and a patch over one eye.
I went to grab June’s elbow and get her the hell out of here, but she was already walking toward the bar.
“June,” I hissed.
She marched over, head held high. “Good evening. Yes, I’m looking for some information.”
Oh god. All eyes were on her and most of them looked like they were gauging her height and weight so they could decide where to stash her body. I rushed to get behind her.
The bartender raised an eyebrow—the one over his good eye—but didn’t answer.
“I’m trying to find out—”
“What do we have here?” A guy with a leather vest and full sleeve tattoos on both arms—some looked homemade—turned on his stool. “A little girl asking questions?”
“Yes, and if you’ll let me finish, I can explain—”
“We don’t like questions,” the bartender growled.
“And we don’t like little girls,” the guy on the stool said.
The attention of the entire bar was on June. The men playing pool abandoned their games, and drinks sat untouched on tables. All eyes on her. Men cracked knuckles and women gave each other knowing looks. She stuck out worse than a sore thumb. Blond ponytail, blouse and cardigan. She also seemed to be the only person in the room who didn’t realize how much danger she was in.
“I realize my appearance compared to that of many people in this establishment might suggest youthfulness, but I’m twenty-nine, which does not fit the standard definition oflittle girl.”
I grabbed her arm to steer her out of here.
“George, I have a few simple questions for them that have nothing to do with any alleged criminal activity.”
“What did you say?” the guy on the stool asked.
“I’m not here to ask about your alleged criminal activities. I have questions about—”
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling her arm.
“Hey, is that GT Thompson?” a voice called from deeper in the bar.
I froze.Please let them be fans.
“Holy shit, it is.”
“GT Thompson?”
“Didn’t he retire?”
“Best receiver in the league.”
“Damn straight he’s the best.”
I let out a breath, but kept my hand on June’s arm. The mood of the room shifted so suddenly it made my heart race. The scowls turned to interest, and a few guys even smiled at me.
“Well holy shit,” the bartender said, his demeanor suddenly friendly. “GT Thompson. What are you doing way out here?”
“Y’all Philly fans?”
“Hell yes,” the bartender said, and there were nods of agreement all around.
