No Perfect Hero(29)
Fuck.
Cleavage that’s currently in Stewart’s line of sight as she leans over his table and drops a foaming mug of beer in front of him, along with a tray of fries. Her unbound hair tumbles everywhere, this loose mess of windswept waves I just want to wind my fist in as I drag her against my body.
I shouldn’t be steaming inside, but damn she’s giving him a flirtatious little smile from under her lashes. Stewart’s all charm, easy and calm and affable with his lazy, pleasant smile.
My vision tints red.
They’re murmuring to each other. I must be out of my goddamn mind because I’m thinking all kinds of nasty things I shouldn’t be. I've got no claim.
Stewart’s my best friend.
Hay’s a stranger, and if she’s going to work at Brody’s, flirting is practically in the job description.
Head on straight, Ford, I tell myself. Get over the damn girl.
Then figure out why your tracker says Bress is here when he sure as hell isn’t anywhere in this crowd.
Stewart gives me an excuse to stop standing in the door like a block of wood, though, when he catches sight of me over the top of his booth and raises a hand.
“War!” he calls, beckoning me over. “Hey, man. C’mon. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Reluctantly, I make my way over.
Real reluctantly, at least, because the second Stewart says my name, Haley goes stiff. She flashes me a sharp, accusing look, her flirty smile turning to poison again.
Damn. She must think I came to check up on her.
Maybe she's a little right, but I can’t stand to let myself look at her, or I won’t look away.
Hay’s all suntanned smoothness and tempting, lickable skin. Another second of watching the gap between her thighs or the shadows that hint at more under that skirt and my cock’s going to have trouble fitting in my jeans.
As I slide into the booth, Hay leans over me, bending just a little closer with her arms folded under her breasts, plumping them till they’re suckable mounds threatening to drag my attention away from my friend’s knowing smile.
“So what’ll it be?” she asks, almost too phony sugary-sweet.
“Just draft,” I say, mouth dry. “And the charbroiled mushroom swiss burger.”
“Don’t need a menu?”
“I’ve had the menu memorized since I was twelve,” I point out. “Only out-of-towners use menus at Brody’s. But it helps that Grandma owns the place.”
“And he always gets the same thing,” Stewart says, his grin sly. “Don’t tell anyone, but he helped create the menu when he was a kid. That’s his signature burger. Me, I like to change it up a little. Tell the cook to surprise me, sugar.”
Hay’s eyes flash. I’m almost satisfied by that spark of irritation as she retorts, scathingly nice, “You got it, ‘sugar.’”
I have a feeling if she didn’t need the paycheck, she’d probably have told Stewart to shove his sugar up his ass. He’d deserve it, too, for telling her that little bit about me and the menus.
Still, I can’t help but grin as I watch her turn around and walk away with those pretty hips swaying, those soft thighs sliding together.
“Enjoying the view?” Stew asks, his brown eyes glittering with unvoiced laughter.
“I’m not dead yet.” I drag my gaze back to him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Didn’t feel like cooking tonight. Bachelor life gets boring. Plus, I was on my way out to see you, after.”
My brows furrow. “See me?”
His expression sobers, and he glances over his shoulder, sweeping his gaze around the pub, lingering on a cluster of older men playing darts on the decaying dartboard before he fixes on me again and leans across the table. Then his hand disappears for a moment and emerges with something familiar.
My GPS tracker.
Shit.
He passes it over with a covered hand. I swipe it before anybody can see it, glancing around myself and whisper, “What the fuck, man?”
“I saw you this morning,” he mutters. “You’re lucky no one else did. What the hell are you doing, War? You know what kind of trouble this can get you in? Could be a felony. I’m saving your ass, man.”
“It’s business. I have my reasons,” I bite off, tucking the tracker into my back pocket. “Fuck. That explains why I saw his car parked at your shop all day.”
“You have to be more careful.” He watches me closely, gaze concerned, brows knitting together. “I pulled your ass out of a fire this time – you know what Bress can do to you for this? – but I don’t even know what you’re up to. I can only cover for you so long if you’re keepin' me in the dark.”
“I can’t tell you. Trust me, Stew.” I shake my head. “It’s safer for everyone if you don’t know.”
“Safer for everyone but you, you mean.” Stewart studies me sourly for a minute, then turns his head to watch Haley sail from calling orders over the bar into the kitchen to make the rounds of a few more tables. His gaze tracks her curiously. “So what’s up with that? You gonna keep your lips sewn shut with her, too?”
“You already know. About the breakdown, the car, and whatever.” I shrug. “She was supposed to go stay with a friend after blowing town, I guess. She’s trying to start over, but that fell through, so she’s staying here a while longer. Grandma felt bad for her, so she’s more houseguest than paying patron. Stubborn thing’s determined to work her way out of town, saving up till she can relocate.”