Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(4)

“Is that how you make money?”

“No. That’s how I make friends.”

She snorted. “I’d love a black widow. But can you make it virgin, please?”

“You want it without the tequila?” I asked, surprised. Being anti-alcohol seemed like the kind of thing she might have mentioned earlier, given the topic of our conversation.

She didn’t get a chance to respond.

“Jean.” Andre wandered up to the table. Giving me a slap on the back before giving her a friendly smile. Too friendly. And how did he know her name? Warning bells went off inside my head. Because despite Andre being over a decade older than me, women loved the guy. “How are you doing? I’m free now if you’re ready?”

“Ready for what?” I asked, irritation edging into my voice.

“I’m moving into one of the apartments upstairs,” Jean said, fingers clasped together on the table.

“You are?” My brows rose.

“That’s right,” said Andre. “You two are going to be neighbors.”

“Huh.” I tried to keep my face blank as my brain scrambled to catch up. Hell no being my first and foremost reaction. Next door was a little too close. I’d only just tuned in to the idea of having a girlfriend, let alone the thought of having her right there next to me.

“Now there’ll be me, you, Jean, Joe, and Lydia all up there.” Andre rubbed his hands together, all happy like. Fair enough. He owned the building and turning the upstairs into apartments last year hadn’t been cheap. “That’s all of the apartments rented.”

“Great,” I mumbled.

Jean just nodded, going back to looking over the menu.

“You said you were hungry. What can I get for you?” I asked, shaking off my suddenly sour mood.

“Everything here is good,” said Andre. “Especially the pizza. I haven’t had lunch yet, mind if I join you? I can show you around and help you unload your stuff after, if you like.”

“That’d be good,” said Jean. “I definitely need food.”

“I can help too.” I stepped back, unhappily making room for the man. “Probably Boyd or Taka as well. We’re not that busy.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Dammit. Andre might have been one of my oldest friends, but this was not part of the plan. Cock-blocker. First they’d be all chatty and shit, sharing a meal. Then bam … they’d be having sex. This was not okay. I wanted to have sex with Jean. And be the one to listen to her talk and get to eat with her, etcetera (insert boring boyfriend stuff here).

“I’ll have the potato, caramelized onion, and bacon pizza, please,” she said.

“Vegetarian for me,” added Andre. “And a beer, thanks.”

“Sure thing.” I slightly narrowed my eyes at the bastard. Not that he noticed.

“Black widow? Virgin?” Her eyes sparkled, the lines of her face softening again.

It should be noted that the softening only happened when she looked at me. Maybe I wouldn’t drop Andre’s beer on him after all. We’d see.

“You got it,” I said, writing up the order. “Be right back with the drinks.”

I handed the food order over to the kitchen and headed for my bar. In an hour or two, Vaughan would be in for the busier night session. For now, however, the space was mine, all mine.

When we first came up with the idea to open the Dive Bar, everyone involved knew exactly what they wanted. Nell would rule the kitchen, Pat would help put up the money but otherwise stick to his tattoo parlor next door, and I’d be in charge of the bar. Of course, running the place had been a hell of a lot more work than any of us anticipated. Lydia bought out Pat and took over running the restaurant floor. A great move. But Nell still loved the kitchen, and I stuck with the bar.

It was my thing. What I was good at and where I felt I belonged.

The original long wooden surface still had the names and crap carved into it from back when the place really had been a dive bar. I grabbed a cloth and gave it a quick polish. Forget Jean and her pretty rack for a minute, time to get the bar all cleaned up before the night began. Neat lines of shining bottles, gleaming taps, and racks of glasses. Probably didn’t say much about me, now that this bar felt like home. But I loved it anyway.

Over at their table, Andre and Jean maintained a steady stream of conversation. I kept a close eye on them. On a scale of one to ten, I’d give the smile on her face a six. Seven at most. It was polite, friendly. Nowhere near as warm and inviting as the ones she’d given me. Tens all the way. Thank fuck for that.

With ease, I threw Jean’s cocktail together. Muddling the blackberries and squeezing the lime. Measuring the sugar syrup. It kind of killed me not to add the tequila. It was like asking Vincent van Gogh to hold off on the color blue the next time he painted the stars. To tell John Bonham to go easy on the skins next time he played “Moby Dick.” Though yeah they were dead. But you know what I mean … just wrong. I gritted my teeth and added some soda water and an extra splash of lime to try and balance the tequila’s absence.

As I poured Andre’s beer, I let my mind wander back to Jean. Maybe we would date. Seriously. She was hot, nice, no obvious signs of crazy. Except maybe that crack about murdering her ex-husbands. Most importantly, I was pretty damn sure the woman was into me. Come to think of it, having her living close by could be a good thing. I worked weird hours sometimes. It’d definitely save me from having to do any extra driving. I wondered what Mom would think of Jean. I’d never taken a girl home to meet Mom, but maybe with her I would. In your face, Nell.