Worth It (Forbidden Men, #6)(37)

None of the other bartenders seemed to get it. They stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. I gave him my own confused glance, wondering why he wanted even my name kept under wraps. But he didn’t explain himself.

Finally, the one Ten had called Lowe pointed at me as he asked Pick. “Is he—”

“Yes,” Pick clipped out, sending Lowe a hard stare before Lowe whirled back to me and studied me from head to toe.

A moment later, he huffed out a strange sounding, “Oh.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, so I transferred a leery scowl between the two of them, hoping they’d clue me in. But all Lowe did when I glanced at him was offer me a nervous smile and a greeting nod, which only made me warier.

What the hell?

From his barstool, Hart tipped his chin up and decided to talk to me directly. “So what’d you do time for?”

I turned my attention to him, and something in my gaze must’ve intimidated him because he took an untrusting pull back in his seat. Since it was obvious I already skeeved him out, I couldn’t help myself; I answered, “Rape and murder.”

A pregnant pause followed before Ten exploded, “What the f*ck, Pick? You just hired a murdering rapist to work with us? Dude!”

Pick sent me a dry glance as if to tell me to keep my mouth shut. But I only gazed back, unrepentant. It wasn’t as if I’d lied. I had done time for both accusations.

Rubbing a spot on his forehead, Pick frowned at his bartenders. “How long have you idiots known me? Do you honestly think I’d hire a rapist?”

The disgust in his voice seemed to relieve them, but the one still standing closest to me, visually inspecting me, asked, “What about the murdering part?”

Pick shrugged. Then he glanced at Lowe and murmured, “I’m sure he had a good reason for that.”

“Oh, great. That’s just great.” Ten threw his hands into the air and spun away, before facing Pick again. “When he rapes and murders me, please tell my wife he probably had a good reason for it.”

Hart, still sitting in front of the laptop, snickered. “If he murdered you, Ten, he would have a good reason.”

“Shut it, motherf*cker.”

“Make me, douche stick.”

“Better watch it, cock licker, or I will.”

“Fellas.” Pick lifted his hands. “Jesus, my toddlers are better behaved than you two. Just...believe me when I say Knox is trustworthy. Okay? Now let’s get back to work. Gamble, you’re on training duty.”

“Yeah, thanks.” The guy next to me snorted out his sarcasm before drawing in a deep, irritated sigh and waving me to follow him behind the bar. “This way, Parker. Looks like you’re with me tonight.”

I paused, sending Pick a doubtful glance for pushing me off on these men who obviously wanted nothing to do with me. Except maybe Lowe. But I wasn’t sure what he was about, so I probably trusted him least of all.

Pick merely waved me on. “That’s Noel by the way. Noel Gamble. He was a big football star back in the day.”

I pulled back to get a better look at Noel, recognizing his name. They’d let us watch football behind bars; I’d probably seen a dozen, if not more, of his games.

“Was?” Noel scowled at Pick. “That ‘was’ was only like a year ago, douche. Way to make me sound ancient and decrepit.”

Pick merely shrugged and pointed at Ten. “And you’ve met Dipshit, aka Ten, aka Oren Tenning.”

I blinked in shock. Oren Tenning was another name I recognized from television. I never would’ve known him by his face since I’d only ever seen him on a screen in football pads and wearing a helmet.

“Another football star,” I said, suddenly placing where I’d heard the name Quinn Hamilton before, too. Zoey’s husband had replaced Gamble after he’d gotten hurt and was the current football quarterback for Ellamore State these days.

“Right,” Pick answered with a nod. “And this is Asher Hart. He was the new guy before you came along.” Setting his hand on Asher’s shoulder, he closed the guy’s laptop before adding, “He’s been with us over a year and sings in some little band.”

Asher snorted and reopened his laptop. “He means an awesome, kick-ass band. We perform here every Friday if you want to check us out.”

Grin flitting across his face, Pick pointed out the last guy, who was stacking glasses against the back wall. “Last but not least, that’s Mason Lowe. We’re basically related since his woman and mine are first cousins, so I kind of have to play favorites with him.”

“What the f*ck ever,” Ten called from where he was taking a chair off a table. “I’m your favorite, and you know it.”

“So have you ever tended bar before?” Noel broke into the introduction, obviously ready to get to work.

I hadn’t even been old enough to drink before I’d been arrested, so no, I’d definitely never tended a bar before.

I shook my head.

His jaw tightened briefly before he asked, “Waited tables?”

“Nope.”

“Of course not.” He rubbed a spot on his forehead and sent Pick a scowl. “Couldn’t have made this even a little easy for me, could you, Ryan? Thanks a lot.”

Pick waved Noel’s resentment away as he seated himself at the bar and pulled out his cell phone to check something. “He’ll be fine.” Then he grinned. “His dad was an alcoholic; he probably knows how to mix most drinks already.”