At Peace (The 'Burg #2)(62)

“Sounds like teenagers.”

“You should be warned, Keira also listens to boy bands,” I watched him flinch and couldn’t help but laugh.

“My son Jonas is in a band. Drums,” he informed me.

“Ouch.”

He nodded and added, “Loud.”

“Ouch again.”

I grabbed my glass and took another sip, his eyes dropped to it and he asked, “Do you want another?”

I shook my head and said, “I drove here.” Then I leaned into him and shared conspiratorially, “See, rumor has it, cops hang in this bar. Wouldn’t be good for a girl to get tipsy and then slide behind the wheel of a car.”

He leaned in closer too and grinned before saying, “Yeah, I heard that rumor too and cops really don’t like that shit. But, if I buy you a drink, you’ll promise to get you and Cheryl a taxi?”

I nodded as I sucked on my straw, he watched my mouth then shook his head, muttering, “Flirting lessons, f**k me.”

“I’m not flirting,” I told him.

“Then sweetheart, you’re a natural.”

I didn’t respond because I watched as his eyes went behind the bar, he gave a jerk of his chin then tipped his head to me which I suspected was his nonverbal, man ordering of another drink for me. His eyes came back to me but then they jerked over my shoulder and he straightened a bit. He focused on something then looked at me.

“Violet, there a reason Joe Callahan is lookin’ at me like he wants to rip my head off?”

I felt my body tense, my chest expand and I whispered, “What?”

His eyes went back over my shoulder and I watched his frame relax as he muttered, “Must be seein’ things.”

I looked over my shoulder to see Colt’s stool empty, so was the one next to it. A bunch of people I didn’t know were huddled at the end of the bar. No Joe.

“I know Cal’s helpin’ out with your thing, he’s your neighbor,” Mike said and I looked back to him. “Coulda sworn he was just there, lookin’ pissed as all hell.”

“He wasn’t there?”

“He was there, now he’s gone. Man’s fast, always was.”

At the thought of Joe being there, I licked my lips then bit them and Mike’s gaze grew more intense. “There a reason he might be lookin’ at me that way?”

I stared into his eyes and remembered he was honest with me right off the bat. He deserved the same thing.

“Joe and I are complicated.”

“You call him Joe?”

“Yeah.”

“No one calls him Joe.”

I shrugged.

“How complicated?” he pressed.

“I don’t really know but I think, in the end, not very.”

“What does that mean?”

“Honestly?” I asked and he nodded. “I wish I knew. I don’t. All I know is, he’s being cool about the security thing, he’s helping to keep my girls safe and he and I are not very well defined.”

“Not very well defined?”

“Not at all.”

“Sounds like Cal,” he muttered and a chill slid across my skin, so cold I shivered. “You cool with that?” Mike went on.

“Not really.”

“You want defined?”

“I had clearly defined for seventeen years. It wasn’t perfect but it was pretty damned good. So, yeah, I want defined.”

“Not f**kin’ with you, Violet, swear to God, but Cal’s not about defined.”

I knew that but it sucked having it confirmed.

“He’s given me that impression,” I told Mike.

Mike’s jaw got hard and he looked at the bar as my drink was placed there by Darryl. He pulled out his wallet, slid a bill on the bar, gave Darryl a curt nod and I took the final sip of my last drink before I placed the empty by my new one.

“Mike?” I called and his eyes cut to me.

“Yeah?”

I took in a deep breath and asked, “How are you with defined?”

“I liked defined. My wife liked designer handbags that I couldn’t get her on a cop’s salary, our credit card bills were out the roof, month after month, no matter how much I talked to her about it. The house, not big enough. The car, not sporty enough. She married a cop, don’t know what she thought she’d get, ‘specially when she also didn’t think she needed to work. So her definition of defined wasn’t mine. But yeah, in the end, defined is a f**kuva lot better than not defined, as long as both people get where they’re goin’.”

“I like designer handbags,” I told him.

“Great,” he muttered.

“I work though.”

He looked at me.

“And, well, obviously, I like my daughters to eat and maybe, if I can swing it, my youngest to have the dog she’s always wanted and that’s more important than a handbag.”

He kept looking at me then said softly, “Yeah.”

“And, by the way, all women like designer handbags,” I told him, grabbed my drink and took a sip then finished, “Just to warn you. If you’re lookin’ for a woman who doesn’t like them, well… you’re kinda screwed.”

He grinned and asked, “They all need one a month?”