Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(31)

The confusion dropped from his face. He put down his tools and offered me his hand.

“Sawyer,” he said.

Ah, the contractor/craftsman. “Emerson’s told me all about you,” I said, smiling.

“Likewise,” Sawyer responded, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Is he around?” I gave what I hoped was a casual glance around the room.

“Somewhere,” Sawyer said. “Though he’s probably running interference out back.”

“Interference?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“We had a few last-minute snafus,” Sawyer told me with a grimace. “We’re handling it, though.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked. My bosses had said we were all free for the day.

He gave me a long look, no doubt thinking that I wouldn’t be able to handle whatever they were fixing.

“I’m pretty capable,” I offered before he could turn me down.

“It’s not fun work,” he countered. “Your clothes might get dirty.”

I glanced down at my jeans and blouse. “I know how to use a washing machine,” I said. “Let me help.”

He shrugged. “We’ve got about a hundred glasses that weren’t covered when they finished the ceiling so they’re covered in sawdust and need to be washed by hand. There’s also five dozen chairs that need to brought in and stacked over in the corner, as well as taking inventory to make sure that we have exactly as much booze as we think we do.” He pointed at the pile of paperwork on the bar. “Take your pick.”

I rolled up my sleeves. “Show me those glasses,” I said.



There was something extremely soothing about cleaning. Maybe it was the fact that I had grown up in places that were usually filthy, and my mom and I had had to deep-clean every single apartment we ever lived in, but I found the act of cleaning to be very transformative. I was about halfway through the glasses when I heard Sawyer swearing at his paperwork at the other end of the bar.

“Problem?” I asked, drying off one of the glasses.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer grunted.

It obviously wasn’t, so I made my way over to him, peering over his shoulder. He shoved the paper towards me.

“I have no idea what this means.” He pointed at a line on the page with frustration in his voice.

I looked down at the item listed.

“Hockey Puck?” I read out loud. “Did this become a sports bar at some point?”

“Fuck no,” Sawyer growled. “And definitely not a hockey bar.”

“Not a sports fan?” I asked.

“Sure, to watch sometimes. But I’m into making things, not breaking them,” he said bluntly.

I was surprised. He was clearly a man of few words, but every single word surprised me.

“What about you?” Sawyer asked, catching me off guard. “Plan on breaking anything here?”

He was clearly asking about Emerson. It was cute. But before I could answer, the man in question appeared from the back. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and my own heart skipped a beat. He looked tired and overworked, but none of that diminished how hot he was.

He came right over and planted a smacking kiss on my lips. Right in front of Sawyer.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, taking my hand.

“Not long,” I said, pointing at the dishes. “I’ve been helping.”

“You put her to work?” Emerson asked Sawyer, sounding amused.

Sawyer just grunted and shrugged.

“I insisted,” I told him. “And now we’re trying to figure out the mystery of the Hockey Puck.”

“The beer?” Emerson asked.

“It’s the name of a beer?”

“It’s a stupid name for a beer,” Sawyer groused behind me.

“Take your complaints to Chase,” Emerson told his friend.

“What complaints?” Chase sauntered in from the back, a pint of beer in his hand.

“Hockey Puck,” Sawyer growled.

“I knew you’d hate that,” Chase grinned. “But it’s a good beer.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes and checked off the item.

“Hey, Alex,” Chase greeted me. “Did Sawyer put you to work?”

“She offered!” Sawyer objected again.

I laughed and Chase ignored him. “He’s a real slave driver, that one.”

“Fuck you guys,” Sawyer grumbled, and he got up from the bar. “I’m going to stack some chairs.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” Emerson winked at me.

Sawyer gave him the finger, but before he could head to the back, Chase stopped him.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said.

Sawyer groaned. “What now?”

“Our PR person dropped the ball,” Chase told all of us. “She didn’t follow through on the VIP invitations for tomorrow night and now we don’t have anyone confirmed.”

“So?” Sawyer looked unconcerned. “Do we even need them? It’s just a bunch of Instagram wannabes.”

“Who’ll all post and tag and tell their hundred thousand followers that Rascals is the new hot bar in town,” Emerson said, sounding just as annoyed.