Take a Chance on Me(3)

He smiled right back. “Let me guess, you haven’t eaten.”

“How’d you know?” She traced her fingertip over the edge of the empty shot glass.

“I’m astute that way.”

Tongue-tied, she picked up her water again and took a long gulp, draining it. The ice clinked as she placed it on the chipped counter.

“Thirsty?” he asked, in a low voice that vibrated in her belly.

She straightened and tried to look proper. “It’s important to stay hydrated when you get drunk.”

He laughed. “And why the rush to get drunk, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that.” The scowl she’d intended died halfway to her lips.

Another meaningful glance at her attire. “If you don’t like being called a princess, maybe you shouldn’t wear such a sparkly dress.”

“I suppose you have a point. I’m normally more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.” The last shot of whiskey sat in front of her, and she took a little sip. A drop of alcohol clung to her lower lip, which she licked.

His gaze tracked the movement, eyes darkening to burnished gold.

The tip of her tongue stalled mid-swipe and retreated to press against her teeth.

Was something happening here? Appreciating the view was one thing, but she needed to be good. She’d been good for a very long time and now wasn’t the time to break her streak. Maybe the alcohol was playing tricks on her, making her imagine things. She gave herself a tiny mental shake.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

He was a stranger. She shouldn’t tell him her name. She shot back. “What’s yours?”

Again, the corners of his mouth twitched. “Mitch Riley.”

She sighed. Well, now he’d been forthcoming so she had to tell him hers. “Maddie Donovan.”

He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Maddie Donovan.”

She slipped her palm into his. His grip was warm and sure, and a tingle raced along her arm. She snatched back her hand as though she’d been burned.

“Hard day?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No thank you.”

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to confess to your bartender?” He reached for her empty glass and filled it with fresh ice and water before placing it in front of her. “Drink this.”

She frowned. She’d had more than enough of people telling her what to do. She wasn’t about to take orders from a stranger, no matter how gorgeous. “You’re kind of bossy.”

“Proper hydration was your argument.” He moved down the bar and returned with a bowl of pretzels. “Here, eat these.”

Brows drawing together, she stared at the bowl full of tiny brown twists. Once upon a time, she hadn’t let anyone push her around. “What if I don’t want to? What if I want more whiskey?”

More liquor wasn’t a good idea, but now she had a point to make. Sure, she’d wobble if she got up, but she had something to prove and alcohol fueled bravado.

A crooked, boyish grin slid over his lips. She suspected it was designed to disarm her, but it failed miserably. He placed the flat of his hands on the bar. “If you want more whiskey, you’ll have to eat first. I don’t want you knocked on your ass.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “What do you care?”

“It’s a nice ass.” He peered over the bar to evaluate the body part in question. “From what I can see, that is.”

Just to be defiant, she picked up the rest of the shot and downed it. “I’ll have another.”

He pushed the bowl toward her. “You’ll eat pretzels. They’re good for soaking up alcohol.”

“What about ‘the customer’s always right’?” she huffed and crossed her arms. Was she being ridiculous? Maybe, but who was he to make decisions for her? She’d had enough overbearing men to last her a lifetime. From now on, she called the shots. And if she wanted more drinks, then by God, she’d get them.

Maddie looked past him, her vision skipping around the bar. A blond, surfer-looking guy sat in a corner booth with papers scattered over the table’s surface, perusing them with obvious interest. She pointed to him. “Maybe I need to tell your boss you’re refusing to serve me.”


A deep, amused rumble. “You can’t get higher than me, Princess. I own the place.”

Deflated, her shoulders slumped. “Oh. Well, never mind.”

He pushed the bowl again until it was right under her nose. “Eat some pretzels and drink some water while you tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”

With her spine snapping ruler-straight, she asked, “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”

He gave her a slow, meaningful once-over. “Do I look stupid to you?”

No, he didn’t. All the more reason to stay away. If she could walk, she’d leave, but for now she was at his mercy. Between the buzz in her head and her swollen, aching feet, she might never move from this stool again and be forced to deal with his bossiness forever.

“I had car trouble. I broke down on Highway 60 a couple of miles back.”

His lips curved down and his golden eyes flashed. “You walked?”