All the Right Moves

chapter 2

“A FLYBOY, HUH?”

“Yep.” Cassie concentrated on the gin and tonic she was making, but almost forgot the lime wedge.

“What do you think, a captain? Major?”

“Captain.”

“Fast movers?”

“Please.” Cassie snorted. “Any doubt?”

“He won’t stick around long.”

“Nope.

“A damn shame.” Lisa was trying to be inconspicuous and failing. “I could stare at him all night.”

“You’re off to a good start,” Cassie murmured quietly, then darted him a look. “I’ll be right with you.”

“Take your time.”

“Oh, my God, that smile, that voice.” Lisa sighed.

Cassie had turned away so fast she’d missed the smile. “So much for Tommy.”

“Screw him.”

“Don’t blame you there. Go take Flyboy’s order if you want. I’ll finish your drinks.”

“You sure?”

“Go for it.”

Lisa glanced toward the back. “Then I’ll take Tommy his beer. If he comes looking for it, he might scare off the best-looking customer we’ve had in six months.”

Well, that was a headache Cassie didn’t need. But Lisa was right. Tommy was fine with enlisted men and retirees, welcomed them, actually. But officers? He had no use for the whole lot of them. He wasn’t necessarily confrontational, but he could make things uncomfortable.

Refusing to watch Lisa approach the dark-haired guy, Cassie kept her head down, making drinks, realizing too late she’d poured an extra tequila shot. A new doctor who’d worked in the E.R. at the hospital had started coming in a month ago. She’d only seen him a few times and he sure was easy on the eyes. But this pilot...he was something.

Still, she didn’t go for the Jon Hamm types with the perfect movie-star looks, all cool and suave. As soon as they opened their mouths you had to wonder how their ego had fit through the door. Not all of them, but enough. Then again those types didn’t go for her, either, so it all worked out.

“He wants a scotch. Neat.” Smiling, Lisa loaded her tray. “Five bucks says he leaves after two sips.”

“I’m so broke I can’t afford to bet a quarter. Did you warn him this isn’t a scotch kind of place?”

“Uh-uh. I didn’t want him to leave that fast.” Lisa picked up her tray and left to deliver the drinks.

Cassie dried her hands, then grabbed the bottle of scotch off the shelf. The only reason it wasn’t dusty was because she kept a clean bar. She reached for a glass, unscrewed the bottle, then sighed. Recapping it, she walked over to the man, who was leaning back and watching her.

Up close he was even more dazzling. Dark, almost black hair. Tan skin. Some combination of eyebrows and jawline and mouth that made looking at him a sensual experience even if you didn’t want it to be. But she didn’t like the intense way he tracked her with those damn sexy eyes, so he lost a couple of points.

She held up the bottle so he could see the label. “This is all we have.”

“Okay,” he said with a slight frown.

“Are you familiar with the brand?”

“No.”

“It probably sucks.”

His laugh was short, surprised. “I’ll take my chances.”

Cassie hated returning points to the plus column but to be fair, the humor in his expression made him look even hotter. “Just remember I warned you,” she said, turning back to get the glass and to pull herself together. She hadn’t expected him to be such a good sport.

Lisa returned to pick up Tommy’s beer. “What was that?” she asked under her breath.

“I gave him an out on the scotch but he passed.” She poured a generous portion. If he could stomach the stuff, he deserved the extra booze. “You can take it over to him.”

“No, go ahead. You seem to be doing just fine with him.”

“Right.” The only reason she didn’t roll her eyes was because he was still watching her. What did he think she was going to do, spit in his drink? “Do me a favor. Don’t go overboard giving Tommy a hard time. I don’t want to deal with one of his moods today.”

Lisa went toward the back, and Cassie took the scotch to the flyboy at the other end of the bar. She almost forgot to set down a cocktail napkin because she didn’t bother for most of their customers. They generally ignored them once they picked up their drink.

“Here you go.” She set the glass on the plain white paper square. “That’ll be three bucks.”

“Can I start a tab?”

“Really?”

“I’ll give you a credit card if you’re worried I’ll run out on you.” That damn smile... How many tight spots had it gotten him out of?

“I’d try the scotch first,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t have worn a worse T-shirt. Faded, too snug, it had some geeky cartoon character on the front. But it was a freebie and that fit into her clothes budget just fine.

He took a sip, not a cautious one, either. He blinked, swallowed, then slowly nodded, his gaze staying on the amber liquid.

She grinned, got that weird feeling someone was watching her and caught Gordon’s eye from across the room. A quick glare told him to mind his own business, but the customers at the two other occupied tables were keeping tabs, too, so it didn’t matter.

Cassie straightened, but it wasn’t as if she were doing anything wrong. She was friendly with all her customers. “Well?”

Clearing his throat, he slid the glass toward her. “I think I’ll take a beer.”

“I have plenty of that. What kind?”

“Whatever’s on tap.”

“You sure? We have the imported stuff.”

“Tap is fine. What about food?”

She picked up the scotch, frowning at him. Okay, now he was just messing with her. “What about it?”

“Uh...” His eyebrows went up and there was no missing the amusement in his brown eyes. “Do you serve any?”

Was he crazy? If they did, would he eat in a place like this? “We have pretzels for sure, maybe some peanuts. On the house, but that’s it.”

She moved back to her station. As much as she hated to admit it, looking directly into his eyes sparked something inside her that was unsettling. It wasn’t as if she thought the sensation meant anything. He wasn’t just an eleven out of ten, he seemed nice, and she kind of wished he wasn’t. It was so much easier to ignore the ones who were full of themselves.

Cassie found the pretzels right away because she’d put out bowls earlier for the guys in the back. Sadly, she had only three clean mugs left. Sighing, she grabbed one and stuck it under the spout, started a slow stream of beer, then stretched over to the sink and turned on the hot water.

What the hell was taking Lisa so long? Cassie would need her help before the hospital changed shifts and customers piled in. The beer foamed over the mug, and she tipped it to get rid of some of the head. She’d already given him rotgut scotch. She didn’t want to replace it with froth.

She stopped to add dish detergent to the water, then carried his pretzels and beer to him. “If you still want a tab I’ll start one. I’m not charging you for the scotch.”

“Yes, you are.” His dark brows dipped. “You warned me. Fair is fair.”

She set down the draft, and he touched her hand, though she didn’t think he meant to. But she would’ve missed the cocktail napkin if he hadn’t moved it to accommodate her. The skin around her knuckles was dry and unattractive from washing too many glasses without gloves, and she hated that she noticed. What she did like was that he insisted on paying for the scotch. Even her regulars tried to mooch free beer.

“So? A tab?” She slid the pretzels toward him, keeping her gaze on the tables.

“Yep.”

“All righty, then.” Turning to get her pad at the other end, she dragged her palms down the front of her jeans.

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you have going on back there besides pool?”

She hesitated, hoping he didn’t decide to go poking around. Spider and his gang wouldn’t cause trouble. They might make an off-color remark, but only in fun. It was Tommy she didn’t trust. “Intrigue. Desperate deeds. Things that would shock you to your soul.”

“Really?”

“Or as we like to call it, darts. And barely enough room for the gang of mechanics that took it over an hour ago. Sorry.”

“Damn. I was primed for danger.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he knew she was trying to discourage him.

“Boy, have you picked the wrong bar.” She smiled, knowing she wouldn’t see him again.

“What’s your name?”

“Cassie.” She noticed how his long tanned fingers fit all the way around the mug. He had nice hands, clean, trimmed nails. “The waitress is Lisa if you want another beer and can’t get my attention.”

“You’ll get that busy?”

“Oh, yeah. Any minute now.”

He glanced around the mostly empty room. “I’m John,” he said as she headed back to her station. “For my tab.”

She nodded without looking back. His smoky baritone was enough to fire up her nerve endings. She wondered if he’d given her his real name, or if it was one he used for pizza deliveries. John seemed too plain for a man who looked like him. She’d expected something more dashing, maybe an unusual family name.

She wrote down his beer, stashed the slip with the other two tabs beside the register and looked up just as Lisa returned from the back. She shook her head, the usual signal for “don’t ask.”

Then Cassie heard the door open, followed by a burst of voices and laughter. It was the hospital gang. Sighing, she closed her textbook and put it away, not looking forward to getting off work then spending the rest of the night studying.

* * *

JOHN HEARD THE VOICES, felt a blast of desert air at his back and turned. At first he’d thought someone had held the door open too long, but people kept coming inside the cool dim bar. The majority wore scrubs, a few still had their hospital IDs hanging from around their necks. Two guys went straight to Cassie while the others claimed three tables in the corner near the No Trespassing sign that hung on the wood-paneled wall.

He figured she’d been exaggerating that the place would get busy, that it was a ploy to get rid of him. He’d gotten the impression she didn’t think he belonged here, and she wasn’t wrong. The loud country music, hard metal posters, questionable bumper stickers plastered crookedly to the walls—none of it was his style. He’d seen the four Harleys parked outside, so he’d known beforehand this wouldn’t exactly be an officer’s club. Which had been the point.

He wasn’t in the mood to do what he always did, expect what he always expected, talk to the same people he always talked to. Something had to shake him from his uncertainty. He’d thought about leaving Vegas, going somewhere crazy. Tahiti or Pittsburgh. But he didn’t want to fly anywhere, not if he wasn’t the pilot. So the next best thing was to change neighborhoods.

The door opened again. This time it was a thirtysomething woman in civvies, who joined the group wearing scrubs. The older rough-looking guys who’d already been drinking when John came in seemed to know the newcomers, and there was a brief but polite exchange before everyone returned to the business of imbibing or ordering from the blonde waitress. Lisa, according to Cassie.

He wouldn’t forget her name. It suited her. Not that he could say why. He didn’t know a Cassie or a Cassandra that he recalled. But with those big hazel eyes, the smooth fair complexion and that sense of humor, the name seemed to fit. Her auburn hair was on the curly side, and she habitually blew at the loose tendrils that seemed to keep getting in her way.

Sipping his beer, he tried to figure out what cartoon was on the front of her T-shirt without being obvious. Her small compact body appealed to him and it would be easy to just stare. The fabric stretched tight across her breasts didn’t help. It made him curious as to whether wearing the smaller size was by design, or if she just hadn’t cared what she grabbed out of the drawer. Her faded jeans looked as if they’d been around awhile, and again, the snug fit made it difficult not to be one of those creepy guys he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Maybe she wore the tight clothes to bolster her tips. Although in a place like this no one was leaving anything extravagant. She was good with the customers, he’d give her that. She knew a lot of them by name, which was unusual in this town. It was also odd that the bar didn’t have video poker and slot machines. Every place in Vegas had machines. Gas stations, supermarkets, diners. He’d figured a bar without the ability to lose a paycheck would be mostly empty, but the evidence proved him wrong.

He worked on his beer, less worried about staring at Cassie now that the place was so packed. Clearly she was well liked. People stopped to say hi or to ask her a question or tell a joke. She rolled her eyes at a bawdy riddle, then grinned and kept working, her hands plunged in sudsy water, while waiting for pitchers to fill with beer.

When a young woman in pink scrubs asked for pretzels, Cassie put her to work loading bowls for every table. Cassie herself stayed on task, juggling mixed-drink orders, keeping the draft flowing and carefully checking glasses she’d just washed.

She wasn’t only attentive, she moved fast and was quick-witted. Maybe she owned the bar.

“Hey, Cassie.”

Her head came up, her gaze going to someone in the corner. “Hey, what?”

“Where’s the cheapest gas today?”

“The Pilot on Craig.”

“Thanks.” The man chuckled. “You owe me five bucks,” he said to his companion, who started to argue about the accuracy of the information.

Several others booed him. An older man in a wheelchair with two mixed drinks in front of him swore Cassie was never wrong.

John hadn’t given the guy more than a passing glance but now he noticed his ball cap. It read Retired Air Force. He’d finished his career a sergeant was John’s guess. A permanent frown was etched on the old-timer’s grizzled face, reminding John of Master Sergeant Henry Ludlow. The man had already put in his twenty by the time they’d met. John had been a young lieutenant, still green and way too cocky. It was Ludlow who’d whipped him into shape. The man had never disrespected John’s rank but he sure hadn’t taken his crap, either. Thinking back, he smiled.

“You okay over there?” Cassie’s voice brought him around.

He checked his beer, surprised that he’d already downed half of it. “I’m good for now.”

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she turned her attention to the slip the waitress set in front of her.

He’d chosen the ideal stool at the end of the bar. Although if he moved over one she’d be in his line of sight at all times. At the moment he couldn’t see her lower half. Just as well. He wasn’t trolling. And even if he was, she wasn’t giving him an interested vibe.

She did intrigue him, though. He wasn’t accustomed to a woman trying to get rid of him, and now he was curious about the whole Q&A thing she had going on. Was she that knowledgeable? Or was it just a parlor trick? They sure hung on to her answers.

Using the back of her wrist to brush a curl off her flushed cheek, she looked up, her narrowed gaze panning the room. “All right, who ordered the piña colada?”

John glanced over his shoulder.

A hand slowly raised. With a wince, the last woman to come in said, “It’s me, Cassie. But if it’s too much trouble, that’s okay.”

“Oh, that’s right. You just got back from Hawaii.” Cassie thought for a moment, her lips pursed.

John stared too long at her lush mouth and had a reaction he wasn’t prepared for. He shifted positions on the wooden bar stool. What the hell was wrong with him?

Cassie bent over and pulled out cans of tomato and cranberry juice. “Sorry, Beth. I don’t have all the ingredients.”

“Never mind. Really. Make it my usual.”

Cassie straightened. “I’ll pick up the right mixes and you can have one the next time you come in.”

“Please, don’t worry about it. You have enough on your plate this month.”

Cassie just smiled and went back to pouring drinks. He’d bet the next time the woman ordered a piña colada she’d get it. As if it mattered what he’d bet. He didn’t know the bartender from the woman who delivered his laundry.

The door opened again, letting in heat, and two men wearing jeans and blue uniform shirts. Grease smeared their faces and arms. More of the dart-playing mechanics, evidently. This was the damnedest assortment of people. The only thing the different groups seemed to have in common was Cassie and not gambling.

She shook her head at the newcomers. “Really, guys? You couldn’t have washed up first?” She jerked a thumb toward the back. “Go use some soap.”

They grumbled, insisted they had tried to clean up, but did as she ordered.

John smiled, and for a second he caught her eye. She blinked, then looked down at the pitcher she was filling, and he polished off his beer.

“You want another?” she asked a minute later, grabbing a towel and drying her hands on her way over to him. “Or are you ready to settle up?”

“You really are trying to get rid of me.”

She raised her eyebrows. Her lips parted, closed, then she said, “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“Okay.” He leaned back, studying her face. She was good. She didn’t give anything away. “Go ahead...in your own words.”

Her abrupt laugh caught him off guard. “I was trying to be considerate. This place can get rough as the evening goes on.”

“So you don’t think I can take care of myself?”

She ran a gaze over his shoulders, did a thorough job of checking out his chest and then lingered on his belly. Maybe even a little lower. “You’d do all right.”

“Cassie,” someone yelled. “These pretzels are stale.”

“Well, Steve, you should’ve come yesterday when they weren’t.” She ignored the opportunity to break away and, in fact, didn’t even look at the guy complaining. Or at the others who laughed. Instead she’d moved back up to John’s face and stared as if she were trying to figure him out.

He slid the empty mug toward her. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d let things get out of control.”

“You’ve been here, what? All of thirty...forty minutes, and you know this about me?”

“I’m a good judge of character.”

“So am I.” With a faint enigmatic smile, she picked up the mug and started toward her station.

“You can use the same one,” he said, noticing a slight sway to her hips.

“Oh, I planned on it.” She didn’t look back, just flung the words out into the universe knowing they’d hit their mark.

He chuckled, but his amusement fled when the two guys she’d sent to wash up returned and took stools at the bar. Damn it. He didn’t want to share her. Not that he had a say. Already the waitress was back with more orders to fill. Cassie automatically popped open bottles of Corona and set them in front of the mechanics while she waited for the foam to settle on John’s draft.

At this rate, it would be a long night. But after talking to her for those few moments, he was willing to wait around. He’d have to cool it on the drinking, but that was no problem. He knew when to quit, and sitting here beat the restlessness that had him driving too fast on the long empty desert stretches before he’d found this place.

Hearing the door open again, he gritted his teeth. She’d never have a break if this kept up. Curious who’d wandered in this time, he turned around. Another man in a wheelchair rolled in and headed toward the retired air force vet’s table. The back of his chair was covered with navy decals surrounding a large American flag sticker. Following behind him was a trio who might have been cut from the same cloth, except two were lucky enough to still be upright, handicap-free, at least physically, and the third managed his severe limp with the help of a worn cane.

John assumed they were either military retirees or men who’d served their country until a bullet or spray of shrapnel changed their dreams and lives forever. These men were in their early to mid-forties with half their lives ahead of them.

His friend Danny had only been thirty when he’d died, leaving a young wife behind. They’d had no children, which was supposed to have been a “blessing.” John had heard that piece of nonsense more than once at the funeral. He didn’t get that. Sure, it was easier on his widow not having to explain why their father was never coming home. But kids would’ve meant there was still something left of Danny.

Who was John to judge? He had nothing but his career. A damn good one. He was a lucky guy. No denying it. So what the hell was his problem?

The ache in his gut was back gnawing away at his temporary peace. He hadn’t even made it an hour without feeling the walls close in. When he swung back around he saw his refill sitting on the napkin in front of him. Cassie had brought his beer and he hadn’t even noticed.

Watching her fill glasses with ice, he reached in his pocket and pulled out two twenties. He took a long pull of the cold brew and set the mug down on the bills. She could’ve been someone interesting to get to know. But she was right. This wasn’t his kind of place. Certainly not his kind of people.

He got up and left, knowing he wouldn’t find anywhere else more comfortable.