“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe you heard it's the hot fishing hole and you want to move in and dip your pole into the waters?”
I'm not about to tell him anything. The last thing I want, or need is Damon Moore poking around in my private life. I just give him a shrug, a non-committal expression on my face.
“Let me just say, if that's the case,” he starts, “and you're there to fly the ADE flag and think you can win some bids to help build up that town, you're woefully mistaken.”
“Yeah, maybe so,” I say.
“It would be in your best interest to stay up in that house on the hill,” he says, his voice cold. “Stay there and don't go sticking your nose into town business.”
“Are you actually threatening me?” I ask and chuckle.
He shrugs. “Just giving you some friendly, professional advice.”
Damon drains the last of his beer and slams his mug down on the table before sliding out of the booth. He gives me one last look that I guess is supposed to intimidate me. It doesn't. The guy is half my size and I could break him in half if I wanted to. I blow him a kiss and turn back to my drink, more amused than annoyed.
I hadn't intended to fly the ADE flag in Port Safira, but now that Damon thinks he needs to have a pissing contest over the town, I'm starting to give it a second thought.
I drain my glass and Greg is right there with another, taking away the empty tumbler and sliding the fresh drink in front of me. The front door opens, and I see his eyes widen slightly.
“Shit,” he mutters.
I turn and look at the door, my own eyes widening. “Yeah, shit about covers it.”
Brittany saunters through the door, looking around for a moment. And when her eyes land on me, she smiles wide and makes a beeline.
“Wow,” I say to Greg, “just when I thought the night couldn't get any shittier. Apparently, the universe is having a little fun at my expense by playing all the greatest hits.”
“Want me to tell her to get out?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, it's fine,” I say. “Time to nip this shit in the bud.”
“Atta boy.”
Greg clears out as Brittany arrives at my table. She looks at me for a long moment, her smile wide but uncertain. Obviously, she's waiting for me to invite her to sit down, and when I don't, she sighs in exasperation and sits down across from me anyway.
“Buy a lady a drink?” she asks.
“When a proper lady comes in, sure,” I say.
A look of anger flashes in her eyes, but she manages to maintain her composure.
“You didn't return my text earlier,” she says.
“Didn't know I was required to,” I reply. “You know, with the whole not being married to you anymore and all.”
“Things don't have to be this way, Liam.”
“Actually, they do,” I reply. “Given the fact that you were fucking somebody else and trying to steal my company out from under me. Yeah, this is exactly how things are supposed to be, actually.”
She sighs and comes around the table, sliding into the booth next to me. She gives me that saccharine-sweet smile – the one that used to melt my heart. The one that now only seems to inspire loathing and disgust in me.
“I'm sorry, Liam,” she purrs. “You'll never know how sorry I am. We had a good thing going and I know I screwed up.”
“No, screwing up is denting the car,” I say. “Maybe breaking some dishes or something. What you did goes well beyond screwing up. It was a choice, Brittany. A choice that you made. Apparently, a long time ago.”
“I know I screwed up,” she says. “I screwed up really bad. But, if you give me the chance, I can make everything okay again.”
I feel her hand on my thigh, moving upward until it's resting on my crotch. Brittany leans close and nibbles on my ear.
“I can make you feel so good, baby,” she says. “Let me make you feel good.”
Despite my best efforts to have zero reaction to her, my body and biology betray me. I feel my cock stiffening under her hand. Emboldened, she smiles and grips it through my pants, squeezing it tight. Everything in me – at least, below my belt– wants to give in. Wants to take her somewhere and fuck her senseless. We did always have a great sex life. There's no denying the fact that I really enjoyed fucking her.
Brittany is a sexy, sensual woman. She's amazing in bed – a fact that's only reinforced as she slips my zipper down and slides her hand into my pants. I look around, hoping that nobody is paying attention to us. Nobody is. Grady's is a place where people actually mind their own business.
A low growl escapes my throat as she grips my cock and strokes it slowly, circling her thumb around the head of my rod. She's always known how to push my buttons and seems to be reveling in that fact right now.
“We can work this out, baby,” she whispers, the tip of her tongue tickling my earlobe. “Everything's going to be okay. Just give me another chance.”
Snippets of times I'd spent in bed with her flash through my mind. As I recall all the amazing sex we'd had, my cock grows even stiffer. But, then I remind myself of everything else that's gotten us to the point we are at right now. I force myself to think about the fact that she'd cheated on me. For years. That she tried to steal my company. And my money.
What really shook me though, was that with all those thoughts bouncing through my mind, another thought emerged – something that I didn't expect. In my mind's eye, I saw Paige's face. I heard her voice and that high, musical laughter of hers. I recalled bits of our conversation and the way I felt sitting with her, talking together, and enjoying a companionable cup of coffee.
I have no idea where those thoughts came from or why they chose now to surface – none of it makes the slightest bit of sense to me. No matter how hard I try though, I can't seem to get Paige out of my head.
With all those thoughts firing through my mind, I take her hand, gripping it hard. I pull it off my cock – something that's incredibly difficult to do. I push her hand away, drawing a look of outrage from Brittany. Her face colors and tears well in her eyes.
“We can work this out,” she says, her lower lip trembling.
“No,” I say. “We can't. This isn't something that can be fixed with a handjob under the table.”
As unobtrusively as I can, I zip up my pants and down the last of my drink. Brittany is staring at me wide-eyed, her face a mixture of shock and fear.
“Please, Liam,” she pleads. “Give me another chance. I fucked up, okay? I fucked up big time. But, I want to put this right.”
“You can't,” I say. “This is one of those giant fuck-ups that can't be undone. Now, get out of the booth. I'm leaving.”
“Please, Liam.”
“Get out of my way, Brittany,” I say, my voice colder than ice.
“Liam, just listen to me –”
“I'm done listening to you,” I snap. “Get out of my way.”
“Not until –”
“I think it's time for you to go, Brittany.”
We both turn at the sound of the voice and I suppress a small smile when I see Greg standing there, looking his intimidating best. I know he'd never actually raise a hand to a woman, but oftentimes, his presence alone is enough to defuse a situation.
Brittany raises her head, the haughty and defiant look I know so well plastered upon her face. She eyes Greg up and down, her distaste for him obvious.
“I'm trying to have a conversation with my husband,” she spits. “If you don't mind.”
“Actually, I do mind,” he says. “It's obvious that he doesn’t want you here. And I’m not gonna have you botherin' my customers. Now, this is my bar, and I have the right to refuse service to anyone. So, get the hell out. Now.”
She looks at him for a long moment and at first, I think she's going to keep arguing. But, she slips out of the booth and stands up. She then turns to me, an ugly sneer on her lips.
“You're going to pay for this, you son of a bitch,” she says.
I chuckle. “I paid for it for a lot of years,” I say. “This is me not paying for it anymore. Take care of yourself, Brittany.”