“No,” Mick said. “Hell no.”
The bartender grinned. “Ah, come on, man. You know you’ve missed us.”
“Again, hell no.”
“Take it back and first round’s on me.”
Mick slapped some bills on the bar and the bartender sighed dramatically. Mick’s gaze locked on Quinn as he headed her way.
“Sticking?” she asked, admittedly curious about him.
He shrugged. “Long story.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And it’s one I don’t want to tell any more than you want someone to ask you about that sting on your forehead.”
Touché. She lifted her drink in a silent toast.
He touched his beer bottle to her glass and said, “When I walked in, you were staring into the bottom of your drink like you were searching for the answers to the mysteries of the universe.”
“There should be a warehouse where you could buy the answers,” she said. “Preferably in Hawaii, ’cause that’d be nicer than, say, Toledo, you know?”
He studied her and then slowly nodded. “I do know. I also know that you could use some food.”
What she could use was a night of wild, passionate, up-against-the-wall sex with a man who’d make her forget her upside-down life, but she managed to keep that thought to herself.
“Let’s move to a table,” he said, standing, looking . . . hell. Hot as sin and just as irresistible.
She bit her lower lip. “You should probably know something about me.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m not doing the whole guy thing right now.”
“How about pizza?” he asked, cocking his head with a smile. “Are you doing the pizza thing?”
Dammit. The way to her heart was pizza. And maybe also that incredible smile he was sporting. “Sure,” she said. Stupid alcohol . . .
He picked up his drink and hers, and gestured with a head nod to an empty table. The waitress came over with another round. “Bartender’s Special,” she said. “On the house. Tonight’s a Red-Headed Slut. Boomer, he’s the bartender, he said he could make you a Wallbanger if you’d rather. Or a Sex on the Beach.” She shrugged when Quinn just stared at her. “It’s Drink-a-Kink Night. Boomer takes his theme nights seriously. We’ve also got Angel’s Tits and Slippery Nipples. Oh! And Bend-Over Shirleys, though I can’t remember what’s in those.”
Mick craned his neck and looked at Boomer, behind the bar, who winked and gave him a thumbs-up.
“Good friend of yours?” Quinn asked dryly.
“Since kindergarten, but I’m still going to have to kill him.”
She laughed. “I guess a little kink never hurt anyone.”
“Exactly!” an elderly gentleman at the table on the other side of them said. “That’s what I say too! And anyway, silk panties aren’t a kink, they just feel good against the skin. Everyone knows that.”
They toasted to silk panties and then ordered pizza. Quinn added a salad because something green would make her feel less guilty about the pizza. When it came, she ate the salad first and then inhaled her half of the loaded pizza.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “When you ordered the salad, I got worried.”
“You don’t like salads?”
“I like girls who eat.”
“Well, I do want to look good in a bikini this summer,” she said. “But I also want to eat pizza. It’s pretty unfair that I have to choose, but it is what it is.”
“I’m betting you look sexy as hell in a bikini,” he said.
This gave her a hot flash. But she decided to attribute it to the alcohol. She was now halfway through her second Bartender’s Special and still had no idea what was in it, but it was delicious and had gone down smooth, so she kept sipping.
Mick, who was clearly smarter than she was because he’d had only one beer and had drunk only half of it, smiled. And just like that, something fluttered low in her belly.
“Are you flirting with me?” she asked.
“Trying. The question is, are you flirting back?”
She laughed and felt her face heat. “Maybe. But I don’t want to be. It’s . . . not a good time for me.”
“Because you’re not doing the whole guy thing right now,” he said.
“I’m just a little bit . . . upside down at the moment, and not myself.” She paused. “At all.”
“So what brings you to Wildstone?” he asked, leaning in a bit to hear her answer. It wasn’t just him making conversation, he was actually interested in what she had to say.
“I sort of ran away, actually,” she admitted.
“And here I thought you were at the Wild West B and B because of the exemplary plumbing.”
She snorted. Like actually snorted, and clapped a hand over her mouth in horror at the sound.
He smiled. “Loves pizza. Snorts when she laughs. Cute.”
She felt the wide grin on her face. “I can also burp to the count of ten. Can’t do the alphabet though. It’s too long.”
He laughed. “I can teach you.” He tugged gently on a wayward wave of her hair. “You ever going to tell me more about the upside-down thing?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say that on a scale of mental breakdowns from Justin Bieber to Britney Spears, I think I’m about a Shia LaBeouf.”
He gave a low laugh. “I bet I could make you feel better about your life.”
“Yeah?” she asked with doubt. “Go for it.”
“All right.” He had a hand resting on his bottle of beer, his thumb taking lazy swipes at the condensation. He took another long pull and she watched his throat as he swallowed.
He was sporting at least a day’s worth of stubble. Maybe two. All she knew was that when he rubbed a hand over his jaw, the ensuing sound made her mouth feel dry enough that she needed another sip of her drink.
“My dad died four months ago,” he said, and she stilled, her gaze flying to his.
“He left my mom with a stack of bills,” he went on, “and a house she needs to repair before she can sell or even refinance, and I’m the only one she has left to help her.”
So she wasn’t the only one facing a whole barrage of things she didn’t know how to face. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. “About all of it. You’re an only child?”
“I’ve got a younger sister, but Wendy’s in New York waitressing, waiting for her big break on Broadway.” He shrugged. “She got out and stayed out.” He looked into her eyes. “Now you.”
She looked into his eyes. Dark brown. Gold flecks. She’d seen them cool and accessing. Amused. Now they’d warmed like melting chocolate. And she felt herself melt a little bit too. Damn. He wanted her to open up and she realized she was not authorized to make this decision while under the influence of alcohol.
“Excuse me a minute?” she asked and made her way down a hallway toward the restroom, where, once inside, she pulled out her phone and texted Skye.
QUINN:
So there’s a guy.
SKYE:
And the problem is?
QUINN:
I can’t remember. That’s why I’m texting you.
SKYE:
Bring him into work so I can get a look at him. I’ll let you know yea or nay.
QUINN:
Can’t. I’m still in Wildstone.