F
RIDAY NIGHT BROUGHT
a big crowd and Jamie’s favorite local Irish rock band. Everyone was in a great mood, tapping their feet to the music and roaring with applause after each song.
Jamie was having a great time, too. Why wouldn’t he? He was back in his place, behind the bar, slinging beers and smiling. Tessa was serving tonight, and though she kept shooting him questioning looks, he made sure he was grinning every time.
“Do you want to talk?” Eric had asked warily when Jamie had stalked in at 2:00 p.m. Jamie had asked, “About what?” and that had been the end of it.
What the hell were they supposed to talk about? They could spend days hashing out their problems and nothing would be solved. Eric might grudgingly give some concession, throwing his little brother a few scraps to keep him happy, but Jamie would be damned if he’d be treated like a dog. Any plans he made, he’d make on his own.
But at the moment, he couldn’t imagine what they might be. He felt lost again, but this time he was determined to find his way out of it.
“Hey, Jamie!” a woman called from a table. “Where’s your kilt?”
“At the dry cleaners!” he shouted back. The damn kilt made him think of Olivia, and how she’d stroked her hand up his thigh, easing the kilt higher until her hand had closed over his cock. Then she’d climbed atop him, completely naked, while he’d been fully clothed, his boots still laced. She’d—
He shook off the thought. No more thoughts of Olivia. He’d gone to class on Tuesday just to prove a point, but that point had nearly killed him. He’d done a damn good job of not looking at Olivia, but he hadn’t been able to will her voice away. Hadn’t been able to make himself deaf. He didn’t want to give up the class and the information he needed, but he’d felt sick to his stomach by the time he’d left. On Thursday, he’d fabricated a reason to skip. He had the notes and the information she posted online. He’d have to make do with that.
“Jamie?”
He looked up to find Tessa watching him with a worried frown. “What?”
“Did you hear the order?”
He cleared his throat. “The music was too loud. Give it to me again.”
She stared for a long moment, but he ignored her, busying himself with drawing a stout for the guy at the end of the bar who’d signaled for a refill. Tessa finally gave in and repeated the order before hurrying away.
Tired of thinking about Olivia, Jamie tried to distract himself by singing along with the band, but he’d missed the chance. The chorus ended with a flourish and a crash of cymbals. The last note of the fiddle faded away. “All right, folks!” the lead singer said in an Irish brogue that got considerably thicker when he was onstage. “We’re going to go spend a little quality time with a pint, but cease your lament! We’ll be back in ten.”
Wincing at the quiet that fell in the momentary lull, Jamie turned up the piped-in music and delivered a pitcher to the band.
“Hey, bartender!” a man called when Jamie got back to the bar. He held up a finger and grabbed the bowl of pretzels he’d promised the band. A few seconds later, he was back.
“Sorry about that. What can I—?” The words turned to gravel in his mouth when he saw who’d spoken.
Him.
Victor. What the
fuck?
“Jamie,” the guy said, smiling as if they were old friends. “Good to see you again.”
“Okay,” he responded, warily accepting the hand Victor offered. As usual, the guy’s fingers tried to crush Jamie’s. Not likely.
“I’ll take a pint of your best.”
“It’s all the best,” Jamie said flatly.
“All right, then…” He picked up a menu and looked it over as if he were reading an important treatise. Jamie tried not to let his violent irritation show. He’d never been jealous of this bastard, but now something dark and hot rose up in Jamie’s chest. Had he come here just to force Jamie to wait on him?
“I’ll try the brown ale,” Victor finally said. Jamie grabbed a pint glass without responding.
“How’s Olivia been?”
Jamie shot him a glare. “If you want to know how Olivia is, I suggest you ask her.”
“Sure, sure. I just wanted to know if you’re treating her right.”
He handed Victor the glass, wiped his hands and went to serve another customer. What a smarmy creep that guy was. A powerless, pitiful creep. Which was exactly why Jamie shouldn’t be bothered by him.
But Jamie wasn’t in Olivia’s bed anymore—he wasn’t in her life anymore—and suddenly this bastard seemed like the enemy. Not competition, exactly. It was just that…Jamie was no longer the winner. He was in the same boat of losers with this creep. Rejected. No longer wanted. A pitiful club of two.
When was the damn band going to start playing again? The music would at least drown out Victor trying to make conversation.
“Why do you look so grumpy tonight, Jamie?” A girl looped her arm around his waist and pulled him to a halt.
Jamie gave her a grin. “I’m not grumpy, darlin’.”
“Then why haven’t you been smiling at me?”
He recognized her now. A pretty brunette who came in a couple of times a month with her friend. They were too young and giggly for his taste, but harmless otherwise. “I’m smiling at you now, aren’t I?”
“You sure are.”
“You need another beer?” he asked, then he swept an eye over the table, noticing that the pitcher was nearly empty and there were only two of them. “Or a cab?”
She laughed uproariously at that, her hand slipping lower on his back. “A friend’s picking us up,” she said, beaming up at him. “But it’s awfully sweet of you to care.”
Sweet. Sure. Also, he didn’t want to lose his license. But he winked at her before he slid away from the friendly hand. He stopped at another table, but Tessa shooed him away with a look of outrage. His responsibilities lay at the bar, and he had no choice but to return there.
Victor’s glass was empty, and he pushed it toward Jamie. “Another,” he said with a superior smile.
“Yes, sir,” Jamie muttered under his breath. He managed not to look at the guy once as he drew his beer and handed it over. Just to be clear on the matter, he printed out Victor’s bill and slid that over, as well.
Despite a good five minutes spent avoiding the guy as he chatted with other customers, in the end, Jamie had no choice but to get close to grab his credit card. Victor had set the bill and card on his side of the bar, and Jamie had to reach for it.
Before Jamie could grab the card, Victor’s hand closed over his wrist. “You know she’s just using you, right?” Victor said, his voice still dripping with friendliness.
Jamie tensed and glanced toward the band again. The drummer had stood up, but the rest of them were taking their sweet time with the last drops of beer.
“She’s trying to teach me a lesson. Make me jealous. You’re just a prop.”
Jamie clenched his teeth together and jerked free of the hold. Yes, he knew he’d been used. That had been the whole point of it. Fun for all.
“I’m going to get her back,” Victor said. “And you’ll just be an embarrassing memory. Something she wishes no one knew about.”
“Back off,” Jamie growled. He stalked to the computer to close out the bill, noting with a snarl that Victor had given him a fifty-cent tip.
He practically threw the final receipt at Victor, but he didn’t miss the man’s next words. “She needs someone who’ll take care of her, not the other way around.”
Jamie’s face burned with anger, but he walked away. Distracting himself with other customers wouldn’t help this time, so he walked straight for the end of the bar and the double doors that led to the back. The band finally rattled a few instruments, as if they could be any help now. Next time their free pitcher would be slightly less generous.
“Hey,” a voice barked. “You didn’t thank me for my patronage.”
Jamie glanced back just as Victor’s hand closed over his arm. “Get off me,” Jamie warned, breaking away from Victor’s attempt to stop him. “And get out of my bar.” He pushed through the doors, and the cool air of the kitchen was an immediate relief. Until the loud bang of a hand catching the closing doors echoed through his bones.
“She’s my wife,” Victor said, his fake smile finally slipping to reveal lips tight with rage. “And she’s
nothing
to you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“She needs a man, Jamie. Not a boy like you.”
Jamie’s vision went dark at the edges, but Victor’s face grew sharper.
“And I have exactly what she needs,” Victor whispered. “A juicy bank account to fund her little business dreams.”
“Get out of here before I pick you up and throw you out.”
Victor’s next words were drowned out by the band as they finally came back to life. Jamie pointed at the door, but Victor just sneered and took one step closer. “I can only hope you taught her a few new tricks in the bedroom,” he shouted.
The whine of the violin seemed to drag across Jamie’s nerves, and they snapped with a pop he felt through his whole body.
Victor bared his teeth. “God knows, if anyone could use a little livening up in bed, it’s Olivia.”
Jamie didn’t even feel his arm pull back. His first awareness of it was the feel of Victor’s chin as it ricocheted off Jamie’s knuckles and snapped away. Victor’s body snapped with it, and he flew backward, his shoulders parting the doors as if they were weightless.
Before the doors swung closed again, Jamie saw him bounce along the floor. The whole room seemed to gasp at the same time, with a few screams as punctuation. The music died an ugly death as each player lost momentum. Jamie pushed through the doors and grabbed Victor by the collar to haul him toward the front door. A few people assumed Jamie was the good guy and cheered, but Tessa rushed forward like a streak of blond fear.
“Jamie!” she cried.
“Stay here.”
Victor moaned and tried to scramble to his feet, so Jamie gave him a helpful tug. Before the man could regain his balance, Jamie opened the door and pulled Victor out.
“You bastard!” Victor huffed. “You
hit
me!”
“Yeah, I did.” His knuckles ached and his stomach had sunk as if he was still on a roller coaster with Olivia. He knew what was coming next. He pushed Victor toward the parking lot. “This is a bar, you asshole, not the dean’s office.”
“I’m calling the cops!” Victor shouted, digging his phone from his pocket.
Damn it. Jamie tried to look as unconcerned as possible. “Go ahead. But keep in mind, I’m going to recount every single detail to the police. And the paper.”
Victor’s eyebrows twitched, but he pushed the nine.
“And remember, I’m a bartender. An arrest for a minor assault isn’t really going to affect my career much. But a story in the
Daily Camera
about a professor in a bar brawl over his ex-wife? That should be exciting for your department.”
The man’s finger hovered over the one.
“And there’s a whole barroom full of people who saw you being a dick. You grabbed me twice. Followed me into the back room… Who knows what happened back there?”
Victor’s hand wavered, and Jamie smiled. “If you’ve still got all your teeth, you should probably cut your losses.”
As if he needed to check, Victor raised a hand to gingerly touch his jaw.
“All there?”
Despite the fact that Victor tucked the phone back into his pocket, he still smirked as if he’d won the argument. “Wait until Olivia hears you attacked me. Do you really think mindless thugs are her type?”
“We’re not even dating anymore, you stupid asshole. Do whatever you want.” Jamie spun to stalk back into the bar, but he was faced with a wall of people piled into the doorway. Front and center was Tessa, her expression caught somewhere between worry and outrage.
She grabbed his shirt. “What happened?”
“You’re ruining my grand exit. Excuse me.”
The crowd backed into the building, and he managed to slide past the bodies and the hands that reached out to pat him on the back. “Good job,” some of them called. They had no idea who Victor was, but the man who served them their beers was an automatic hero, apparently.
Tessa was less biased in his favor, ironically. Her hand closed over his sleeve and when he tried to slip behind the bar, she hauled him toward the back. “Excuse us, folks. We’ll be right back.”
A small cheer of support went up from the tables, but Jamie didn’t feel encouraged. His heart was still beating hard enough to keep a small army supplied with blood. What if Victor had called the cops? What would’ve happened then?
“Jamie,”
his sister growled.
“I know.” He held up his hands before he even turned to face her. “I
know.
”
“What the hell was that?”
“He grabbed me twice, Tessa. I tried to walk away from it, but he followed me back here.”
“Who is he?” she yelled.
“Olivia’s ex-husband.”
Tessa’s eyes went wide.
“He came in here to talk trash. Then he said something about her that set me off. I shouldn’t have hit him, but—”
“No shit!”
“Jesus, if the cops had been called… Listen, let me talk to Eric tomorrow. I’ll try to…” The words faded from his mouth when Tessa’s face shifted to guilt. “What?”
“I already called him.”
“Christ, Tessa, what are you trying to do to me?”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I thought you were going to be arrested or something! I just told him to get over here. I didn’t have time to explain.”
Jamie slammed his hand down on one of the tables. “Damn it! Okay, let me handle this. I’ll tell him my side of the—”
The doors swung open and Eric stepped through, his face drawn into fury.
“Eric.” Jamie sighed.
“You got into another fight?” Eric asked, the words barely making it past his clenched teeth.
Apparently he’d heard the story as soon as he’d stepped through the front door. Crap. “It wasn’t a fight,” Jamie argued. “The guy wouldn’t back off. He followed me back here and pissed me off.”
“So you punched him?”
Jamie shifted and crossed his arms.
“Do you know the guy?”