Impossible End (Unchecked Book 3) (13 page)

When Carly looked at me, her smile softened and her eyes turned to liquid. “Graham?”

I stared at her for five seconds before I remembered to order. “Beer.” She knew what kind.

Heat coloring her cheeks, her voice went quiet and shy but she held my eyes. “Nice to see you again.” Her throaty rasp, all sex and innocence, made my dick twitch.

Myles waited till she walked off, then turned completely in his seat and stared at me with a shit-eating grin. “
Nice to see you again?
Well
that’s
a first.”

“Fuck off.”

Myles chuckled. “What is up, Casanova? If they know you, they’re usually cursing you.”

“I never promise any of them shit,” I grumbled, hoping like mad Carly couldn’t hear us.

Myles glanced appreciatively at Carly then back at me. I was seething and he was smiling. “Hundred bucks says you’re about to.”

Fuck.

Chapter Two

Winter

“J
ameson’s, up.” I took a seat at the bar.

Brushing a stray piece of hair from her face, Carly looked up from stacking glasses. Clear blue eyes studied me with open curiosity. “Want to talk about it?”

My body tensed. “Talk about what?” I came here for her smile, not a shrink appointment.

Carly threw her hands up. “All right, jeez, I get it.” She slid a glass in front of me and grabbed the Jameson’s. “But for the record, you’ve been coming here for a year and you’ve never ordered anything except beer. And since I don’t want my head bit off again, I’m not going to mention you’re about ten times more surly than usual.” She filled the glass.

I knew this was a bad idea. I slapped a twenty on the bar and humor touched the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you,” she sang out sweetly, swiping the bill.

“Something funny?” I scowled.

“Nope.” She flashed her signature smile.

Just like that, my anger dissipated and I shook my head. “Don’t you have other customers to irritate?”

“Yeah, but you’re more interesting. Why are you here so late? You usually come earlier.”

I sat up straighter. “You keeping tabs on me?” Should I be insulted by the
interesting comment?

“I keep tabs on all my good tippers.” She smiled as if it were effortless.

Definitely insulted. “Maybe I should stop tipping.”

Bright laughter erupted from her tiny body and her eyes sparkled. “Maybe you should.”

Damn. I didn’t have a comeback for that.

Her smile still shining, she nodded at my whiskey. “Enjoy your drink while you keep your secrets.” She turned to go.

“What secrets?” Had I let something slip?

She paused and looked back at me. “I don’t know but I’ll figure it out.”

My shoulders relaxed. She didn’t know anything. “I don’t have any secrets,” I lied. Unless you counted the scores of women I’d slept with. But I’d been careful to keep that away from this bar.

Carly turned to face me and her head tilted to one side. “You, sir, have plenty. I may not figure them all out but I’ll figure out why you came in late tonight.”

“Figure away.” She wouldn’t find out shit. I didn’t kiss and tell.

She stared at me a second then turned when a customer called her name.

I watched her sweet little ass move through the bar and wondered why the hell I was doing this to myself. I could lie and use the excuse that this was the closest bar to my house, but the truth was I was digging myself into a hole. The past two months I’d memorized Carly’s schedule so I could do exactly what I was doing right now. End my day catching a piece of her smile.

The fact that some chick’s smile had become my drug of choice was suicide, heroin-habit suicide, but Carly was prettier than any woman I knew. She was also cheerful enough to make me want to put my fist through a wall. Or bury my hands in her hair and lose myself for one night but I knew she wasn’t that girl. Innocent and sweet, she never would be. I tossed back half the whiskey while she smiled at some other jerk.

My phone vibrated with a new text, forcing me to take my eyes off Carly. It was one of the skanks in my contact list: Come over tonight, I wanna play dirty.

A month ago I would’ve been halfway out the door. Instead, I texted back two words: Not happening.

“Who is she?” Carly’s breathy voice made me look up.

“What?” I shoved the phone back in my pocket and stared at her lips.

“Who’s the girl that’s got you in a funk?”

“What makes you think I’m in a funk?” Carly had nice, full lips.

“Jameson’s.” She didn’t take her eyes off mine.

“Changing my drink makes it about a girl?” I knew better than to engage.

“Years of pouring, you learn a few things about human nature.” She smiled.

“Yeah?” Jesus, I liked her smile. “What’d you learn?”

“In general or about you?”

“Me.” I was feeling brave.

“Well, besides the hot bass player, bad boy, I’m-in-a-band charm, I think you’re moody and distant on purpose. You push people away so you can’t get disappointed or hurt. If you have no attachments, there’s nothing to risk. Am I right?” Even though she asked, the way she smiled told me she thought she was.

I ignored her bull’s-eye. “I’m hot?”

“Don’t toy with me, Graham Allen.” She smirked.

I couldn’t help it, my eyebrows shot up. “You know my last name?”

Carly looked at me and for the first time there was no humor in her eyes. “I know a lot about you,” she said quietly.

Watching her hold my gaze, steady, daring, my heart tripped over itself. Normally I would’ve followed a comment like that with a snide comeback, or even flirt, but something told me to watch it. When I didn’t say anything, Carly shook her head and turned away.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hand shot out across the bar and grabbed hers. “Hey.” But I didn’t get beyond that. Large fingers gripped my forearm.

“Let go of her.” The voice wasn’t deep but it was menacing.

I didn’t have to look to know trouble when I heard it. Without looking away from Carly, I replied to the jerk. “Fuck off.”

“I said, let go.” The hand tightened.

Carly blanched. I squeezed her hand to reassure her, then reluctantly let go. Inhaling, I stood and faced my interruption.

I was glad I had a few inches on him because the fucker was big. Fight-club big. What the hell? Was this her boyfriend? “You got a problem?”

“Yeah, I got a problem, tattoo freak.”

“Is that the best you can do?” I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders, suddenly in the mood for a fight. This guy would be a snap to take down. The muscle ones always were.

“Harlan, back off. Graham, take a walk.” Carly’s voice cracked with anger and something else I was too distracted to identify.

I glanced at her but she was furiously wiping down the bar. More than a few heads were watching us, and I asked myself if I wanted to start something in my neighborhood bar. I looked back at Fight Club. Yeah, I really did. Well dressed, clean, no scars, Fight Club got his muscles in a gym. Breitling watch, tailored shirt, he reeked of money, and more than anything I hated the fact he knew Carly. “This your boyfriend, Carly?”

Carly said “no” the same time Harlan said “yes.”

“Harlan, back off! You are
not
my boyfriend.”

It was all I needed to hear. “You heard the lady,” I said evenly.

“Yeah, she told you to take a walk.”

What a fucking tool. “And she told you to back off. Twice. Out of respect for her, you’re still standing but I can remedy that.”

The idiot took a swing.

Years of practice, I didn’t even have to think about it. Before his fist connected with my jaw, I moved ahead of its trajectory and grabbed his arm. Using his momentum, I swung him around, bent his arm behind his back and slammed his face against the bar. The wet-sounding slap of skin meeting wood, and the satisfying crack of cartilage fueled my adrenaline. I kicked the back of his knees and dropped him. A dozen chairs scraped against the concrete floor as people moved out of our way. Without loosening my grip, I bent to his ear.

“You want Carly here all night cleaning up your blood or you gonna walk out like a man?” I asked, my voice low and controlled.

His free hand went to his nose to staunch the bleeding. What a pussy.

Carly rushed over with a bar towel and bent down to him. “Jesus, Graham, what’d you hit him for?”

I let go but I didn’t say shit. If she seriously didn’t know the answer to that, it wasn’t worth my time trying to explain it. I contemplated leaving but Fight Club was going first.

I let Carly put the towel to his nose but the second his hand took over, I hoisted him up by his arm. “Time’s up, Romeo.”

“This isn’t over, freak.” He threw the bloody towel down and stormed out.

Like I said, pussy.

“Sorry, he’s a jerk,” Carly mumbled, bending to pick up the towel.

I glanced at her legs in her short skirt then made eye contact. “So you think I’m hot?”

Her hands went to her hips, blotchy color mottled her face and suddenly she looked pissed as hell. “I did. Now I know you’re no better than him.”

Shit, that stung a little more than I wanted to think about. “He started it.”

“And you finished it. Good for you.” She jabbed a finger at my chest.

Adrenaline still pumping, my reflexes primed, I grabbed her finger and took a step closer. For the first time, I noticed how she smelled—warm, citrus, flowers. It was intoxicating as hell. Desire mixed with the adrenaline and my voice dropped. “How come you never said anything?”

“About what?” She snapped the words at me but her hand trembled.

I closed my fingers around hers and rubbed my thumb across her palm. “What you think you know about me.”

She didn’t answer right away but when she did, she threw me. “How come you never smile?”

I dropped her hand. “You want me to smile?”

“I want you to want to smile.”

The words were like a sucker punch to the gut. The air left my lungs, my stomach clenched and I fought the urge to step back. From years of keeping my emotions in check, my expression remained cold but I had to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. Three breaths later, I told myself she was no one. She didn’t know me and she never would.

“Get me a beer, I’ll wait till you close then walk you to your car.” My voice rough, I sounded like a prick but I didn’t care. I took the bloody towel from her, pitched it in the trash and sat back down. I pretended not to notice when she stood there a moment too long.

NO APOLOGIES
is available now at all participating e-retailers.

Sybil grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She used to dream of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. Her true literary love is the New Adult genre, but really any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.

Sybil now resides in Southern Florida, and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she’s not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer.

To find out more about Sybil or her books, please visit her website,
www.sybilbartel.com
, or like her
Facebook page
. You can also join her Facebook Reader Group,
Book Boyfriend Heroes
for advanced information on her books, exclusive excerpts and fun giveaways.

And if you really want to know what she’s thinking, you can follow her on Twitter,
@SybilBartel
.