Last Call
Copyright 2012 by Alannah Lynne
www.facebook.com/authoralannahlynne
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This is a work of fiction. The characters and
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Table of
Contents
Excerpt -
Savin’ Me
To Charles
Thank you for all your love, patience, and
encouraging support on this crazy journey.
I love you!
A huge thank you to Penny “Silver” James for
an awesome title!! It’s perfect on so many levels, and I never
would’ve come up with it myself.
I was remiss in mentioning several great
writing buddies in the “Savin’ Me” acknowledgements, and I
apologize. “Savin’ Me” wouldn’t have happened without Amy Davidson,
who spent hours with me in chat asking, “Why?” Amy, you drove me to
the brink of insanity (and tears) a few times, but you were so
right to harp on character drive and motivation, and there’s not a
writing day that goes by where I don’t hear you in the back of my
head asking, “Why?” Also, a huge thank you hug goes to Cara Carnes
and Luanna Nau for EVERYTHING! In some ways, it’s hard to believe
we’ve been at this game for so long. But then again, I can’t
remember a time when you two weren’t in my life. Thank you for all
the support, encouragement, brainstorming ideas, and especially,
all the laughs you’ve given me over the years!
Thanks to my Board of Directors, aka my
Mistresses: Amanda McFarland, Cheri Biddix, Liz Henderson, and
Michelle Unger. Self-publishing can be a scary, overwhelming place
sometimes, and knowing you guys have my back keeps me grounded and
away from the Oreo shakes - most days! LOL
Becki Wyer - Wow! What a blessing you are!
You’re such a strong, supportive member of my street team, and I
appreciate everything you do, from proofreading to pimping. I’m
still on the lookout for the gold tooth and fuzzy, purple hat for
you!
And where would I be without Leagh
Christensen, who makes order from the chaos and keeps me on track.
Thank you for all of your help and support!
Last, but certainly not least. Thank you to
my friends and family, immediate and extended, blood and adopted. I
tend to get lost in my worlds and spend way too much time in my
head sometimes. Thank you for understanding and for loving me
anyway!!
Gavin McLeod turned into the Blackout Bar and
Grill’s gravel parking lot, whipped his SUV into the first
available parking space, and slammed the shifter into park. The
vehicle was still rocking from the abrupt stop when he shoved the
door open and stepped out into the crisp evening air.
His chest expanded as he drew the heavy salt
air into his lungs, then let the explosive tension trapped in his
head and neck escape on a sharp exhale. The hour-long drive from
Myrtle Beach to Anticue would have been a relaxing trip, had it not
been filled with constant chatter and relentless questions from his
three female companions. Finally free of the confining vehicle, he
took a moment to let the peaceful calm of Anticue Island seep into
every cell of his body.
He hadn’t been to the island in… Damn, had it
really been fifteen years? The Blackout Bar and Grill was a new
addition, and the old fishing pier next door was closed. But other
than that, nothing about the island seemed to have changed.
The back doors of the SUV opened, and
two-thirds of the troublesome trio climbed out. Their four-inch
spiked heels dug into the loose, sandy gravel, pitching them
off-kilter, sending them to and fro. Too far away to grab either of
them, Gavin held his breath and hoped for the best. Each girl put a
hand to the side of the vehicle to gain her balance, then used the
car as a handrail as they made their way to the ballast-stone
sidewalk.
The other one-third of his problem—which
accounted for two-thirds of his headache—remained in the passenger
seat. If this were a date, he would open the door and help her from
the car like the gentleman his grandfather raised him to be. If it
were a platonic, non-forced date with a friend, he still would help
her from the car.
But this wasn’t a date. And he’d be damned if
he’d do
anything
to give the impression he was okay with Max
and Callie’s plan of manipulating him into pretending it was. In
fact, Gavin was so annoyed with Max, he was thinking of demanding
an increase in his profit sharing to cover his escort fee.
He stepped in front of the car, slipped his
hands into his front pockets, and waited. He would prefer to walk
away and leave her sulking, but he couldn’t hit the lock button on
the key fob until she gave up her petulance and opened the damned
door.
As Jen and Tiffany teetered along the uneven
stepping-stones leading to the bar’s side entrance, he took in the
details of the building and surrounding property. Weathered
clapboard siding hung like sagging skin on a decrepit skeleton, but
bright, lime-green trim gave the place a shot of vibrant color,
which made the battered siding seem less tired.
Wrought iron benches, brightly painted
Adirondack chairs, and copper yard ornaments created a profusion of
color along the sidewalk. Hand-painted price tags hung from each
piece, letting visitors know they, too, could have a bit of Anticue
in their own backyard.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as
his gaze settled on a copper windmill. His grandfather would love
the controlled chaos created by the bright colors and whimsical
atmosphere of the Blackout. He would especially love that
windmill.
The stone sidewalk continued past the side
entrance to a front patio and balcony that overlooked the beach.
During summer months, the pink, blue, and teal tables would be
filled to capacity, but on this early May evening, they sat
empty.
His gaze shifted to the deserted fishing pier
next door, and his smile faded. He and his grandfather had spent
many days tossing hooks there, and heavy sadness filled his chest
at seeing it abandoned and left to the mercy of the beach’s harsh
elements.
Tired of waiting, he peered at Callie through
the windshield and cocked an eyebrow, his message loud and clear.
Are you coming or not?
When she stuck her lip out even
further and crossed her arms, he gave her a suit-yourself shrug and
turned toward the entrance.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her
shoulders slump in defeat. She grabbed her purse from the floor of
the SUV, pulled the lever to release the door, and shoved against
it with a huff. “A gentleman would have opened the door for
me.”
Gavin smiled and kept walking. Maybe if he
turned into a first-rate asshole, he’d finally drop off Callie’s
radar. God knows, reasoning with her hadn’t worked. Neither had the
direct approach: I’m. Not. Interested.
All she’d ever seen was his refined business
persona. She had no idea the real Gavin, buried beneath the
expensive Italian suits, even existed. Maybe knocking some of the
polish off his redneck would be the answer to getting her to drop
her obsession.
Her friends were perched on wooden chairs at
a high pub table, looking around expectantly for a waiter. Out of
the ten or twelve people scattered around the bar, none looked too
interested in jumping to meet the girls’ demands.
The front wall that faced the beach was
actually two large doors that could be rolled out of the way to
create one large space between the inside and outside deck. At the
back of the room sat the L-shaped service bar. One end stopped
short of the kitchen entrance, while the other hooked back to the
wall. Two older salts sat on barstools at the hooked end, sipping
their beers and talking.
One side of the room held a pool table, while
a jukebox sat in the middle of the building, wedged against the
center support beam. The rest of the area was filled with an
assortment of pub and picnic tables. The whimsical outdoor
atmosphere carried over to the interior, with brightly painted
walls decorated in copper sculptures and stained-glass pieces.
Gavin had wondered why Max would send him to
this little bar on an out-of-the-way island, but now he understood
the reason for the trip. Max had done this before when he wanted
Gavin’s opinion on a location. Without giving him any details, he’d
send him to “check it out.” Gavin would report back with his
impression, and, if the two men agreed the place held a unique
appeal, they’d mimic its style in one of Holden’s resort
properties.
This place definitely had a unique
appeal.
Had he made the trip alone, he could have a
lot of fun roaming around, checking out the artwork, listening to
the locals. But he wasn’t alone, so he might as well find out what
Callie and her friends wanted to drink, hook ‘em up, then leave
them to get sloshed while he wandered around and soaked up the
details.
***
Bartender Sunny Black had her head down in
the beer chiller, her arm buried to the elbow in ice, when she
heard, “Can I get a blowjob, sex on the beach, and a screaming
orgasm, please?”
She rolled her eyes and continued to shift
bottles in the cooler without responding. She really needed a
better system for taking inventory.
The problem?
Bent over like this, her ass stuck straight
up in the air, which seemed to be an open invitation for assholes
to hit on her by ordering the raunchiest drink names they could
think of. Hard to believe these guys thought she hadn’t heard it
all before.
She’d been hoping for a quiet night, so she
could close up early. But Mr. Hardy-har-har undoubtedly had a
posse—jerks always traveled in packs—and they always stayed until
last call, using every available minute to get as drunk and
obnoxious as possible. She’d be lucky if she got out of here before
midnight.
She shifted the Budweisers to the side and
resumed counting.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten
.
“Ma’am, did you hear me?”
With her free hand, she pulled the Dum-Dum
out of her mouth and licked the sticky from her lips. “Look,
Romeo,” she said, tilting her head so her voice carried to him,
rather than echoing around the cooler. “I’ll give you five points
for a nice, smooth voice. But you lose ten for being a tad
overzealous.”
She jammed the sucker back into her mouth and
resumed counting.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
“What the hell are you talking…” His voice
trailed off, and then roaring laughter settled over her like thick,
heavy honey drizzled on a piping hot biscuit.
He seemed genuinely amused, and she grew
curious enough about the man behind the laugh to risk an
encouraging look. She leaned back and lifted her head so she could
see over the bar.
Holy cow.
Even while slurping on a
saliva-inducing butterscotch sucker, her mouth went bone dry.
The guy’s features were amazing. The Great
Sculptor had pressed her thumbs into the flesh of his cheeks, then
pulled an upward stroke, leaving behind a slight indention, while
at the same time creating high, rugged cheekbones. His square jaw
led to a square chin that projected a strong, confident individual.
His eyes were like brilliant sapphires, topped by severe dark
brows.