I slid off my stool. “I gotta go to the      bathroom.”

 Hopefully that would give her time to wrap things      up with her guy and swap numbers. Or not. You could never really tell with      Emerson. Sometimes I thought she was really into a guy and then she would drop      him for no apparent reason. She once dumped a guy after a third date because he      asked for a doggie bag at dinner. She claimed he was too comfortable with her if      he did that. I didn’t think she cared that this made sense only to her.      Personally, I thought she was scared to get too serious with a guy, but what did      I know? I’d only kissed one guy in my life.

 I crossed the room to the narrow hall leading to      the bathrooms. They were single occupancy and there was usually a line, but not      tonight. Once inside, I dropped the little hook in place, locking the door.      Turning, I caught sight of my reflection and winced. As usual, my hair was out      of control. I tried to arrange the russet-colored waves. Maybe it was time for a      haircut. Layers or something.

 Moments later, I finished washing my hands and      pushed open the thick oak door, immediately spotting Scott waiting outside. At      first I thought he was in line for the men’s room, but the way his gaze trained      on me I realized he was waiting for me.

 “Hey.” He pushed off the wall.

 “Hey,” I murmured, stepping out into the narrow      hall and wishing the light was better. The shadowy space made it feel too      intimate.

 He moved into my path. “Why don’t you and Em come      back to our place?”

 I shook my head. “I have to get up early.” I      didn’t, of course. My shift at the daycare didn’t start until eleven, but he      didn’t know that.

 “Aw. C’mon.” He inched closer.

 My back bumped the wall, rattling the picture      frames and license plates that decorated it. I held up my hands in front of me      as he encroached closer. “Uh, what are—”

 He swept in then, planting his lips on mine. I      froze in shock. His sour tongue pushed between my lips and I gagged. I didn’t      know if he was just too into the kiss and didn’t realize I wasn’t or he didn’t      care. Or he was too drunk. Or maybe he thought I was going to have a change of      heart after another minute of this and start returning his fervor. Whatever the      case, his lips stayed firmly glued to mine, messier and sloppier than my last      kiss. Damn it. You would think things would have improved since tenth grade.

 I squeezed a hand out from between us. Curling my      fingers into a fist, I beat him on the shoulder. He didn’t budge, and that’s      when I felt the first thread of panic. Even as it worked its way through me, I      told myself to stay calm. We were in a public place. What could happen that I      didn’t want to happen? Well, besides a terrible kiss that tasted of sour beer      and didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon.

 I hit his shoulder harder with my free hand. He      held me so tightly I couldn’t get my other arm out from between us.

 Then he was gone. Just like that.

 I sagged against the wall, dimly registering that      the corner of a particularly jagged license plate scratched my neck. Funny I      hadn’t noticed that before. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as if I      could rid myself of the unwanted kiss and stepped away from the wall, focusing      on the scene before me.

 Scott was on the floor, and someone stood over him,      gripping him by the front of his shirt. It took me a second to recognize the      back of my bartender—to understand that he was here,      whaling on Scott, helping me. Rescuing me yet again.

 I moved, my feet covering the short distance.      Peering over his shoulder, I gasped at the sight of Scott’s face. He was      bleeding, mostly from the mouth. You couldn’t even distinguish the whiteness of      his teeth amid the wash of blood. I latched onto the bartender’s arm just as it      was pulled back, ready to deliver another punch.

 “No! Stop!”

 He looked down at me, his expression feral, nothing      like its usual blankness. Tension lined his jaw. A muscle ticked in his cheek. I      didn’t know how long he stared down at me with glittering eyes. It felt like      forever before he spoke, before I felt his voice, low and deep, pulse through      me. “Are you all right?”

 I nodded. “Fine.” I nodded toward Scott. “You can      let him go.”

 Scott was blubbering now. I couldn’t decipher his      speech. It was more sobs than words.

 Tightly bunched muscles eased beneath my fingers      and I realized I was still clinging to the bartender’s bicep. And yet I didn’t      release him. Not right away. I looked down at that arm as if I had to see for      myself where our flesh connected. Where his tan skin met my pale fingers. My      hand curled over part of his tattoo, and I imagined the inked skin felt warmer      there. Unthinkingly, I brushed at the dark edge of the wing and something inside      me squeezed and twisted. I dropped my hand.

 He tore his gaze off me and looked down at Scott      again. He lifted his other hand and Scott flinched like he expected another      punch. Instead he pointed down the narrow hall. “Get out of my bar.”

 Scott nodded fiercely, his face a mess. I winced.      It hurt just looking at him. He scrambled to his feet, mumbling, “I’ll just get      my friend.”

 Scott was almost out of the hall when the bartender      called after him, indifferent to the customers who glanced curiously in our      direction. “I don’t want to see you in here again.”

 Nodding, he scurried off.

 Alone with my rescuer, I inhaled into lungs that      suddenly felt impossibly tight, too small for air. “Thank you.”

 He faced me. “I saw him follow you into the      hall.”

 I cocked my head. “You were watching me?”

 “I saw you pass by.”

 So yes. He was watching me.

 Silence filled the air. I rubbed my hands along my      thighs. “Well. Thanks again. I hope you don’t get in trouble with your boss for      any of this. If you need me to vouch for you—”

 “I’ll be all right.”

 Nodding, I stepped past him, took three strides and      stopped. Turning, I pushed the wayward fall of hair back from my face and asked,      “What’s your name?”

 It just seemed absurd to keep thinking of him as      The Bartender. I didn’t want to go back to my dorm tonight, lie in bed, and      stare into the dark thinking about him—because I knew I would—and not know his      name.

 “Reece.” He stared at me, through me, his expression impassive, unsmiling.

 “Hi.” I moistened my lips and added, “I’m      Pepper.”

 “I know.”

 I nodded lamely. The napkin. Of course. With a      shaky smile, I stepped out into the main room.

 I was halfway to the pool table when Emerson was      there, her eyes enormous in her round face. “What happened to that guy’s face?      It looked like a truck hit him, and he practically ran out of here.”

 I linked arms with her and steered her toward the      exit. “The bartender happened.”

 “What?” Her cheeks flushed. “Like he got jealous      and . . . hit him?”

 I winced. “More like Scott tried to suck my face      off against my protests and Reece intervened.”

 “Reece?” she echoed.

 “Yeah. He has a name.”

 Shaking her head, she looked at me in awe as we      stepped outside. “I think you’ve gotten more than his attention, Pep.”

 I snorted. “He was just doing his job—”

 She shot me a look. “He’s a bartender. How is      kicking some guy’s ass for getting fresh in his job description?”

 “He’s not about to let a customer get accosted      outside the bathroom.”

 She looked skeptical as we weaved our way out into      the parking lot. “You just don’t see it. You don’t know how to see it. Trust me. He’s going to call you.”

 I wasn’t as naïve as Emerson claimed. He could have      kept me longer in that hall, said something more to fill that awkward stretch of      silence. For being such a player, he didn’t make any moves on me. He didn’t even      smile.

 No. He wouldn’t call. This wasn’t me being      negative. I just knew.

Chapter 6

He didn’t call the next day, and despite convincing myself that he wouldn’t, I had hoped that just maybe Emerson was right.

Naturally, I blamed her. Em’s words niggled their way inside me and fed hope where there normally wouldn’t be. I couldn’t stop glaring at her as she stood in the center of my room, distracting me from reviewing my Abnormal Psych notes.

“Well, you know we gotta go back again tonight, right?”

“Uh. No, we don’t.”

She dropped down on the bed with me, landing on her stomach. “C’mon. You can’t vow to do this and then not give it a hundred percent.”

“I’m not training for a marathon here—”

“You are. That’s exactly what you’re doing.” She nodded, the light catching on the many sparkly clips she’d arranged at different angles through her short dark hair. “You’re training for Hunter. Look at him as your 5K.”

Biting on the inside of my cheek, I considered her words.

She must have seen me wavering because she pushed on. “C’mon. You’ve made an impression on him. Two nights in a row.” She waggled two fingers in front of my face. “We’ve got to go there tonight, too. We’ll round up some others to go with us this time. Georgia is going to that concert with Harris, so I’ll get Suzanne and Amy from down the hall. They’re always up for some fun.” Her gaze drilled into me. “Say yes, Pepper.”