Blow (4 page)

As soon as I entered the vestibule, it was quiet enough for me to make the call. The operator connected me to the nearest station. “The mechanic will be at least thirty minutes,” the attendant told me.

Contemplating what to do, I decided on a drink. “That’s fine. I’ll be at the bar at Molly’s.”

“Wait,” she called. “What number should the mechanic call when he arrives?”

I gave her my cell but doubted I’d hear my phone. The music was already pretty loud from here. “Also, in case he has to come in, I’m wearing black—black raincoat, black pants—oh, and a red hat,” I added.

She huffed and sounded annoyed. “Normally we ask that you wait by your vehicle but since it’s raining, I’ll let him know how to recognize you if he can’t reach you.”

“Thank you,” I told her before hanging up.

Once I’d tucked my phone back inside my purse, I pulled open the interior door to reveal a very crowded bar. Not only was I certain I would never hear my phone, but there was also no way the mechanic was going to be able to spot me in here.

I’d have to keep my eyes peeled for him.

The large room was dimly lit, glowing with soft white light. There was a steady pulse of music. A small dance floor was filled with people. Most were standing close and talking, others were already dancing. The DJ booth was already manned and larger than the dance floor. Still, the bar was the showpiece. Glass lit shelves displayed bottle after bottle of liquor, in addition to glasses in every shape and size.

The space was eclectic. The dark paneling and old-fashioned parquet wood floors flowed into the modern space from the vestibule. I liked it.

The pub, as it was called, was more like a club, and it was jam-packed with the happy hour crowd. I considered leaving but decided against it.

It had been a long week, and one drink was deserved.

As if moving in slow motion, I tried to push through the crowd.

I wasn’t dressed like the other women. Wearing leggings, boots, and a simple long-sleeved cream-colored blouse that buttoned up the front, I was dressed for winter even though it was spring. Most of these women had stripped out of their work jackets and sweaters to reveal sexy camisoles or sheer tops. They had planned for their night out.

The large bar was so crowded that I had to squeeze my way through to it. A shove, a push, another shove, and I’d been turned around. That’s when I saw another room that was also dimly lit, but seemed a lot calmer.

Unbuttoning my coat, I made a beeline for the space, ignoring the men who stared and women who leered. Booths lined the walls and there was a smaller bar with dozens of beer taps behind it. Still crowded, but nothing like the other side; I could at least move without being jostled. Luckily, a space opened up at the bar, and as I walked toward it, the female bartender glanced up from the person she was talking with.

It wasn’t her I was looking at, though; instead my eyes landed on the patron sitting at the bar. I knew who it was immediately. I’d studied his backside no more than thirty minutes ago. It was the younger McPherson. He appeared to be sitting alone, chatting with the bartender.

My heart skipped a beat and I automatically slowed my approach.

Obviously curious, he twisted his head around when the bartender’s eyes lingered on me a little too long. And when he saw me, he gave me a small smile.

That smile.

Wild, gorgeous, sexy.

Heart-stopping.

The current I felt surging between us earlier now reappeared with a jolt. It was unsettling. It made me think I should turn around, but I couldn’t.

The magnetic pull was too strong to ignore. This was a dangerous situation. Uncharted waters. In the past, I’d never felt a strong enough attraction toward anyone to worry what it might mean. There had never been sexual chemistry for me with anyone else.

I never really cared.

It was better that way.

If there had been, I would have fought it.

But, right now, I couldn’t.

Ignoring my intuition, I took off my hat. I immediately regretted it. The bottom half of my hair hung sodden against my partially unbuttoned flimsy raincoat while the top half sprang to life. I was certain my normally ginger-colored locks looked tangerine.

The younger McPherson didn’t seem to care. He stood and pulled out the empty bar stool next to his, motioning me toward him.

While my body urged me forward, my mind fought it every step of the way.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and the sound of his voice made my spine tingle.

I wanted to be offended, but his tone wasn’t in the least bit harsh. “Following you.” I tried to sound nonchalant but I think my voice was more raspy than matter-of-fact, and I let out a slight laugh.

He didn’t seem to notice that I was joking and I saw his jaw tense.

I sat down. “Relax. I’m kidding, just kidding.”

Relief softened his features and he offered me his hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Logan.”

Logan.
The young McPherson had a nice name. It suited him. He seemed formal in his choice of words but informal in his dress. And the hard lines of his body contradicted the softness of his voice.

I shook his hand. “Elle.”

“So, Elle, where are O’Shea and the baby?”

Odd question, I thought, but answered anyway. “They went home.”

With a raised brow, he asked, “What brings you into Molly’s?” He paused for a second and the corners of his mouth quirked. “Besides following me,” he said with a slight laugh of his own.

I withheld my laughter and frowned instead. “Flat tire.” I pointed out the wall of glass to the pretentious white Mercedes SUV parked out front that I had yet to get used to and noticed a second door. Interesting—what I’d thought was a remodel might actually have been an addition.

Logan looked out the window and then glanced around. When he noticed I was watching him he said, “That really sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I can change it for you,” he offered.

I looked at him. His face was as breathtaking as he was charming. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I already called Triple-A.”

Logan glanced around again and finally leaned against the bar. “Then I’ll buy you a drink while you wait.”

His confidence turned me on.

My eyes slid down his body. I shivered—cold to the bone and more aware of his movements than I should have been.

In what seemed like a lifetime ago, when the rare urge for male companionship would strike, I’d simply go into a bar and pick up a man. It was easy. An art learned over years—lipstick bold, skirt short, heels high. Men liked women who looked sexy. They flirted with me. Bought me a drink. Complimented me on my eyes, my hair, my body. They didn’t know they didn’t have to—that was why I was there, after all. To have sex. No questions. No repeats. And even better, on my terms, which meant little conversation and no phone numbers. Relationships just weren’t in the cards for me.

I wasn’t certain Logan McPherson met those no-strings-attached criteria, but then again, my life was different now. And that’s why I needed to leave. My resolve wasn’t as strong as it had once been. My emotional blockade had been slowly crumbling since Clementine entered my life. I had to leave. Yet, I didn’t.

He continued to gaze at me, waiting for me to respond to his offer.

I knew I shouldn’t give in, but I didn’t have the willpower to turn him down. Words eased out of my mouth that shouldn’t have. “Sure. Something to warm me up,” I answered, rubbing my hands together.

With a single nod of his chin, he looked down at me for a beat or maybe two. Then he scanned the bar again. Even distracted, he was mesmerizing. After a few moments, he turned around and motioned for the female bartender he had been chatting with when I first arrived.

Although the other side of the bar was packed, this side wasn’t quite so crazy. However, the tables were completely occupied. As soon as she slid two plates of burgers and fries to a waitress, she hurried toward him. “What can I get you?”

I swiveled around in my seat and noticed a cup of coffee in front of him and another in front of me with a red lipstick stain on it. I wondered if that was why he was searching the bar.

Was the person who had been sitting here returning?

A girlfriend perhaps?

“Two shots of Jameson,” he said.

“Coming up.” The bartender’s smile was wide when she looked at Logan, like she thought she might just hit the jackpot later. It irritated me. She stretched and her flat belly visibly reflected in the mirror in front of her. I caught Logan’s gaze tracing the lines of her body as she reached higher, exposing more skin, and that irritated me more. But then I realized it was my gaze he was watching.

Our connection wasn’t broken as the bartender set two shot glasses between us and slowly began to pour the amber-colored liquid.

When she finished, I broke our gaze with a laugh. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t seem to mind that he’d gotten caught. “How about you take your coat off.”

Again, not a question.

“No, I’m fine. I won’t be staying long.”

The music seemed to be getting louder and he edged a little closer. “Uh-huh. The garage told you they’d be here in about thirty minutes, didn’t they?”

“They tell everyone that,” the bartender blurted out.

My eyes darted to her in annoyance and then back to him. The young McPherson didn’t find her intrusive behavior funny either. Then again, other than the cute wave he gave Clementine earlier, he seemed so serious. “Thanks for the drinks,” he said dismissively.

She took the hint and returned to the other end of the bar.

His gaze traced the lines on my face and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to guess how old I was. “She was right—all the garages around here tell you it will take much less time than it actually does.”

“Why would they do that?”

He raised a brow. “Why does anyone do anything—for money. The economy is suffering in South Boston. All the small businesses are hurting for cash and want to make sure they secure your business.”

“Well, I guess I’d better take my coat off, then.”

The raincoat had soaked through, so ridding myself of it would be a relief.

Someone pushed toward the bar behind me just as I stood, nudging me forward an inch or two. Logan reached to grab my arm so I wouldn’t stumble.

His touch made me gasp. Concentrating on calming my nerves, I didn’t notice that my blouse was wet, and most likely see-through, until my coat was off.

His eyes darted to my chest.

Yep, definitely see-through.

Without taking his eyes off me, he took my coat and shoved it beside his. We were both still standing, facing each other, very, very close. People on either side of us pushed us even closer as they wormed their way toward the bar. His eyes looked darker than I remembered, and his chest seemed to rise and fall more quickly than it did before.

“Aren’t you going to drink that?” He nodded toward the shot.

My knees felt a little wobbly and I quickly sat down before they gave out. “Yes, I think I will.”

Logan handed me one of the shots. “Irish whiskey. If it doesn’t warm you up, it will definitely put hair on your chest.”

With a small laugh, I took the glass and his fingertips grazed mine. My body tingled, but I ignored the feeling and with a
tsk
I said, “I hope not.”

He blatantly eyed the front of my blouse.

The heat of his stare was just too much and I found myself uncharacteristically downing the shot without a second thought. The liquid burned my throat, but it was worth it because my body began to warm instantly. Whether it was from the liquor or him standing so close, though, I wasn’t sure. When I was done, I slammed the glass down.

His slow grin caused a sweet ache right between my thighs. As if he knew it, he inched even closer. Leaning forward, he whispered, “No hair, I hope.”

Again, I sputtered out a laugh. “No, I think I’m safe,” I managed around my giggle.

His eyes now on my face, he passed me the other shot.

I held my hand up. “No, that’s yours.”

Finally, he sat down, which put some distance between us. Not much, but some. “Two shots are guaranteed to light a fire inside you.”

I was already heating up.

For a moment, we seemed to be trying to get a read on each other. After a beat, I shoved the glass back toward him and said, “Thank you, but I’ve had my limit.”

Bemused, he asked, “Only one? That’s your limit?”

The deep tenor of his voice caused my heart to pound, and I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes gleamed bright when the words escaped his throat. I played along and raised a brow. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

His low chuckle ticked my eardrum. He pushed the shot away. “Absolutely not. I wasn’t going to let you drink it anyway. You’re driving.” He winked.

“Oh, you’re an alpha male, are you,” I teased.

Logan’s laugh rasped. “Absolutely not.”

I tilted my head sideways in doubt.

There was a twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t believe me. I’m wounded.”

I found myself giggling.

“O’Shea,” the bartender called from behind the bar.

The name didn’t register.

“White Mercedes SUV. Flat tire,” she called out louder.

Finally, it did and I raised my hand and shouted, “That’s me!”

She leered at me and pointed to the door.

I turned to see a man in a blue quilted jacket. I’d completely forgotten about him. Guess with my hat off, I was lost in the crowd and he couldn’t find me either. “Looks like they arrived quickly,” I quipped, the corners of my mouth turning up slightly.

Logan glanced at his watch, which looked extremely expensive. “Twenty minutes—that has to be record timing,” he commented, the inflection of his voice much flatter than it had been.

Rushing, I hopped off the stool a little too fast and the room started to spin, causing me to lose my balance.

Logan jumped up and grabbed me. Our bodies were aligned in such a way that we were thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. It was then that I noticed just how tall he was. Six foot one was my guess. While he steadied me, he spoke and his warm breath caressed my neck. “Whoa, I see why you’ve got a one-drink minimum.”