even a glance. Yep. Extremely decent. “I rarely drink. Rarely being never.”
“Special occasion,” he said easily. “So what do you do? Sing? Dance?”
“Not in a million years would I dance. I sing a little, and Richie, the friend of the friend, plays the guitar. I’m going to kill Jenny.” She closed her eyes a moment, considered clicking her heels to see if it would make her disappear. She opened them. Nope. Still here. Still desperately embarrassed. “I’ll pay you back for the drink.”
“I’m not keeping a tab.”
Two seconds later, Megan reappeared and delivered the shots with a wink.
Jake raised his glass of clear liquid. “To background music.”
With his eyes holding hers, he smiled and everything in her melted. It was more than his staggering looks or obvious intelligence, even more than his willingness to help her daughter. And so caught up in him and the faint dimple in his right cheek, she clinked her glass to his, tossed it back without thinking—and almost died.
Gasping, eyes squeezed shut, her entire body shuddered in a desperate effort to survive whatever she’d just swallowed. She reached for his bottle while her other hand waved to extinguish the fire inside her. Didn’t help and she choked on the beer.
“Sorry, jeez. That’s like drinking gasoline.” She coughed again as the fiery liquid continued to burn down her throat and through her body.
Jake watched her suffering, looking somewhat amused. He’d tossed his back like a pro. “It’ll warm you up. Put hair on your chest.”
“Great.” There was a tap on the open mic, and she glanced quickly over her shoulder, then straightened and took a deep breath. Crap. “Here goes.” She scooted out slowly and stood.
She could do this. Walk to the front of the room. Sing five songs. Go home. Kill Jenny. Bury body.
She gave Jake one last look and almost sat back down. Was it possible for alcohol to kick in this fast? Because when his smile broadened and sparked something in his eyes, she felt a little dizzy.
“I’ll be a gentle audience,” he said softly. “Pretend it’s just me.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll count on you for a rescue if people start throwing things.”
His gaze darkened. “I’d never let that happen.”
He was totally serious, and even though he made her a million times more nervous, it was oddly reassuring. Like he had her back.
With her heart pounding, she made her way to the mic. If she didn’t have a heart attack in the next twenty minutes, she deserved a lot more than fifty dollars.
—
Put hair on her chest? Could he be any more of a fucking idiot?
And now he was focused on her chest, much better showcased in clinging cotton than the uniform blouse she wore at the diner. Damn, she was beautiful. But there was more. A hell of a lot more. Her face, her smile, her blue eyes that he repeatedly found himself getting lost in. He wondered if everyone saw it, figured they did, and wished he could hide her away from the other eyes in the room. If he’d known she’d be singing, he would have tried for a closer table.
Paige slid onto a stool, one long leg straight, the other bent with her foot on the lowest rung. The group of men at the bar gave her their full attention, no surprise there. She’d pulled the band from her hair so that it now fell several inches past her shoulders like pale silk curtains on either side of her face.
“Hi, my name is Paige and this is Richie.” She readjusted herself on the stool, switched her legs, never looking at her audience. “We’ll be your entertainment for the next twenty minutes.”
She smiled over at the guy with the guitar, probably to let him know she was ready, but Jake felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. He didn’t like another man backing her up, easing her nerves. He played a little himself, another thing he’d picked up since the accident. Never considered playing in front of people, but he would. For her.
He’d thought about her way more than
“Special occasion,” he said easily. “So what do you do? Sing? Dance?”
“Not in a million years would I dance. I sing a little, and Richie, the friend of the friend, plays the guitar. I’m going to kill Jenny.” She closed her eyes a moment, considered clicking her heels to see if it would make her disappear. She opened them. Nope. Still here. Still desperately embarrassed. “I’ll pay you back for the drink.”
“I’m not keeping a tab.”
Two seconds later, Megan reappeared and delivered the shots with a wink.
Jake raised his glass of clear liquid. “To background music.”
With his eyes holding hers, he smiled and everything in her melted. It was more than his staggering looks or obvious intelligence, even more than his willingness to help her daughter. And so caught up in him and the faint dimple in his right cheek, she clinked her glass to his, tossed it back without thinking—and almost died.
Gasping, eyes squeezed shut, her entire body shuddered in a desperate effort to survive whatever she’d just swallowed. She reached for his bottle while her other hand waved to extinguish the fire inside her. Didn’t help and she choked on the beer.
“Sorry, jeez. That’s like drinking gasoline.” She coughed again as the fiery liquid continued to burn down her throat and through her body.
Jake watched her suffering, looking somewhat amused. He’d tossed his back like a pro. “It’ll warm you up. Put hair on your chest.”
“Great.” There was a tap on the open mic, and she glanced quickly over her shoulder, then straightened and took a deep breath. Crap. “Here goes.” She scooted out slowly and stood.
She could do this. Walk to the front of the room. Sing five songs. Go home. Kill Jenny. Bury body.
She gave Jake one last look and almost sat back down. Was it possible for alcohol to kick in this fast? Because when his smile broadened and sparked something in his eyes, she felt a little dizzy.
“I’ll be a gentle audience,” he said softly. “Pretend it’s just me.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll count on you for a rescue if people start throwing things.”
His gaze darkened. “I’d never let that happen.”
He was totally serious, and even though he made her a million times more nervous, it was oddly reassuring. Like he had her back.
With her heart pounding, she made her way to the mic. If she didn’t have a heart attack in the next twenty minutes, she deserved a lot more than fifty dollars.
—
Put hair on her chest? Could he be any more of a fucking idiot?
And now he was focused on her chest, much better showcased in clinging cotton than the uniform blouse she wore at the diner. Damn, she was beautiful. But there was more. A hell of a lot more. Her face, her smile, her blue eyes that he repeatedly found himself getting lost in. He wondered if everyone saw it, figured they did, and wished he could hide her away from the other eyes in the room. If he’d known she’d be singing, he would have tried for a closer table.
Paige slid onto a stool, one long leg straight, the other bent with her foot on the lowest rung. The group of men at the bar gave her their full attention, no surprise there. She’d pulled the band from her hair so that it now fell several inches past her shoulders like pale silk curtains on either side of her face.
“Hi, my name is Paige and this is Richie.” She readjusted herself on the stool, switched her legs, never looking at her audience. “We’ll be your entertainment for the next twenty minutes.”
She smiled over at the guy with the guitar, probably to let him know she was ready, but Jake felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. He didn’t like another man backing her up, easing her nerves. He played a little himself, another thing he’d picked up since the accident. Never considered playing in front of people, but he would. For her.
He’d thought about her way more than
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