Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

Too late. All her frustration and self-recrimination came spilling out in messy, snotty sobs. Once again, she’d let an impulse knock her sideways—and this time she’d hurt a really decent guy. Lying to his adorable mom and grandma filled her with guilt, but what could she do?

She rinsed the last of the shampoo from her tear-stung eyes and cranked the faucet to icy cold.

Chapter Four

The next day, everything was back to normal at Bangers Tavern, the customers as thirsty as ever. In the storage room, Eddie hustled through his restocking duties.

“Looks like our Eddie had a happy new year, am I right?” Jojo, Bangers’ mammoth bouncer, dropped his huge palm onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Good job, little man.”

Eddie stifled a groan and shrugged off Jojo’s grip. “Nothing happened. We’re just friends.” Not my choice, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

“Gotcha.” Jojo smirked and cocked his forefinger like a pistol. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He leaned against the storage room door while Eddie unfolded the step ladder and fetched bottles from the top shelf. “Why you still schlepping bottles? You been workin’ here a year. Shouldn’t you be bartender by now?”

“Not trying to become a bartender. I’m learning the business.” He loaded a selection of vodkas and gins into a plastic crate. “Besides, we got two good bartenders. Dawn doesn’t need a third.”

“So you’re gonna, what, open your own place?”

Eddie scooped ice from the big machine into a seven-gallon bucket. “That’s the plan. Do me a favor?” He set the bucket at Jojo’s feet, then lifted the crate of bottles.

Jojo hefted the bucket and followed him to the bar, where Kiara and River were busy slinging drinks. The New Year’s Eve streamers and balloons were gone, replaced by the usual Seahawks helmet cutouts and blue and green streamers.

No matter the time of year, there was always something colorful fluttering or sparkling from the ceiling at Bangers, holiday decorations or sports bling or both. Sports on TV, beer signs on the walls, loud music and raucous laughter, greasy bar snacks galore, plus pool tables, dartboards, and a few elderly pinball machines. Customers showed up in jeans and hoodies, ready to wash away the day’s stress with craft beer and squash it under a mountain of tater tots. Though his shifts as barback left Eddie with sore shoulders and aching feet, Bangers felt less like work and more like home. That is, until Rosie.

She still hadn’t shown up for her shift. Five minutes late—not that he’d say anything. He filled the ice bin, then placed the liquor bottles on shelves in the huge, antique back bar. Salvaged from an Alaska saloon, its polished columns and curlicues gleamed in the low light, oddly elegant against all the sports bling. Atop the center, a carved cherub spread its chubby arms as if blessing the booze. Its dumpling-cheeked smile reminded him of Rosie’s.

His stomach tightened. There was no avoiding her at work. His best hope was to keep his head down and his eyes off her tempting curves until the sting faded.

A bell dinged at the pass-through window, and Diego’s curly head appeared, topped with a Bangers’ ballcap. “Bacon barbeque burger for Jojo, extra jalapeños.”

“Thanks, dude.” Jojo collected his dinner and returned to his stool at the entrance, where he checked IDs. The bar was hopping tonight, typical for a Saturday. You’d think after the New Year’s bash the crowd would be thinner, but all the regulars turned out, including grumpy old Gus, perched as always on the last barstool near the back wall.

Gus waved him over. “Happy New Year, kiddo. Get me a Rainier, will ya?” As new co-owner of the bar after gifting Dawn enough money to buy the building from their landlord, the old fart delighted in issuing orders.

“Sure thing, Gus.” Eddie pulled a pilsner glass from the shelf. While it filled, he let his imagination carry him on a little side trip, picturing the furnishings he’d pick for his own bar. Better lighting, for sure—not bright, but golden, maybe those beaded lampshades like his grandparents inherited from the old country, and—

Kiara’s hip-bump sloshed beer across his hand. “How’s it going, stud muffin?” She’d had her braids redone since he saw her last—blue and green strands woven among the black ones. She reached across him to fill a tall glass with winter IPA. “You and Rosie had a fun time?”

“Sure.” He schooled his features into a bland expression. No way would he let her tease any details out of him. He just prayed that Rosie would be as discreet. “Dawn’s not coming in tonight?”

“She’s not supposed to, but she’ll probably stop by.” Their boss fell from a ladder while hanging mistletoe shortly before Christmas. The doc diagnosed a dislocated shoulder and minor concussion and ordered her to stay home for two weeks. But as far as Dawn was concerned, the bar was home.

He delivered Gus’s beer, then ran a quick inventory. The keg of porter was running low. As he headed for the back room, a flash of electric blue caught his eye. There she stood at the server station, dressed in a silvery top cut low to display the bouquet of pink and red roses tattooed across her lush cleavage. Jeans shorts hugged her plump hips. Black tights and sturdy knee-high boots—sexy, earthy, gorgeous. While she waited for her drink order, she bunched her sapphire curls into a topknot and shoved a pencil through to anchor it, revealing the slender vine tattooed behind her right ear. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he’d traced that vine with his tongue. His stupid dick inched upward at the sight.

She’s not for me. He forced his gaze downward as he approached. He couldn’t ignore her, or people would talk. He couldn’t greet her too warmly, or people would talk. What the fuck was he supposed to do, then?

“Hey, Eddie.” Instead of her usual husky warmth, her voice sounded flat, tired.

“You feeling all right?” She did seem a little