“He’s the best. He treats Diane so well and she’s incredibly happy.” Then Jamie’s eyes widened and she dropped her voice. “But did your mom ever tell you what happened to Craig?” she asked, concern in her voice, as she mentioned the guy who managed Megan’s mom’s bookstore.
“She said he was on crutches from a ski accident, but I never got all the details. What happened?”
“He was training for an MS fund-raiser up at Squaw in the winter. A kid on a snowboard swooped in front of him, he swerved out of the way, and bam,” Jamie said, as she smacked her hands together to approximate a loud, crashing sound.
Megan cringed. “Oh my God. No,” she said, as if she could stop the pain that was surely part of this story.
“He was in a coma for three days from the fall. But wait—it has a happy ending. He pulled through. He woke up to find his leg broken in several spots. I mean, he had a hell of a run of bad luck, but he went back to work in a cast and crutches a few weeks ago.”
Megan breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. That’s so scary, but I’m so glad it all worked out. All things considered,” she said. “My mom said he was back at work quickly. Sounds like a real trouper.”
They chatted more as Jamie poured Megan a beer, and maybe it was the memory of the first Chihuahua she had here the other night, or maybe it was just his nearness, but she found her mind drifting back to Becker and her eyes straying to where he sat. A ribbon of longing unfurled in her as she flashed back on the way they talked by the truck the other morning before he turned away, then to how they slipped easily into conversation that first night. And now, to the way he looked so intense and serious as he seemed to be studying his laptop like it held the keys to the universe, his strong forearms on display in his shirt as he typed.
Those arms…how she wanted to feel them around her again.
Stupid fucking hormones. She loved them and hated them. But she also knew those bastards were powerful, and as she downed her beer, she couldn’t deny the rush of heat in her body anymore. This was a safe zone though; they were at the bar, Jamie was here, Smith was on his way, so she saw no reason why she couldn’t at least flirt with temptation.
…
God, it was killing him to have her nearby. His muscles tensed and his fingers twitched, eager to touch her.
He refused to move, to stand, to walk over to her and dust his lips across that absolutely enticing neck, or wrap his arms around her slim waist and tug her close. Nope. He was holding out, so he’d parked himself in his usual spot at the table by the window after they closed for the night, laptop in front of him, reviewing the operations and emailing suppliers about outstanding orders and new inventory.
But even though she was all the way on the other side of the bar, he had been painfully aware of how close she was as she’d chatted with Jamie for the last half hour. He was a master of restraint, but this would be taxing to any man.
Thankfully, there was a knock on the window. Becker turned to see that Smith had pressed his face against the glass, smushing his mouth and nose against the pane. Becker managed a laugh, rose, and walked to the door and unlocked it.
Smith patted him on the back once. “How’s business tonight?”
“Excellent.”
“Got your nose in the books, I see? All work and no play…” Smith said, and trailed off his admonishment. Smith was a hard worker, ran his own contracting business, and had recently built out the expanded back section of the bar. But he also was probably a helluva lot better than Becker at letting go of the day and putting work behind him.
“Nice ass.”
Smith turned to the bar where Jamie was wiping down the counter and catcalling her boyfriend.
“Why, thank you, ma’am. I do believe you are its number one fan,” Smith said as he turned and patted his backside.
Megan swiveled around, joining Jamie in the hooting and hollering. For the briefest of moments, he envied her ease, her free spirit. Out of the corner of his eye, he lingered on the group, wanting to tear his gaze away from her but completely unable to. She caught his stare and flashed a grin in his direction. Lingered, too, her eyes locked on him, like she didn’t want to look away. Hell, he didn’t want to, either. He wanted everyone to leave, to pull down the blinds, lock the door, and lift her up on the bar and kiss the hell out of her. Feel her melt into his arms again.
He wanted that so much that it nearly pained him to look away.
“You gonna join us for a drink?” Smith asked him.
“I need to finish up this inventory analysis,” he said, staring at the computer screen.
“Then you definitely need a drink, even if it’s only a Shirley Temple.”