Phoenix Burning(5)

So intent on finding out if Donovan MacIntyre had been telling the truth about Phoenix Rising, Emory paid not one whit of attention to where she was going. Seconds later she collided with someone.

The impact knocked both off their feet. Emory landed square on her backside, her arms catching against a couple of nearby chairs and keeping her from smacking her head against the stone floor. In fact, she thought she’d gotten off pretty good until two overturned pints drenched her midsection in pale ale.

She gasped, the ice-cold beer on her front making her nipples bead into hard points and raising goose bumps on her skin. Of all the rotten luck, she’d knocked over a waitress.

“I’m sorry!”

Dazed, Emory blinked a few times while taking a mental inventory of her body. When her brain was satisfied that all systems were present and functioning, her ears registered the husky feminine voice.

“Here, let me help you up.”

A slender hand reached out. Looking up, Emory gazed into the warm hazel eyes of a gorgeous woman in a red-and-black plaid miniskirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. Her long legs were bare, and she wore combat boots not unlike Emory’s own. A tight black cotton top showcased a set of full, perfect breasts, and her long brown hair was pulled back into a haphazard knot.

“I am so sorry.” The woman apologized again. “I didn’t see you.”

The ruckus had brought another bouncer away from the wall. If the guy at the door had been intimidating, this one was about as approachable as a demon. He was taller, broader, and more heavily muscled, with a clean-shaven head and eyes so dark they looked black in the dim light.

“Are you all right, Jessa?” His voice was rough.

Jessa the waitress bobbed her head and offered the bouncer a smile. “I’m just fine, but I drenched this poor thing in beer.”

“I told you I’m going to have to fire you if you can’t keep your mind on your work.”

Emory sucked in a breath to protest, alarmed that the poor woman might actually lose her job over something as silly as spilled ale. But her words died a quiet death when Jessa’s mouth stretched into a knowing grin.

“Connor, Connor, Connor. How can I think about work when you’re standing half a dozen feet away looking like sex-waiting-to-happen?”

It was as if Emory was no longer standing there beside them, her front covered in pale ale. It didn’t take her long to understand what was going on. She’d known that feeling before, the invisible feeling that happened to a third wheel. It was common enough when hanging around the Chrises. In fact, it was the story of Emory’s life. When the world kept turning out perfect pairs, a forgotten and somewhat damaged single was bound to feel adrift.





Alex grabbed the terry cloth bar towel tucked into his apron and slung it over his shoulder. It was readily apparent that Connor and Jessa had completely forgotten about the poor soul standing in a puddle of beer only scant feet away from their happy love bubble.

It was starting to happen a lot lately. Not the beer puddle, but the love bubble. While Alex was ecstatic to see Connor’s rigid discipline come crashing down at Jessa’s whim, it was also annoying as hell.

Now there was a drenched pixie standing in the middle of the bar. If Alex hadn’t known Gabriel was checking IDs at the door, he’d have pegged her as a kid. A scant inch or two over five feet, her slight build was almost completely obscured by a pair of baggy black cargo pants. They were cut off below the knee, resting near the tops of her chunky combat boots. A dark blue hoodie made it impossible to tell whether or not she’d even managed to develop breasts yet.

The pixie gazed around, her eyes settling on the bar before she headed in his direction. Sighing, Alex wondered if he could somehow convince her to just go home. She didn’t look like the type of woman who belonged in a bar like Phoenix Rising.

“You look like you could use a towel, love.” Alex deftly deposited the one on his shoulder to the slick bar top before her.

“Thanks.” She picked up the towel and pressed it against her belly, soaking up the ale. “I’m not sure who blindsided who, but it’s obvious that the accident only made an impression on one of us.”

The pixie had a sharp sense of humor. Alex found himself intrigued against his better judgment. “Jessa can be a little preoccupied when it comes to Connor.”

“Obviously.”

Her dry tone indicated she’d spent more than her fair share of time with happy couples. Alex looked her over while the beer stains kept her distracted.

She was cute, though no one could ever call her beautiful. Her hair was long, black and curly. She’d made an attempt to corral the thick mass in a rubber band, a losing battle as most of it curled wildly over her narrow shoulders. Her face was as pixie-like as her slight body. Her cheeks were round, completely unlike the high cheekbones Alex usually favored in his women. She also had a healthy sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.