"Aloha, Rip. Don't you ever get enough of this place? You're here almost as often as I am, and I work here."
Rip coughed. "Give me a break. I'm not here that much."
Ted raised a single eyebrow, his only response. Instead, his gaze turned to Casey. "So's this your new squeeze?" His eyes roamed downward then up, returning to her scowling face.
"I'm no one's squeeze," she corrected him indignantly. "We're co-workers."
Ted shook his head then winked at Rip. "Your taste is improving old man."
Casey glared at the two men as they both sent her appraising glances. Withdrawing her hand from Rip's arm she turned her back on them both and stepped into the dark interior of the Piki Tiki.
She muttered softly, "Just because he's cute, he thinks-"
"Just because he's cute-"
Casey shrieked, then realized a toy bird just inside the entrance had repeated her words. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of the men's laughter and glared at them.
The discordant sound of ukuleles and electric guitars blared from the open doorway leading into the interior of the club. Casey didn't look back again, and instead headed straight to the bar. Rip could follow or not for all she cared.
"Can I get you something to drink?" the bartender asked as she seated herself.
"Sure." She opened her mouth to order a Shirley Temple then changed her mind. Her blood was too heated from agitation for something that tame. "Uh...what would you suggest?"
"Maui Wowies are the special tonight."
"So long as it doesn't taste too strongly of alcohol," she replied uncertainly.
His craggy face broke into a grin. "I guarantee it goes down smooth. You won't taste anything but the fruit."
"Sounds refreshing."
"Hey, Hank," Rip's voice broke in. He slid into the seat next to hers. The bartender looked from Casey to Rip, his eyebrows rising in a question Casey didn't understand.
"Yup!" Rip answered cryptically.
Hank grinned as he reached for a bottle and added a long shot of liquor to an empty blender. He glanced at Casey once more and tipped the bottle again. Keeping her gaze averted from Rip she watched Hank pour fruit and juices into the blender along with crushed ice and then turn it on.
Next, he reached behind the bar producing a straw hat with two cups attached to either side. "Want me to fill'er up?" he asked Rip.
"Uh, not tonight, Hank," Rip said a little too quickly. "Retired. Remember?"
Turning on her stool, Casey looked from the hat to Rip and watched the color rise in his cheeks. She smiled widely and crossed her arms in front of her. "So, how many guys wear a hat like that, Rip?"
"Uh, it's a tradition. Guys who sit at the bar have to take their first drink in it, right Hank?"
Hank raised his hands. "Hey, buddy, whatever you say."
Casey grabbed for the hat, and Rip was a second too slow to stop her from turning the front of it around. "So how many guys drink from hats with R-I-P written across the front? Hmmm?"
Hank laughed and slid a tall glass in front of her. He inserted a paper umbrella that stood in the icy, orangey-pink froth at the top of the glass.
Relinquishing her hold on the hat, she handed it to Rip. "I dare you."
Rip straightened his shoulders, glaring at her, then plopped the hat on his head. Hank automatically began filling the cup nearest him from a draft hose.
Feeling pretty pleased with herself, and knowing she was gathering plenty of ammo for the next show's broadcast, she said, "Better let him tank up the other side, Rip, or you'll be off-balance."
"Don't do it, Hank," he answered, his tone more like a growl.
Casey laughed and took a long sip from her drink. "Mmmm. Hank, this is delicious."
Beside her, Rip chugged the beer in his hat. Well, as best a man can chug through a straw.
After another long draw on her fruity concoction, Casey could feel a tingling in the back of her neck and the tips of her fingers. Yes, the alcohol should help to numb her inexplicable attraction to the incredibly sexy man beside her. She turned her back to the counter and studied the people in the bar. "Not many people here yet. When is Brent supposed to arrive?"
"He should be here in another fifteen minutes to set up the remote." Rip sucked down more beer until a sound indicated the cup was empty. "This place doesn't start hopping until after nine o'clock." He glanced at his watch. "We have another fifteen minutes." Rip set aside the silly hat, grabbed her hand and said, "Let's dance before the floor fills."
Casey resisted the tug on her hand. "Dancing is not part of the deal."
"Come on, Cramer, our listeners are expecting a real date."
She gave him a doubtful glance. "I don't know if I can dance with a man who drinks beer from a hat."
He shook his head. "The hat, like this date, was a publicity stunt. My listeners like that I'm non-conforming and a little on the edge of I-don't-give-a-shit."
"Seriously?" She allowed him to pull her off the barstool onto her feet. "How can you gain the respect of a community wearing a beer hat?"
"It's a gimmick. They know it. And my ratings continue to grow. My listeners think of me as one of them."
Casey snorted. "One of who? Rednecks and Misogynists?" She found herself being reluctantly drawn through the tables and chairs to the jukebox on the edge of the wooden dance floor.
"Maybe some. But my listeners call. They find me approachable and ask my advice."
"Holy crap, Rip." Casey stopped in front of the glass-topped machine and stared up at him. "Surely they don't take your advice to heart?"
He frowned. "Aside from the gimmicks and the crazy banter, my advice is sound. It's worked for me."
She ran her glance from the top of his shaggy head to the tips of his sandaled feet. "And you consider yourself successful?"
His lips thinned into a firm line. "Success is in the eye of the beholder."
She chuckled. "Excuse me if my eyes are skeptical."
"Sweetheart, you don't even begin to know me." He shoved money into the jukebox and punched a couple of keys without studying the array of songs.
"Do you even know what songs you just played?"
"Does it matter?" He gripped her arm and maneuvered her onto the empty dance floor. "But yes, I know what I played."
A sexy, slow song came on over the speakers, the music, along with the effects of the alcohol, making Casey's hips sway. "You seem to know the Piki Tiki very well. Are you a regular?"
"Yes, I am."
"Sounds to me like a man who doesn't like going home to an empty apartment." She raised her brows, challenging him to disagree.
His eyes narrowed for a moment. He shook his head and, before she could protest, he crushed her to him. "Shut up, Cramer, and dance."
A little dizzy by the sudden movement, Casey didn't fight his hold on her hips, or the way her breasts smashed against his chest. The numbing effect of the drink had changed to more of an accelerant to a lit match. Heat burned through her veins, headed south to her loins. Casey's fingers curled into Rip's shirt, and she held on, praying he couldn't feel her burning against him. He'd think she was feeling something for him. Something like lust, when that was the furthest thing from her mind.
Holy hell. Lust might be the furthest from her mind, but it was top on her body's list. This man, whose hardened shaft pressed into her belly, had her wound up tighter than a rattlesnake sporting a new button on his tail.
"Relax," he whispered into her ear. "It's just a dance."
Easy for him to say. He could have any girl he wanted to slake his desires. Casey only had her fiancé, who was her best friend growing up. And she hadn't slept with him for months-well before her two dates with her hot nemesis.
Since she'd gone out with Rip, she hadn't wanted to have sex with anyone else. Not that she'd had sex with Rip. But boy, she'd wanted to-up until the "Dodi incident." Ah, hell, who was she kidding? She'd wanted to have sex with Rip from the day he'd entered the station. No amount of reasoning had managed to squelch that desire. Even when he was being his most obnoxious.
What was wrong with her?
Casey sank deeper into Rip's embrace, her body melting in the face of his heat.
Thank God, she had BOB, her battery-powered boyfriend, for emergencies.
Tonight promised to be an emergency of epic proportions at the rate her body was responding to Rip's.
She couldn't let him get to her. Besides, she was engaged. Rip was a notorious womanizer. Not a man she could see herself with for the long haul. Definitely not for her. So what was she worried about? It wasn't like anything could happen on a dance floor in the middle of a crowded bar.
Casey didn't have to force her muscles to loosen up. They did it as if on their own. Soon, she swayed in rhythm to Rip's movements, her body feeling in sync with his. She could do this without making a complete fool of herself. She just had to think about Ferrence and their future together.