by Alisha Rai
“They did.” He took a sip, then another one. “It’s good. I can’t drink much, but it’s good.”
“Alcohol still gives you a bad reaction, huh?” For all that she loved bartending, Sadia wasn’t much of a drinker. Jackson wasn’t either. He’d never managed to have more than a couple of beers without getting sick.
“Very much so.” He drummed his fingers on the table and it was then that she noted the strain around his mouth. Libido temporarily dampened, she leaned against the table, concern filling her. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, his eyes shifting. “Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“You know me so well?”
“I do.” As she said the words, she felt that kick of relief, of connection at knowing someone so well. This was one thing she couldn’t get from her bar conquests, this familiarity.
He pulled off his baseball cap and placed it on the table, raking his hand through the short strands. “I saw John today.”
“Oh.”
He twisted the glass around. “You didn’t look in that bag he gave you, right?”
“No. He told me not to.”
He took another sip of his drink. “You’re a woman of your word.”
“I was honestly busy.”
“It was only my grandfather’s journal.”
She’d seen Sam’s journal before. She didn’t think having it would wind Jackson up like this. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Before he could answer, she got hailed by her fellow bartender. She raised her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
After he’d left John’s house, Jackson had dropped Paul’s letter and his grandfather’s journal off in his apartment and then driven around aimlessly for a while, trying to sort the chaos in his brain. He finally found himself pulling into O’Killian’s. He told himself it was because he wanted a drink, but truth be told, he wasn’t much of a drinker.
No, he wanted to see Sadia. That was it.
He assumed he’d sit in a corner booth, order a ginger ale, and sneak glances at her, the same as he had before she’d spotted him a week ago. Oddly enough, it wasn’t that satisfying this time around. Maybe it was because he’d realized how good it felt to do more than watch her. To be with her again. Touch her.
Kiss her.
He watched her walk away. She was poured into a skintight black shirt and pants that cradled every curve of her body.
A plain cotton T-shirt shouldn’t be so sexy, but she’d ripped the collar and the ragged hem of her V-neck pointed straight down to the shadowy valley between her breasts. He wanted to push the fabric aside and lick the mound, down the valley. He wanted to know what color bra she had on today. Was it lace? Cotton? Satin? Red?
His gaze dropped to her ass, but someone blocked his view and he had to bite back a sound like a wounded bear.
Did he want to talk about John? No, not really. He felt off-kilter and jacked up, filled with a buzzing anxious energy. But the thought of talking made him want to claw at his eyes.
He took another sip of his drink. It was loud in the place, and he felt anonymous, the same way he did whenever he was in some big foreign city. No one here was looking at him. He was free to watch Sadia and the ease with which she interacted with the patrons.
I started bartending downtown today as a way to pick up some extra cash. Paul said I should be a waitress at the café if I wanted to work in service so badly, but I can’t imagine working and living together. I mean, I love the guy, but I’d kill him.
Besides, I like bartending so far! My boss said I’m good at it, and it’s kind of like chemistry or cooking, but I’m better at it than I was at either of those things. Plus, I get to meet all sorts of interesting people.
Jackson studied his drink. She’d talked about O’Killian’s a lot after that, until Kareem was born, and she’d stopped. He’d assumed that meant she’d decided to stay at home with him instead of continuing.
She was good at this. Not only at the mixing drinks, but at smiling and talking with each guest like she cared. He’d worked with enough bartenders to know that the successful ones were genuinely interested in people.
He didn’t realize he’d finished the drink until he was frowning at the empty glass. He was about to ask Sadia for another one, but someone clapped him on the shoulder, making him jump.
He swiveled his head, and came face to face with a couple of guys he vaguely recognized from high school. They were blond and handsome enough, in the preppy, posh way a lot of people he’d grown up with had been.
Most kids had fallen into two camps. They’d either recognized the Kane’s wealth and power and cozied up to the family, or they’d hated them for it. Even the ones in the first camp had mostly ignored or mocked Jackson, though. He’d been far too weird for them.
“Holy shit,” one of them said. “Jackson? I thought it was you, but Eric couldn’t believe it.” The man beamed. “It’s me, Zach.”
He stared at them blankly, hoping they would take it as a clue that he truly didn’t want to talk. His fingers twitched next to his baseball cap, but it was too late for disguises now.
At his continued silence, Zach’s smile disappeared. “Slumming it tonight like us, huh?”
Jackson glanced around the bar. It wasn’t the nicest place, but they were exaggerating. “It’s not a slum.”
Eric leaned against the table. Jackson had always disliked him more. “Well, not for you, I suppose.”
Ah yes. Jackson hadn’t stuck around to watch but the other moderately wealthy people in town had surely seen the fall of the Oka-Kane’s fortunes with barely concealed glee. Tani had never socialized much but how had Paul stood it?
Don’t think about Paul.
Anyway, Jackson was certain he had more money in his bank account than either of these fools, but he also had nothing to prove.
Zach cleared his throat. “Your sister-in-law works here, right? Man, your brother was lucky. She’s hot.”
Eric nudged Zach. “We should go say hi.”
A flash of anger ran through him at these men so much as thinking about Sadia. “Or you could not.”
Zach’s eyes flashed, like he scented blood in the water. Sharks, yes. Cold-blooded, waiting for their chance. “Now, now. We just wanted to come over and say hi. No need to take any offense, jailbird.”
Before he could answer, a shadow fell over all of them. “Now that you’ve said hi, you can head on out, boys. I’m about to have a drink with my friend here.”
A muscular man with dark auburn hair and a matching beard nudged them aside and slid into the other side of the booth, placing a half-finished beer on the table. He was dressed casually, in a flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He gave them all a big smile, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling.
“Well, well,” Zach said snidely. “If it isn’t the charity case, here to save the weirdo. Feels like high school all over again.”
Gabriel Hunter’s smile grew bigger, and Jackson wondered if the two idiots standing next to the table could sense the edge of menace in the friendly expression. Gabe had been their housekeeper’s son, but he’d attended school with them, had been a year ahead of Paul and Nicholas.
Gabe cocked his head. “If it was high school again, I’d be kicking your ass outside, Zachary.”
Jackson had had enough. There was a reason he’d never gotten along with many men—these absurd power plays were too foolish. He straightened to his full height and stopped hunching. Even sitting, he was easily bigger than Zach. And Eric. Combined. “The weirdo doesn’t need defending,” he said flatly. “You two should head on out of here, since you’re so tired of slumming it.” And never ever talk to Sadia.
Eric opened his mouth, but Zach took measure of him, and hustled his friend away.
He and Gabe were left alone. Jackson half-expected Gabe to get up and leave, but the man leaned back against the padded seat, his grin turning genuine. “Jackson, son of a bitch. Jesus, look at you. You’re the
spitting image of your brother.”
Jackson barely refrained from cringing. He and Paul had used to joke about that. His brother would grab him in a headlock. Just ’cause we’re the same height and color everyone thinks you and I are twins.
Especially that witness, outside the C&O that night. He’d definitely mistaken the two of them.
“How are you doing?”
“Good, thanks.” He was genuinely happy to see Gabe, but he’d give anything to get out of this conversation. Small talk. Kill him. “You?”
“Fantastic.” Gabe hooked his thumb over his shoulder at a table. “I’m waiting for my sister, she’s visiting. She made an app. Lives in San Fran now.”
“That’s great.” Jackson wrapped his hand around the empty glass. “And your mother? How’s she?”
Fondness softened Gabe’s face. Mrs. Hunter had been their housekeeper from before Jackson was born. She’d been a kind, no-nonsense woman who had run their large household with brutal efficiency. “Good. Travels a lot, likes to see the world. She’s in Chicago right now.”
“Great.” He cast around for something more to say. He and Gabe had grown up together, but the man had been closer in age to Nicholas and Paul, so the three of them had naturally hung out together more. Unlike a lot of people, Gabe had never been snide or frightened of Jackson.
Not quite a friend, because he hadn’t had many of those, but not an enemy either. Gabe had been in California when Robert had died, but he’d flown back for the funeral. Jackson had wondered once or twice what had happened to their lifelong housekeeper after Tani had sold their big house and downsized. He was glad things had worked out for her.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” Gabe said.
“Yeah. I heard Livvy’s been working at your place?”
“She’s amazing. People come from all over to get ink from her. A few weeks ago, a guy flew up from D.C.”
His chest inflated with pride. He’d always been proud of Livvy, merely for surviving, but it had been a while since anyone had related her accomplishments to him.
“I guess she’s back together with Nicholas though, huh?” Gabe shook his head. “Man, that stunt he pulled for her. Life works out in weird ways, I guess. Good for them.”
At some point, he might want to know exactly what amazing thing Nicholas had done in order to seduce his sister back into his web. Later, maybe, when and if the man actually proved himself to Jackson. “You still know Nicholas well then?”
Gabe’s smile was bittersweet. “No. I haven’t talked to him in years. I got Paul in that custody battle.”
“There was a custody battle?”
“After what happened? Sure.” Gabe braced his hand on the table. “Lines were drawn. I don’t think Nicholas would have minded, but you know how Paul was. If you were his, you were his alone. Besides, it would have been strange, talking to one without the other. I was one of the few mutuals who didn’t also work for C&O—uh, Chandler’s—so it wasn’t such a hard decision for me.”
He’d forgotten how much Gabe . . . talked. “I see.”
“I’m sorry about Paul’s passing. It’s still hard to believe for me. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”
Jackson spun his empty glass around in a circle. Friends they might have been, but clearly they hadn’t been close enough for Paul to tell Gabe that he never spoke to his little brother. Or why. “Yes.” What was the proper response to an expression of condolence? He’d been too grief-stricken to remember what had happened in the aftermath of his father’s funeral, and no one had consoled him for Paul before. “Thank you.”
Gabe blew out a breath, looking away for a second, thick eyebrows knitted. When he looked back, his smile was sunny. Kind. “So how long are you going to be here for?”
“Not long.”
Gabe cast a glance behind the bar. “You’re hanging out with Sadia?”
There was no judgment in the question, but still Jackson stiffened. “Uh, yes.”
“Good. I’ve tried to stop by and see her every now and again, and she seems wound tight. More family couldn’t hurt.”
Family. Family didn’t think about each other the way he thought about Sadia. They definitely didn’t run their hands all over each other the way he wanted to run his hands all over her. “Right.”
“Are you drinking here alone? Do you want to join me and my sister? She’d love to see you.”
“Uh.” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He shot a look at the bar to find Sadia’s dark eyes on him. They were assessing. He turned back to Gabe. “No, I should . . . uh.” This was why he didn’t talk to people. He never knew how to turn them down or end a conversation without seeming abrupt or rude.
“Gabe, hi.” A feminine voice came from next to him, and suddenly Sadia was there, next to his elbow. She’d taken off her apron.
“Sadia!” Gabe came to his feet and pulled her in for a hug. It was a platonic hug, but seeing the man’s tattooed, muscular arms around the smaller Sadia made Jackson’s stomach clench. “How’s my favorite bartender doing?”
“How many bars do you go to that you have a favorite bartender?” Sadia pulled back.
“Too many. Don’t tell my mama.” Gabe beamed at him. “You know why this place is so busy, right? Word’s got around about Sadia and her famous cocktails.”
Sadia rolled her eyes. “Not famous.”
“She gives the history of every drink she serves. It’s the cutest damn thing.”
Jackson waited for Sadia to blush, but she merely looked tolerantly amused at the heavy-handed flirtation. “I have a few old mixology books. Might as well use them.”
“How’s Kareem?” Gabe gave Jackson a conspiratorial smile. “Isn’t that kid a firecracker?”
Jackson froze, but he didn’t answer because Sadia was speaking. “He’s fine. I’m not, thanks to that annoying drum set you got him.”
Gabe sniffed. “It’s an honorary uncle’s job to spoil his nephew.”
Jackson stiffened further. He was the kid’s real uncle, and he hadn’t spoiled the boy. He could have bought Kareem stuff from all over the world.
He’d thought about it. Sometimes he’d see something pint-sized and be tempted, but he’d always left the store empty-handed.
“Try to spoil him with something quieter next time,” Sadia said dryly, and turned to Jackson. “I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but Jackson, can you give me a hand with a box in the back?”
Jackson nodded eagerly. He never turned down a socially acceptable exit. “Yes. Sure.”
“Nice to see you, Gabe. Give your sister and mother my love,” Sadia said.
“Nice to see you too.” Gabe grinned at Jackson. “If you ever want to grab a drink while you’re in town, I’d like that.”
There was nothing but sincerity in the other man’s voice. Jackson dipped his head. “Uh, thanks.”
He followed Sadia past the crowded bar and into the back hallway, which also happened to be crowded. She bit her lip, cast a glance over her shoulder, and crooked her finger. “This way.”
He grew confused as she wound around between the people and through the back door. They stepped out of the building, the cool air slapping him in the face. The door to the building clanged closed behind him. “What did you need help with?”
“Nothing. I’m on my break. You looked like you needed one too.” Her hand disappeared into her pocket and she pulled out a cigarette, handing it to him. He accepted it, surprised. “My co-worker smokes. You’ve been wound tight since you walked in and you didn’t exactly look comfortable with Gabe.”
Jackson rolled the cigarette between his fingers, both confused and touched. How had she known? He’d thought he was so subtle. “I quit smoking.” He broke the cigarette in two and stuffed it in his pocket, to toss later.
“Since when?”
Since he’d realized it aggravated her asthma, but he couldn’t tell her that. “I’ve been meaning to quit for a while.”
“Hmm.
” She tucked her fingers into her jean pockets and leaned against the door.
He cautiously braced himself against the brick wall next to her. They stood there in silence for a while, the muted music and conversation carrying out to the alleyway. Slowly, the tension eased from his shoulders. He could shelve worrying about his brother and that letter and John and his mother and Livvy for now.
This was what he had come looking for. No one was as good as Sadia when it came to calming him down. She knew what to say and more importantly, what not to say, how to be silent and give him time to process and think things through. She’d always been able to read him, better than his twin, even.
She stirred. “Gabe’s been good to me, since Paul died. Always stopping by. He and Paul were fairly tight. But I know he can be a bit much.”
“Gabe wants to be my friend.”
“If it helps, Gabe wants to be everyone’s friend. He’s like a puppy. A large, tattooed, flannel-wearing puppy.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t understand wanting to be everyone’s friend at all.”
“It’s an extrovert thing, or so I understand.”
“Anyway, thanks for the assist. I’m not good at ending conversations.”
A faint smile played around her lips. “I remember. You were never really great at starting or continuing them either.”
“He saved me from talking to those other guys though.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was busy with customers or I would have rescued you from them, too. Ugh. What are their names? Eamon? Zeke?”
His mood lightened. “Eric and Zach.”
“Whatever. Most of the bros we went to high school with were all the same.”
“They asked me if I was slumming it.”
She snorted. “Did you tell them that if the place was good enough for the Banksy of restauranteurs it was good enough for them?”
His cheeks heated. A reporter had come up with that name, and he’d immediately hated it. He wasn’t an artist. “You googled me.”
“About five seconds after you told me what you did. You’re a big deal.”
“Nah.”
“You travel the world being a famous chef and a crusader for human rights.”
