Chapter 6: Ruth

When Jack doesn't show up this evening at his usual time, I find myself sorely disappointed. I guess he changed his mind about having a drink with me. Honestly, that's fine. The last thing I need is the complication of a man hanging around, getting ideas, or developing expectations. The evening progresses as normal. I only have to kick out two guys for disorderly conduct.

"Where's Jack?" Chrissy asks me around ten, when he still hasn't shown up.

Apparently, everyone knows his name now.

I shrug. "No idea. Keeping track of him is not my job."

I meant it when I told him I don't need a man to buy me a drink. I don't need a man for anything. But when I think back to earlier today, when he practically pressed himself against me in the storage room and kissed me, I realize even though I don't need a man, it might be nice to have one for a change.

I certainly wouldn't kick that man out of my bed.

Still, disappointment gnaws at me all evening, to the point that both Tom and Jess keep asking me if I'm okay.

"I'm fine!" I snap at both of them.

At half past twelve, I announce the last call for drinks. There are only three guys in the place, all heavy drinkers who will stay until one of us kicks them out. Chrissy and Jess have already gone home for the night. Casey finishes sweeping the floors and clocks out. Tom wipes down the bar while I cash out the till.

Just a few minutes before closing time, Tom nudges me with his elbow. "Look who's here."

I watch Jack enter the bar from the rear hallway. He's wearing blue jeans for a change and a white button-down shirt, open at the neck. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing muscular forearms, tanned skin, and partial glimpses of his tattoos. Hello, bad boy.

He looks different. Almost dressed up.

"You came," I say, feeling caught off guard. His smile takes me by surprise.

"I told you I would. We have a date."

"I wouldn't exactly call it a date. It's just one drink."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to." He takes a seat at the center of the bar, not content to hide in the shadows tonight, and nods to Tom. "Evenin', Tom."

Tom returns the nod. "Evenin', Jack." And then Tom turns to me. "You want me to stay, Ruth?"

Of all people, Tom should know I don't need protection. He's seen me throw guys bigger than me out of my bar countless times. "No, Tom. You can go. I'm fine." Actually, I'm better than fine now.

Before I can ask Jack if he wants his usual, a local guy by the name of Lloyd walks up to the bar. Or, more accurately, I should say he staggers up to the bar. "One more for the road, Ruth," he says, slurring his words.

Lloyd lives just two blocks away, but he's so wasted one of us will have to give him a ride home. He's in no shape to walk alone.

"Sorry, pal. The bar's closed. I already announced last call."

"But I didn't hear ya say it," he says with a pout. "Just one more, Ruth, please."

"No, Lloyd. I'm sorry. You've had—"

Lloyd's an aggressive drunk. He lunges across the bar and grabs hold of my shirt. "I said—"

Jack shoots to his feet, but before he jumps in, I grab Lloyd's hand and twist his wrist. With a sharp cry, he lets go of my shirt.

"What the hell, Lloyd!" Tom says, glaring at the drunk man.

"Lloyd, you need to go home and sleep it off," I say as I release his hand.

"I'll take him," Tom offers, scowling as he removes his apron.

One of our regulars, Eugene, raises his hand. "I'll take him," he says. "I pass right by his house on my way home. It's no trouble."

"Thanks, Eugene," I say.

Tom walks Eugene, Lloyd, and everyone else who's still here out the back door. Then he returns to the bar. "You, too," he says to Jack. "We're closing up now. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"It's okay," I say, patting Tom on the shoulder. "I invited Jack to come by for a drink."

My assistant manager frowns. "Are you sure about this, Ruth?" he asks as he stands in the open doorway. He lowers his voice. "I don't like leavin' you here alone with this guy. We know nothing about him."

"If he causes any trouble, I'll shoot him, I promise."

Tom frowns, not appreciating my joke. "Call me if there's any trouble. Or better yet, call the sheriff."

I nudge him toward the back door. "I will. Now stop worrying and go home."

After locking up, I return to the bar, where Jack is seated once more. "Sorry about all that," I say. "Now, where were we? What can I get you?"

He gets off his barstool and walks around to the back side of the bar and shoos me to the other side. "I'm the one buying you a drink, remember? What can I get you?"

When the corner of his lip quirks up in a grin, I decide to let him play bartender. "Okay." I walk around to the other side of the counter and take a seat. "I'll have a Jack and Coke."

"Cute." He grins as he grabs a tall glass from the rack overhead, flips it in the air, and catches it effortlessly. He fills it with ice, grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf behind him, and pours a generous splash. Finally, he fills the glass with Coke and slides it across the counter to me.

I take a sip and nod in approval. "Not bad."

He chuckles. "How hard can it be?" He makes one for himself. "A little whiskey, ice, and Coke. It's not rocket science."

"Yeah, but you got the ratio right. Are you looking for a job? I could use another bartender." That's not entirely true, but suddenly I like the thought of keeping him around a little longer.

I must have caught him off guard.

He smiles. "Seriously? You'd offer me a job?"

"Sure. Why not? You seem like a capable guy."

He smiles, but it quickly fades. "I appreciate the offer, Ruth. I really do. But I'm leaving town in the morning."

"I see." I shrug, determined not to let him see my disappointment. He's the first one to pique my interest in a long time. "Suit yourself."

He holds his glass out to me. "A toast to what might have been." There's a flash of heat in his dark eyes.

I tap my glass against his. "I'll drink to that." I take a good long sip of my cold drink, hoping it will cool me off in the process.

We end up staring at each other, and the undercurrent running between us is palpable. I realize I don't want him to go. And the intensity in his expression leads me to think he doesn't want to go either.

Jack sets his glass down and walks around the bar. He swivels my seat so I'm facing him, and then he nudges my knees apart and steps between them. Immediately, my body tightens. Heat rushes through me, and my pussy clenches hard. Why in the world do things start to get good just as he's leaving?

I meet his gaze, which is dark and heated and hungry.

He cups the back of my head. "God, I wish I didn't have to go."

I step out on a ledge. "Then don't."

"I have to." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "There's so much—" He stops mid-sentence and changes gears. "I'd really like to kiss you, Ruth."

His question hangs in the air between us.

Figuring I have nothing to lose, I lay my palms on his chest. "Who's stopping you?"

He winces. "The problem is, if I start kissing you, then I won't want to stop."

My breath catches in my chest, and heat pools between my legs. My breasts are aching, and he hasn't even touched me, not really. My body is hungry for something it hasn't had in a very long time. "Again, who's stopping you?"

"I'm leaving," he reminds me. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"I know. I heard you." I slide my hands down his torso and around to grasp his ass and pull him closer, flush against my body. His hips are cradled between my open legs, his erection pressing against my heated core.

"You can stay a few more hours, right?" I'm not against a one-night stand. In fact, it's probably better this way. I don't need the complication of a man in my life. I've got everything I need, everything I want. Except for this. I want him. Right now.

"Where?" he asks.

"I have an apartment upstairs."

His eyes widen. "You're serious."

"I am."

He reaches for his drink and takes a big swig. "Lead the way."