1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kieran registered the man sitting down at his bar before he even got a good look at him.

"Just a sec," he called out to the guy who'd wandered into the Pirate's Booty and he'd spotted out of the corner of his eye.

"No rush," a pleasant, amused voice responded. Kieran liked the sound of the voice before he ever saw the man, but even the feeling of him was a good one. Like fireflies on a hot summer night or condensation from a cold beer dripping onto his hand as he took a long sip.

Kieran finished stacking the last of the clean glasses from the washer onto the counter behind the bar and turned.

He'd owned the Pirate's Booty before it had ever been the Pirate's Booty. The day he'd bought it, it had been Dan's Bar—such a bland and unimaginative name—but between his bartending job before and purchasing this bar, he'd served probably millions of people.

Every single one of them coalesced into one feeling in his mind. The inevitable tug and subsequent certainty he always felt when faced with someone on the other side of his bar: the knowledge of what they should be drinking.

Not what they wanted to drink. Or what they ordered to drink.

But deep down, what they should be drinking.

For the first time, that gut instinct was missing. He did not know what this man should be drinking.

He looked inside, and that certainty was still gone. The blankness was weird. Unsettling, actually.

The man opposite him smiled. Like absolutely nothing was wrong.

Kieran tried to follow suit. Wasn't sure his smile was nearly as nice.

Because the smile was nice. Broad and crinkled his eyes at the corners. Nice eyes, too, a dark, deep brown. Almost the exact same color of the shiny wood bar between them.

Those eyes should have set Kieran at ease. But they didn't.

"What can I get you?" The words were rote, almost a rut worn down the middle of him, comfortable and familiar.

Almost every time, someone gave him a drink order, and depending on who it was, he'd either keep that knowledge to himself, or he'd tell them, bluntly, what they should be having instead.

"Ah, just a beer, I guess. New in town. Not sure what's good." The man offered him another one of those very nice smiles.

"New in town, huh?" Kieran grabbed a chilled glass from the cooler and in a few expert movements poured him a beer from the tap—a tangerine wheat from a local brewery that he liked especially.

Even if he didn't know what this guy was supposed to be drinking, he might as well give him something good. Something cool and refreshing on a hot day.

And it had been a hot one, even for late April.

Kieran set the glass in front of him.

"Yeah," he said. Then shot him a bit of a disbelieving look. Like he couldn't quite believe Kieran didn't know who he was. Not in a smug, egotistical way, but in a thank God, he didn't recognize me kind of way.

Kieran had been intrigued before—nobody had ever not pinged his superpower like this—but now he was more than a little fascinated.

Kieran looked closer. The guy was young. Maybe just over thirty. And attractive. He rarely noticed that in his patrons anymore because he wasn't the kind of bartender who liked to serve booze to people and then pick them up.

Which had honestly led to a very long dating drought and a very intimate relationship with his right hand.

And then it hit him.

Of course he knew this guy.

He'd seen him on ESPN just earlier today, sitting as comfortably in front of a whole wall of reporters as he was now, in Kieran's bar.

"You're the new Condors coach," Kieran said.

"Guilty as charged. Jonathan Kelley." He extended a hand and they shook, Jonathan looking almost chagrined that Kieran had recognized him. "Guess I won't be living under the radar much longer."

"Kieran McDonald. I own this bar. And no, but Charleston's a pretty chill town. We're probably not going to hound you to death."

"Probably," he said with a quirk of his lips.

Kieran shrugged. "We do love our football here. And, before the last couple of years, our Condors."

"Gonna be some big changes." Jonathan nodded, like he knew there would be. Like he was going to make sure of it.

But Grant Green, the new Condors owner, had already been around town, making a lot of promises after buying the team, the newest change which was hiring the guy in front of him, so it wasn't going to be entirely up to Jonathan here—but changing the culture was going to be a big part of his new job.

"It's time," Kieran agreed. He leaned forward on the bar. "So, what dragged you in here? I'd have thought you'd be doing something a lot more important than hanging out at the Pirate's Booty." It was still early, and the bar was pretty empty, not surprisingly considering it wasn't quite five yet on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Saw the name, had to check it out—plus I heard some of my guys talking about it, when I met with them. You might know them? Deacon Harris? Jem Knight? Beckett West?"

Kieran nodded. "Yep, I definitely do. Good guys." He said it because that hadn't been universally true for all the players on the Condors. But he'd vouch for Deacon, Jem, and Beck all day long. Even Carter wasn't ridiculous.

"They were saying this was the place to come, and that a lot of the team hangs out here. That you're the owner."

Kieran nodded.

"They ever get into any trouble?" Jonathan asked.

Kieran considered the question. He had a feeling he knew why Jonathan was asking.

"Your diva wide receiver, Carter Maxwell? He makes his presence known, and does his best to pick up everyone in my bar, but other than that, no. They're good guys, like I said."

"That's the vibe I got from them, too," Jonathan agreed. He took a long sip of his beer. "So you gotta tell me, how'd you come up with this whole . . ." He waved around Kieran's bar. The fake pirate propped up in the corner with the semi-molting stuffed parrot on his shoulder. The palm trees. The climbing hibiscus vines up all the exposed brick walls, giving the bar a vaguely tropical vibe.

"The theme?" Kieran questioned.

Jonathan laughed. "Yeah. It's a lot. It's fun, though."

"We also host theme nights. Surprisingly our most popular is Disco Night."

"Really? That's cool."

Kieran grinned back. He didn't know why he got such a good vibe off this guy but he did. It felt a bit like his drink superpower, but it was more than that. Stronger . Like an arrow that kept pointing unerringly in Jonathan's direction.

He didn't know if the guy was gay. Didn't know if he even liked men. And God knew, the worst person for the arrow to be pointing to would be an NFL coach.

And yet, it kept pointing, anyway.

Well, it could point all it wanted, because Kieran wasn't going to do anything about it.

"You should join us," Kieran said. "You haven't really experienced the Pirate's Booty at its best unless you see it with some neon lights flashing and the Bee Gees playing."

"Gonna be a busy year," Jonathan said, wincing as he offered his excuse.

"I bet." Kieran told himself he wasn't disappointed—but he was, kinda.

Like something had ended before it had even begun.

"Though . . ." Jonathan paused and pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it on the bar. "If you'd be willing, I'd love to exchange numbers."

It was the last thing Kieran had expected him to say. To make an overture this quickly? Kieran knew he wasn't painful to look at. Maybe he had his dry spell, but it was out of choice, not because of a lack of offers. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

"Not for . . ." Jonathan laughed nervously. "Not like that. Not that you're not . . .you know. But I'm not into guys like that. Just because my players come here, and if anything happens, I'd rather be your first call, not the cops."

"There's really not anything I worry about."

"Yeah, with the guys you know already, but there's gonna be a lot of new players this year. Ones I don't know."

"Sure. I get it." Kieran shrugged. He'd kind of hoped for more than just please call me if shit goes down but it helped to know it wasn't going to happen. Easier to put Jonathan into the friendly acquaintance zone instead of the want him even though I shouldn't have him zone.

He recited his number, which Jonathan typed in, and then Kieran felt his own phone buzz with the message Jonathan sent.

"Thanks for the beer, man," he said, giving him another one of those smiles. The ones that warmed Kieran up from the inside out.

The ones that made him wish things were different.

"You're welcome."

Jonathan pulled out his wallet, but Kieran shook his head. "Beer's on the house. As a welcome to Charleston." He grinned. "And hopefully an enticement to come back."

"Thanks again," Jonathan said. He slid off the barstool and gave Kieran a little wave as he walked out the door.