2. Charlie

2

CHARLIE

“ C heers!”

The baby-faced Spiderman with a red cape hanging loose over one shoulder holds up his shot glass, and I clink it with mine.

The tequila burns on the way down and I follow it up with a slice of lemon, wincing at the bitterness on my tongue.

“Another one!” shouts Spiderman, but I shake my head.

“I got tables to clear.”

One shot on the afternoon shift is enough for me. Besides, I don’t want to encourage the drunk men at the bachelor party. There’s a fine line between being friendly and being flirty.

A leotard clad arm shoots out and lands on my forearm.

“Have another, Caroline.”

He’s starting to slur, and I don’t correct him that he got my name wrong. Instead, I pointedly lift his hand off my arm.

“No, thank you.”

My glance goes to the doorway, but Quentin isn’t out of the meeting yet. If he saw one of these guys touching me, he’d flip.

He’s been watching me like a hawk and he’ll never admit it, but it’s obvious Dad asked him to look out for me while he’s away. And Quentin is a man who takes his duties seriously. Far too seriously.

I thought he was going to blow a gasket when I turned up in a short skirt the other day. Talk about an overreaction. He refused to let me work until I changed. Like I’m a sixteen-year-old going on a first date and not a twenty-two-year-old woman who can wear whatever the hell she wants.

I step away from the men at the bar and grab an empty drinks tray.

Davis raises his eyebrows at me.

“No more tequila.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Are you telling me what to do now too?”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t dare, but Barrels will kick my ass if he knows I let you have that shot.”

Davis is only a few years older than me, and nowhere near as intimidating as my father or his best friend, who still runs this place like he’s the staff sergeant he was in the military.

“There are a lot of men around here who think they can tell me what to do.”

A rebellious fire sparks inside me. Now Davis, who I consider a friend, is keeping an eye on me because Quentin asked him to, because Dad asked Quentin to. It makes me want to do something they’ll all disapprove of just to get them to back off.

I spin around and head back to the other side of the bar.

Spiderman grins when I sidle up next to him.

“I will have another shot.”

“That’s my girl!” he crows. “Another round of shots, boys!”

There’s a cheer from the group of men, and Davis scowls at me.

I smile at him sweetly, and his scowl deepens. I’ve just brought in another round of tequila shots, so I’m good for business.

At that moment Quentin strides in, and I try not to notice the way the hairs on the back of my neck bristle as his gaze scans the crowd and rests on me.

He holds my gaze for an intense beat. That one tequila shot must have affected me more than I know, because my breathing gets shallow and my pulse quickens.

Then he frowns and strides across the room, pushing between men until he reaches me.

“You okay?” He scans my face, and the concern in his eyes surprises me.

I give him a bright smile. “Just hanging out with the customers.”

The scowl returns, and he glances at the men surrounding me.

“Not anymore. Your shift’s finished.”

My mouth drops open. He thinks I can’t handle myself among a group of customers. But these men, while drunk, have been nothing but respectful.

“We were just about to get another round of tequila,” Spiderman cuts in.

I wince, because it’s the wrong thing to say.

Quentin fixes him with a steely staff sergeant stare. “No more shots.”

Spiderman screws up his face and is about to complain when a less drunk friend pulls him back by the elbow. This man’s dressed in a top hat and looks older than the others. Someone’s older brother maybe, and the sensible one of the group.

He gives a curt nod to Quentin. “I’ll get these guys out of your hair.”

“I appreciate that.”

Top hat pulls the men away from the bar, and I’m impressed that Quentin manages to clear a bachelor party just with his mere presence.

He’s an imposing man, not as tall as some of the other guys here, but he’s stocky. Thick shoulders and a body like a barrel, which is half the reason he got his road name, Barrels. It’s also appropriate for the man who runs the brewery.

But I prefer to call him sergeant. With his tight-fitting khaki t-shirt, close cropped hair, and smoothly shaved chin, he looks like he never left the military. The rumor is he would have gone all the way to Sergeant Major if he’d stayed in. I can believe it with his permanent scowl and set ways.

Within moments the men are shuffling out the door, trailing pieces of fancy dress with them. All that’s left are empty glasses and hardly touched food platters.

“How do you do that? Clear all the fun out of a bar so quickly?”

A ghost of a smile teases Quentin’s lips. “Military training.”

I start loading glasses onto a drinks tray, and Quentin helps with the clean-up.

“You don’t need to work tonight, Charlotte.”

He’s the only person who calls me by my full name, and his deep rumbling voice sends a shiver down my spine. It’s probably some military protocol thing.

I dump the last of the glasses on the bar where Davis is loading them into the dishwasher. “I’m fine. I’ll get this cleared up and grab some food before the evening shift.”

He shakes his head. “Travis is covering your shift.”

I lean on the bar, wondering what this is all about. You can never be sure what’s happening in this place. The club works together, and everyone generally has their assigned jobs in the restaurant, with the bike mechanics, or in the brewery. But if you’re in the club, you’re expected to help out where needed. I like that. It’s like one big community.

“You’re coming with me to the Phoenix Beer Festival.”

I gape at him. “Are you serious?”

The festival’s all the way across the country. Hazel and Marcus have been planning it for weeks.

“Hazel’s sick, and Marcus won’t leave her. Half my men have sick kids or wives. You and me are all there is.”

“But…”

I want to protest just to be contrary, but it’s been a while since I was on the open road, and I miss it. It will be nice to do something different for a few days even if it is with the uptight sergeant.

I shrug. “Okay.”

He smiles, showing tiny crease lines by his eyes that give him a softer look.

“Good. Go home and pack your bags. We’re going on a road trip.”