You Own My Heart (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 4)

Honey wiped a few glasses and put them away. She grabbed his empty and set it on the tray and then leaned on the bar. “What happened?” She was curious. People fascinated her. She’d spent her entire life studying people. Interactions. Reactions. One of the realities of being on her own a lot as a young child. She looked to others to fill the void.

“She cheated on me with my boss.”

“Your boss? That’s low.” Movement caught her eye, and Honey straightened when she spied Nash Booker making his way over. He stopped to chat with the guys in the band, and a quick glance around the bar told her all the ladies were turned in his direction. She couldn’t blame them. She might not like Nash Booker all that much—most days, he rubbed her the wrong way—but he was one hell of a specimen. He definitely had an edge.

The man was tall with broad shoulders, and every single pair of jeans he owned cupped his ass like an old friend. He had thick dark hair, intense eyes that were set perfectly among his masculine features. He wasn’t a pretty boy, but those lips of his… They deserved more than a second glance. His wardrobe consisted of black or white T-shirts and plaid button-ups. He favored Doc Martins and leather. He was 100% male and about as far from vanilla as Glen here was from landing a date with Honey.

The guy was trouble, but trouble was something Honey could handle. She just didn’t want to handle his kind of trouble. The kind that would kick a girl in the ass if she wasn’t careful. She worked for the guy. No way was she going there.

Not that he’d tried anything. She bit her bottom lip and absently ran the cloth along the bar. Was it weird that he hadn’t?

Nash glanced up suddenly, and her breath quickened. She didn’t need a mirror to know her cheeks were flushed. Jesus. She needed to get laid. Honey turned back to Glen and considered asking the man up to her room. But dismissed it almost immediately. Aside from the fact she was pretty sure the sex would be bad since you needed chemistry to come close to orgasm, she would hurt him. And he was so goddamn nice.

“Where are you from?”

God. Really? They were going to do this? “You can’t tell from my twang?”

Glen’s smile widened. “Well, I know you’re from the South, but where exactly?”

“Everywhere,” she replied, already done and bored with this conversation. She wasn’t usually so curt, but she was tired and didn’t feel like faking it anymore. She glanced at her watch. “We’re closing soon, Glen. You best drink up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Honey smiled. Poor Glen might be a tad too enthusiastic, but there was something about him that tugged at her heartstrings. Maybe it was because he reminded her of herself—the good part of her, anyway. Always on the outside looking in. Always searching for something and never finding it.

Which was why she’d come to Crystal Lake in the first place.

Nash swung behind the bar and disappeared down the small hall that led to his office. He’d been all over the place tonight because they were short-staffed. Tiny was sick, and they’d only had one server on the floor. He’d helped in the kitchen and behind the bar when it had gotten busy. Then he’d done what he did best--he’d chatted up the customers and charmed the hell out of all of them. It was one of the reasons they kept coming back. The guys liked him, and the women liked him more.

Honey’s cell phone vibrated, and she scooped it out of her back pocket, frowning when she saw the name of the caller. Her finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds, and then she hit Decline, worrying her bottom lip and wondering if she should have just answered. She knew her cell would ring later, just like she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable. Simone was relentless that way. She wasn’t keen on Honey being in Crystal Lake and had

been pretty vocal about it.

“Who was that?”

Shit. Honey nearly jumped out of her boots. She looked at Nash and cleared her throat. “Wrong number.”

The look he gave her spoke volumes—no way did he believe her—but at least he didn’t call her on it.

“Glen, buddy. Do you want me to call a cab?” Nash leaned against the bar, invading her space. She arched a brow and pointedly waited for him to move. But he didn’t take the bait, and she was stuck inhaling his scent, which, by the way, was as intriguing as the rest of him. Why the hell did he have to smell so damn good?

“I already got one coming, Book.”

Nash slapped Glen on the shoulder. “Good. You got plans for the holidays?”

Glen shrugged. “Dinner with family. Football. The usual. What about you?”

“Sounds about right. Ma will be cooking up a storm for sure.”

Honey was still eyeing up Nash, waiting for him to move, so she was startled when Glen touched her arm. “What about you, Honey? What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

She swung her gaze to Glen and shrugged. “Same,” she replied, avoiding Nash’s gaze because she’d learned early on that his bullshit meter was bang on. And right now, she’d just served up one hell of a plate of bull.

“So you’re headed south?”

Time to nip this in the bud. “I’m headed somewhere.” God, she hated lying. She felt like she was five years old again, standing in the front of Miss McDougal’s class and telling anyone who would listen that Santa Claus was her daddy.

“Damn, Book. Honey has got to be the most mysterious female in Crystal Lake.”

“Think so, Glen?”