Muffin Top

One of her dark eyebrows shot upward, and she gave him one of those looks that he knew meant nothing but the best kind of naked trouble. “I know other parts of me that could use a kiss, too.”

Like every single inch of her? “Can we leave yet?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Not even close.”

“Damn, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Normally, he loved his family and hanging out with them was one of his favorite things. However, tonight he would have pushed them out into the ocean on a raft if that meant a night alone with Lucy.

Yeah. He was pretty damn messed up over her. He’d fallen for her somewhere between Waterbury and Antioch. Hell, he’d fallen for her somewhere between his garage and the end of his driveway. For the first time in his life, he was in love, and all he wanted to do was spend time alone—and hopefully naked, but not was okay, too—with her.

Lucy raised herself on her tiptoes, necessary even in those ridiculously sexy red heels she had on, and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she said before slipping away into the women’s bathroom.

All he could do was stand there like an idiot staring at the closed door she’d gone through. Why? Because he was fucking petrified that he’d fuck it all up—and that’s what made his palms clammy and his gut twist. His entire adult life had been spent protecting people—his family, the people of Waterbury, everyone who crossed his path. What good would he be if he failed to protect the one woman he never ever wanted to hurt?

“On your left,” Shannon called out before walking toward him with a stack of bar towels that there was no way she could see over.

Now that was a situation he could do something about, so he did. He swiped the stack from her arms.

“Here, let me,” he said. “I need to get a couple of beers anyway, so we’re going in the same direction.”

Shannon gave him a look like she didn’t quite believe him, but in the end just strutted down the hall and into the main bar area. Frankie followed, placing the towels on the end of the bar for her.

Marino’s had amazing bartenders and the worst clientele in Waterbury. Why? Because it was filled with cops, and the police department and the fire department had a centuries-deep rivalry. His brother Ford was one of the boys in blue, and Frankie would admit quietly, to himself, in a location where there was no way another human being could overhear him, that not all of the men and women on the force were horrible (that was as far as he could go and keep his firefighter card).

“So,” Shannon said as she pulled two Buds from the tap. “What’s going on with you and Lucy?”

“A lot, I hope.” If he could manage not to fuck it up.

Of course, he had to get Lucy on board with going public with him, too. Now that part grated on his nerves. He knew how other people saw him. Hell, he’d spent years encouraging everyone to see him as just the neighborhood fuck buddy. But with Lucy, he hoped for more. He hoped she’d see him as more than that—she’d see him as a forever kind of guy.

“So, it’s finally happened, huh?” she asked, setting the beers down on the bar. “I always liked her. Plus she tips great.”

“I owe it all to you, really.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that?”

“If we hadn’t had that little chat, what’s going on with me and Lucy wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well it took you long enough and enough women to figure it out.”

“I guess I was slow.”

“Aren’t guys always?”

“Hey, we’re not all idiots.”

“Just you. And hopefully not the new owner.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Marino sold the bar.”

“To who?”

“No one knows. Hopefully not a total asshole.”

Frankie held up his bottle. “Here’s to hoping.”

She clicked his bottle with her glass of water.

“So, it’s finally happened, eh Hartigan?” asked an asshole on the barstool, his mouth twisted into what was probably as close as he got to having a genuine smile. “You ran through all the nice ass in this town and now you’re on to second-tier talent.”

Frankie was going to wear the guy’s face like a glove. “Shut up.”

He straightened to his full height and took a step toward the jackass, his hands curled into fists, but Shannon reached out with the fast reflexes of an experienced bartender and put a hand on Frankie’s forearm.

“He’s drunk and not worth it,” she said.

At the moment, smashing the asshole’s face seemed very worth whatever would happen next. Still, he played it out in his head as if he were about to go into a burning building instead of starting a bar fight. He’d punch this piece of shit, the other cops hanging around the bar would join the fun, and his brothers would come running because of the noise. The whole thing would end with a wrecked bar, the need for serious bail money, and Shannon out of a job for letting the whole thing go down.