Sawyer (Carolina Reapers 2)

I shook my head, pouring another drink. I couldn’t think like that. It only led to trouble I didn’t have time for. But the more time I spent with Sawyer—talking to him on the phone, lying in bed with him when he was home, hanging here at the bar, exploring downtown Charleston, or visiting his mother—it all led me down that dangerous path I tried so hard to stay away from.

Not the danger of my past, but the new fear of my present. Getting used to him being around, being excited for his company, it made me dependent on it. And I knew exactly what it felt like when that dependency ran out. Hell, he traveled to away games more than he was home, and it wasn’t like I could travel with them—I wasn’t a PR rep like Langley or an apprentice like Faith. I was a bartender—an owner—but a proud bartender who had to be here to run a business.

“We’re gonna take off,” Morgan said an hour after our wind-down party had started. “Thanks for letting us play,” she said, tapping the bar. “We’ll set something up in a couple of months, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” I said, raising my glass toward the band as they filed out of the entrance. I downed the rest of the drink and started cleaning up the few glasses I had left. Then I wiped down the bar and checked my cell. No text from Sawyer yet.

I pocketed my cell, cursing myself for being that girl.

Not only had the night been insanely busy, I’d now had three drinks, the warm whiskey doing everything to bring on the exhaustion I’d held at bay for the last few hours. But it didn’t matter because here I was, finding little odds and ends to do around the bar, just waiting for Sawyer to walk through that door.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so starved for a man. And it wasn’t just the sex—even though that alone was world-shattering. The mere thought of his mouth, those lips and tongue that could shatter me in a matter of minutes, made heat pool between my thighs. I always wanted him, but I always wanted to see him more. Talk to him. Make him laugh. Surprise him with my mouth. The shock in his gray eyes was like a drug to me.

Did that mean we really were great friends? Great friends who happened to be electric between the sheets together? Or was there something more? Could there be more if I let go of my own fear—

The entrance door swung open, stopping my chaotic thoughts. The bright smile fell from my lips when I saw Chad walking through the door, not Sawyer.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped but remained behind the bar.

His footsteps were heavy, his body slightly tilted. “You,” he said, his words slurred. “You’re the reason, Echo. For everything. I wanted…” He closed his eyes as he stumbled against a barstool, righting himself by leaning his elbows on the counter. He peeled his eyelids back. “I wanted you. Want you. We used to be so great together.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, grabbing my cell and scrolling through my contacts. I sent a fast text to one of Chad’s friends, letting him know he had ten minutes to collect Chad or I’d call the cops.

“You need some coffee,” I said, turning to put on a fresh pot.

“I need you.”

“No,” I said, my voice firm. The machine behind me started to brew. “You need caffeine and then sleep.” I caught his cloudy gaze. “You and I haven’t been anything in over a year. And we were different people the last year we were together anyway.”

“Don’t say that, Echo!” He slammed his fist on the counter, the sudden outburst causing me to jolt.

“Calm down, or I’ll put your ass on the street where you belong,” I put a lethal edge to my tone.

Strength. I had to show strength, or he’d pounce. He’d always loved it when I played weak in our past, it drove him crazy.

“How you gonna do that, huh? We both know you’re no match for me.”

“I may not be,” I said, then eyed the scythe hanging right above me. “But I’ve practiced with that thing enough to know I could make you piss yourself.” I pointed to the weapon above me.

No, I hadn’t practiced with it, but he didn’t need to know that.

A vibration in my hand—a text from his friend saying he was on his way. Good. At least he’d taken my threat to call the cops seriously. I didn’t want to send Chad to jail merely for the fact that I knew it would cause an escalation in his drop-ins the minute he was released.

“You’re cute when you get tough.”