Hold on Tight (Man of the Month 2)

He chuckled, then walked her back into the main bar area. A few stragglers remained after lunch, but the place had mostly cleared out.

She'd been intending to go home and work, but right now, this felt as safe a place as any. And, more practically, she wanted to soak up more of the vibe.

The Fix had a comfortable local bar feel to it. Rough wood walls with neon signs advertising beers and a few Texas license plates nailed to the walls. A vibrant mural spelling out AUSTIN filled the main wall of a front alcove near the beginning of the long oak bar that ran the length of the main room.

A stage near a corner of windows drew focus, but that performance space wasn't the heart of the establishment. On the contrary, The Fix was a bar with many hearts, which, Brooke decided, was one of the reasons it had such a varied clientele.

Folks came to The Fix for the amazing food, the incredible drinks, and the camaraderie. And whether the customers consisted of lawyers or students or construction workers, they all fit in, gathering in the various areas that management had set up. High-and low-tops filled the open area surrounding the stage. Comfortable bar stools lined the bar, giving the patrons a view of an amazing collection of liquors. A few small tables filled the alcove with the mural, and a long wooden bench ran in front of the window, so that patrons could pay attention to what was going on both inside and outside the club.

Further back, there was a second, smaller seating area. It boasted a full-service bar and tables as well. It even had a small stage that would accommodate a solo singer or musician. All in all, the place was about as perfect as a local bar could be, and the fact that it was in financial trouble only proved to Brooke that the locals were getting drawn to some of the corporate chain bars that had popped up like pimples lately for all the wrong reasons. Like dollar drinks that were watered down, flavorless, and utterly uninspired.

If her show could help bump up The Fix's cache in town, then she'd feel like not only had she accomplished something for her own business, but she'd done her good deed for the year.

"Hey, Brooke."

She glanced up to see Cameron, one of the bartenders she'd been introduced to recently, grinning at her.

"Huh?" She realized she'd been staring at the menu, completely zoning out. "Oh. Sorry. Thinking."

His smile widened, and she couldn't help but smile back. He was ridiculously good-looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, and he had some of the nicest eyes she'd ever seen. Someone, probably Jenna, had told her that he was in graduate school, though she had no idea what he was studying. But she assumed he studied hard. In only the short time that she'd been coming to The Fix, she'd seen at least a dozen girls hit on him, and as far as she could tell, he'd never taken the bait. She considered that he might be gay, but she'd also seen him hit on by guys, and as far as she could tell, nothing had happened there, either.

"I promise I'm not rushing you," Cam said. "We don't start charging rent for the stool until after you've sat for at least three days."

She laughed. "Good to know. And I'm ready. Just iced tea. And maybe some Boom Boom Shrimp to snack on. Too early to drink. I'll be under the table by tonight if I start now."

Then again, if Spence was going to make his demands on her tonight, maybe starting now would be a good idea. But no, sober was good. Sober was smart.

But what did he have planned?

For that matter, could she really handle this?

Determined, she clenched her hands at her sides, fighting a wave of nausea. This was Spencer, dammit. And she was making a choice. He wasn't taking; she was giving.

Giving, giving, giving.

No matter if the rat bastard believed otherwise.

Fuck.

Honestly, maybe she should get out of there. Go for a run. Do anything except think about tonight or tomorrow or whenever he intended to pounce.

Except then he'd have won, wouldn't he? Because he'd have kept her from doing her job. And it wasn't just her business that was depending on her. It was Tyree and Jenna and Cameron and everyone in this bar.

So fuck Spencer and his head games. Brooke Hamlin was getting to work.

She pulled out her notebook, intending to jot down a few thoughts, but ended up watching the folks in the bar instead, many of whom she'd seen before, and all of them looked at home. Something to keep in mind as she was remodeling. This was their place. She had to keep it familiar or risk ruining their experience.

At the end of the bar, a twenty-something man sat hunched over a notebook, his face hidden by the hood of an over-sized jacket. A woman with dark hair cut into a pixie style peered over his shoulder, talking and pointing at whatever was on those pages. After a moment, the guy nodded, and the girl hurried down the bar toward Brooke.

Her hair wasn't the only thing pixie-ish about her. She had high cheekbones, delicate features, and the prettiest green eyes that Brooke had ever seen. She climbed gracefully onto the stool next to Brooke, then turned her attention to Cam. "Hey, stranger," she said, and Brooke noticed that his ears went pink.

Brooke forced herself not to smile at that interesting development.

"Have you talked to Dickbreathe lately?"

Cam cocked his head, his usual self-possession returning. "You know, he's just going by Darryl these days. I figured you'd know that, what with being his sister and all."

"He hasn't paid me back for his half of Mom's birthday present. Until he does, he's Dickbreathe to me." She started to turn to Brooke, then obviously remembered something. "Oh! I forgot. Loser or not, I'm still throwing him a surprise birthday party when he comes home at the end of the semester. You'll come, right? My apartment. I mean, you have to be there."