Serving Trouble (Second Shot 1)

“I don’t care.” He headed for the row of four metal lockers by the desk. He opened the first door and withdrew a black T-­shirt. “My dad kept a bunch of the old Big Buck Country Bar T-­shirts.”

“I don’t need a shirt.”

He turned and found her standing within arm’s reach. The wet fabric clung to her chest, leaving the dress in the not-­suitable-­for-­work column. Beer, vodka, tonic—­he didn’t give a damn what was spilled down her front. He wanted to lick her clean.

“Take the shirt,” he said and he held it out to her. “Then you’re free to go. I’ll collect your pay from the register. All cash for the night.”

“What about tomorrow night?” she demanded, taking the shirt from him. But she didn’t move to put it on.

He hesitated. Part of him wanted her here, where he could watch over her, save her from anything and everything—­including himself.

“I need this job, Noah,” she added.

“You could find something else—­”

“Because I spilled a few drinks?” Her voice was low and incredulous. “On my first night?”

Because I want you. Because I can’t touch you if you work here. Because—­

“Or because I took a minute to calm down so I wouldn’t pour a shot of whiskey over my ex’s head?” she demanded.

Noah let out a low laugh as the rush of adrenaline faded along with his need to save her. But his desire? It didn’t budge. “If Travis comes back, you have my permission to pour a bottle over him.”

“Does that mean I can keep the job? Because you promised to help me,” she said. “Five years ago—­”

“Sweetheart, I’m not that guy anymore.” He looked her straight in the eye, daring her to look back and see him. Sure, he’d rushed to her rescue tonight. Twice. But he still wanted her. She should be off-­limits, but the part of him that had come back from serving his country broken and jaded just didn’t care.

“I don’t need a hero,” she shot back. “What I need is a friend willing to give me a job. I need the money.”

“Maybe I can give you a loan,” he said. Dammit, what was it about this woman that sent him spiraling into old habits, determined to look out for her?

Seeing all that determination to fight for what she needed—­he remembered the teenager in the alley struggling against someone so much bigger. And he knew, he fucking knew, that fear lay on the other side of her resolve to fight. If her determination broke, the fear would surface. He might be an ass, but he couldn’t walk away from Josie knowing she was afraid.

“No, it’s too much,” she said.

“How much do you owe, Josie?”

“Seventy thousand dollars,” she said simply.

“What the—­?” His eyes widened and he stepped back. “You planned to make that here?”

“I have a payment plan,” she said. “Which is why I need a job.”

And yeah, she was spelling it out for him as if he were a child. But how the hell had she saddled herself with so much debt?

“I thought you had a scholarship,” he said.

“I don’t have student loans.” She bit her lower lip and cocked her head. “Well, I do have some, but they’

re low and I’ve deferred payment for now.”

“And you can’t ask your dad?” He was still trying to wrap his head around the number she’d thrown out.

Seventy thousand dollars. Most ­people he knew didn’t make anywhere close to that in a year, or even two.

She shook her head. “This is my responsibility.”

Why? He needed to know. He had to find out what the hell had happened to Dominic’s little sister, to the girl he’d thought about for the past five years, hoping like hell she was happy, or at least safe. But hearing that number—­something had gone very, very wrong. While he’d been off fighting for his country, for Caroline, for a damn paycheck, Josie had landed herself in trouble.