Page 9 of Same Rogue
She halted in her tracks, and her mouth fell open. He nodded in a greeting and then started making his way toward an empty table near the front.
“Hello?” Chase called out to her in a rude tone.
And she didn’t know why she did it, but she kept her eyes locked on Bridger’s as he took a seat and twitched her head toward Chase.
That was it. That was all.
Bridger stood back up and strode directly toward Chase, and something happened to her insides as she watched the confidence in his powerful stride. There was this tiny fluttering sensation as she watched him pull out the bar stool directly on the other side of Chase and glare at him for exactly two seconds and then drag his golden eyes to her. “Hey, Kit,” he greeted her in a deep, sultry, gritty voice.
She smiled. “Hello, Bridger.”
Chase was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”
Bridger shrugged. “Just a guy looking for a drink.”
“Yeah, but who are you to Kit?”
Bridger’s empty smile lifted the fine hairs on her arms.
“You’re from Alabama, right?” Bridger asked her as she approached slowly.
“I sure am.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Can I have a couple of Alabama Slammers?”
An accidental smile took her lips. It had been a while since she’d made one of those. She reached for the Southern Comfort and did as he asked, made him two Alabama Slammers.
“How do you know she’s from Alabama?” Chase asked. “Her account is private.”
Bridger didn’t move, and he didn’t take his glowing gold eyes off her. Was Chase born with no survival instincts at all? Could he not feel the suffocating heaviness wafting from Bridger. Was he that drunk already? The air right now felt like dragging tar into her lungs, and her shoulders could feel the weight of Bridger’s dominance.
She set the pair of Alabama Slammers in front of Bridger.
“Who’s the other one for?” Chase asked. “It ain’t for Kit. She doesn’t date customers.”
Bridger’s smile dragged chills up her spine. He drank one of the drinks down, and slid the other Alabama Slammer to Chase.
But before he could down it, Bridger’s fist slammed against Chase’s jaw so hard, he dropped like a sack of rocks. Easy as you like, Bridger stood and grabbed Chase by the back of his jacket collar, then dragged him toward the exit like he weighed nothing at all.
Besides a gasp or two, and some mumblings, and the sound of a country song on the Jukebox, the bar was almost-comedically silent.
Bridger said something to Chase, shoved him out the front door, then came back inside and took his seat at that front table again.
An Alabama Slammer. Ha.
She couldn’t help the smile on her lips.
“Well, that’s one way to cut him off,” Anna said from beside the bar. “You know that guy?”
“Uuuh, I think legally I’m paired with him, but I’m pretty sure we can get out of it. The signatures were forged.”
“Huh,” Anna said with a confused look on her face as Kit went back to work. “That’s a weird story.”
“Welcome to my life,” Kit said with the shake of her head for the remaining Alabama Slammer that sat undisturbed on the bar top.
She finished making a round of drinks, got all caught up and then told Anna, “Can I serve his table?”
“Sure,” Anna said, staring at some receipts. “I don’t think anyone in here wants to mess with that one.”
