Page 4 of Handful

Every time I glanced in their direction, Handful was watching me. Not in a creepy, stalker-ish way. He’d look away when I caught him, turn back to his conversation, but the awareness was there. Constant.

I didn’t like it. I also didn’t entirely hate it.

Stop, I told myself firmly. You know better than this.

When their server — Megan, a new hire, still learning the ropes — returned to the bar looking flustered, I felt my stomach sink. “Everything okay?”

“Table twelve,” she said. “The bikers. One of them is getting a little… rude.”

Of course he was. I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped out from behind the bar. “Which one?”

“The sandy-haired one. He keeps making comments about…” She gestured vaguely at her chest.

“Got it.” I crossed the floor with purpose, weaving through the other patrons until I reached their booth. Handful looked up as I approached, that familiar grin already in place.

“Austen! Couldn’t stay away?”

“We need to talk.”

His grin faltered slightly. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re making my staff uncomfortable.”

“I was just—”

“I don’t care what you were ‘just.’ I won’t have it.” I kept my voice low but firm, aware of the other patrons within earshot. “You have two choices. You can apologize to Megan, keep your comments to yourself, and finish your drinks like civilized human beings. Or you can leave.”

He looked at me for a long moment, the grin gone. I crossed my arms. “Clock’s ticking. Apologize or leave.”

He turned to Target and said, “We should probably go.”

“Handful—”

“No, she’s right.” He pulled out his wallet and dropped several bills on the table. “I was being an asshole.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

The apology was unexpected enough that I felt my hostility waver. “Tell Megan, not me.”

“I will.” He slid out of the booth and stood, closer to me than strictly necessary. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t rating her because I was interested. I was just talking. It’s what I do.”

“That’s not the defense you think it is.”

“No. Probably not.” He glanced back at Target, who was already on his feet, leaving another stack of bills on the table.

Handful was already walking toward the door. Not defeated, exactly, but chastened. It was a good look on him, I thought viciously.

Then he stopped. Turned back. Walked up to Megan, who was restocking napkins at a side station and clearly trying not to look.

I couldn’t hear what he said. But I saw Megan’s expression shift from apprehension to surprise to amusement. She nodded. He nodded back. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

“What did he say?” I asked when I reached her.

Megan shrugged. “He apologized. Said he was raised by wolves and didn’t know any better. Then he tipped me a hundred dollars and asked if you were single.”

I felt my eye twitch. “And you said?”

“I said I didn’t know. He said he’d find out himself.” She grinned. “He’s cute, Austen. Kind of an asshole, but cute.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. Unfortunately.”