You can take the girl out of the city and all that.
But it must be obvious to the locals that I’m not from around here, because I’m definitely garnering some looks as I weave my way through the tables. Rhett’s gaze darts to me as I ease myself in his direction, but aside from that one flick of the eyes, he doesn’t acknowledge my existence.
It’s an obvious hint that he’d rather not associate with me right now, so I trail past him, catching a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. There’s a liquorice note to it I’ve never noticed before now, followed by leather. I don’t know if it’s his boots, or his belt, or just that a man that rugged is destined to smell like something equally masculine.
Either way, it’s a heady combination. One that has me taking a deep breath on my way past, creepy as that makes me.
It is what it is.
One man squeezes Rhett’s shoulder. “We know you, Rhett. We know your family. What the media tells us about you doesn’t matter. You’re a good boy.”
I almost snort. Boy. Maybe that’s the problem. Everyone still coddles him like he’s a little boy rather than telling him to take some responsibility for his actions. Should he be in trouble for what he said? No. But he doesn’t need a bunch of back pats over it either.
The bathrooms are straight off the end of the bar, and I push the door open to find far more women primping under the bright halogen lights than I was expecting on a Monday night.
I give them that weird closed-mouth smile I often give to strangers instead of just saying hi. I know it looks pained, forced—a little serial-killer-y—but I keep doing it anyway.
It’s a problem, and I can’t stop.
They eye me suspiciously as their conversation pauses, but as soon as I lock myself in the stall, they go on like I’m not even here.
“Did you see Rhett Eaton at the bar?” The girl’s question is met with a chorus of moans and “oohs” like he’s king crab and a bowl of butter or something.
Another one pipes up. “Nobody call Amber. She’ll march down here and freak out when she sees him go home with someone else.”
“She needs to get over him.”
“Yeah.” The first girl laughs. “Give the rest of us a turn.”
“You? No. Me. I don’t just want a turn though. I’d lock that shit down forever. Those Eaton boys take after their dad. And Harvey Eaton is a total DILF. GILF?”
“I guess we’ll see who he chooses tonight, then.” The girl who says it is trying to sound lighthearted, but I recognize the streak of venom in her voice.
They all dissolve into a fit of giggles that are dulled only by the sound of me peeing and rubbing my hands over my face.
Because it’s only Day One, and I’m already going to be called upon to help keep Little Rhett in his pants.
Back out in the bar, the flock of women have descended on Rhett and are ushering him over to a table.
I’m standing at the end of the bar, steeling myself to walk over there and make Rhett Eaton hate me more than he already does. I’ve racked my brain for something I can do that doesn’t involve me being an embarrassing wet blanket.
Kip would walk over there and dole out a firm but fair verbal spanking. But I’m not Kip. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who is brand new to the job and in way over her goddamn head.
What was my dad thinking?
“Summer!” I follow the sound of my name over the buzzing sea of tables toward the back couches. Beau is there, wearing a friendly smile and waving at me. The perfect out.
And I take it.
I opt to go sit there and plan rather than shoot from the hip. My heels clack against the wooden floor as I head in Beau’s direction. When I reach the couches, I see the shape of his friend sitting with him on the couch, facing away from the main floor of the bar. It isn’t until I get closer to the low-slung table between them that I get a good look at the other man. And even with a beard and cap pulled down over his face, I recognize him.
Everyone in this country probably does.
Jasper Gervais, professional hockey player. Goaltender extraordinaire. Canadian Olympic sensation. And another one of my dad’s clients, whose name I know from spending the last several summers of my life doing paperwork at Hamilton Elite.
“Summer, this is my buddy, Jasper.” Beau hikes a thumb in his friend’s direction and scootches down as I hit him with my stupid, awkward smile-greeting before I can reel it in. But I’m a little relieved when Jasper gives me a matching serial-killer smile back.