Spark by Chelle Bliss

Author:Chelle Bliss [Bliss, Chelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bliss Ink LLC

12

Jo

There’s no mistaking the simple fact that I’m not in California or, for that matter, not even in Clearwater, Florida, either.

If I thought I was in the middle-of-nowhere Florida before, I was wrong. This dive bar filled with guys covered in leather and denim, sporting long beards, and covered in tattoos is beyond anything I could’ve imagined when I stepped foot inside.

Ignoring all the eyes on me, I hop up on a high-top stool in front of the bar, tossing my Louis bag next to me and resting my hand on top.

My gaze follows the bartender, a man who’s easily one of the largest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on, as he pours drinks and sweet-talks some of the female patrons down the row from me. He’s sporting a Ride or Die tank top that used to be a T-shirt before someone took a pair of scissors to the material, cutting off the sleeves.

I don’t need to look around to know most of the eyes in the place are still pointed in my direction. I’ve been the center of attention on more than one occasion, but usually surrounded by the media and Hollywood elite.

This experience is different.

I feel like an outsider in every way. Usually bartenders are an easy mark, always willing to bend over backward to serve me first. But not here. Nope. His taste is clearly more trashy than classy.

“Hey, I’d…” I say as he passes by me, holding up a hand to get his attention.

But it doesn’t work. I don’t even get a sideways glance as he stalks by, heading toward the cooler at the other end of the bar.

“Sir,” I call out, waving my hand this time, figuring maybe he can’t hear me over the classic rock playing overhead.

Again, I’m wrong as he walks back the other direction to a pair of girls whose hair is teased so high and looks so hard, they have to use an entire bottle of hair spray every time they do their hair.

“Whatcha want, sweetheart?” a man offers, sliding onto the empty stool next to me.

I stop moving, scared to glance his way until he snakes his arm around my high-top stool and his hand touches my back.

“Sir,” I reply, putting on my sweet voice as I turn to him. I suck in a breath as my belly plummets, but not in that oh-God-he’s-so-sexy kind of way. “I appreciate the offer.”

“Didn’t offer anything.” He gives me a toothy grin as he rakes his eyes over me in the greediest and thirstiest fashion. “Not yet, at least. I asked what you want, not what I want.”

“Um,” I mumble, soaking in his wild beard that hasn’t been trimmed in months. His lips are almost invisible through the strands of hair that seem to point in every direction like a scattered spider web. “Just a whiskey.”

“On the rocks?” He raises a bushy eyebrow.

I nod, swallowing down my fear. “It doesn’t matter as long as it’s liquor.”

I see his teeth again because he’s smiling.

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