Man of Honor (Battle Scars) (2 page)

O
rder up!” Boozer barks as his bald head appears above the food window in the kitchen of See Food.

“Got it!” I put down my glass of Sprite and pick up my plates of food, balancing a large tray while arranging the four heaping platters of seafood on top, then push through the swinging kitchen door backward and enter the bar area. I’ve only been working here for about a week. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Lenny and Boozer hired me without any experience. I need all the money I can stockpile if I ever want to get my yoga studio up and running.

In this century.

Breezing past Lenny, I bump her hip gently with mine where she stands rinsing glasses at the sink behind the bar. “You good?”

She smirks at me. “I should probably be asking you that, doll.”

Shooting her a sassy wink, my tray wobbles slightly, and Lenny catches one mug of beer just before it tips off the edge. Groaning, she grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Lord, girl. You might be the death of this place.”

I scoff. “Please. Berkeley did it, and she’s ten times clumsier than I am.”

Lenny smiles, half-moon wrinkles forming around her lips. “Berkeley had years of practice. You’re meant for greater things than this old place. Just like she was.”

I glance down. “Maybe. But for now, this place is saving my ass. And so are you.” I lean over and kiss her cheek before brushing past her toward the high-top tables surrounding the bar. Hearing a throaty giggle, I whirl around. My chocolate brown curls slap me in the face as I zero in on the curvy blonde poured into her clothes at the bar. Yep, she’s the source of the giggle. Rolling my eyes, I start back on my path.

But something catches my eye and my steps stutter, then freeze.

The blond chick has large, spectacular, and most likely fake, breasts. They’re currently squished up against a solid brick wall of a man. First my eyes follow the veins in his muscular forearms, exposed by the white collared shirt he’s wearing, sleeves rolled up. Then my gaze wanders to the open collar, where the thick, winding lines of ink swirl up toward his neck. And that neck…muscular and thick, just like the rest of his perfectly sculpted body.

A body I know very, very well.

Lastly, my eyes land on a face that simultaneously makes my blood boil and my toes curl. Olive skin, mostly smooth except for the scar near his left temple. Short brown hair so dark it’s nearly raven. Square chin, covered in perfectly rough scruff. Straight nose with a slight rise in the top. Deep-set eyes the color of the warmest caramel.

Perfect male beauty. Rough and deep and dark. There’s so much story behind those eyes that I never learned. Eyes that are currently, hazily focused on the tits rubbing against his muscled arm.

Goddammit.

Drake Sullivan.

It’s not like I never run into him. I see him quite often actually, because my best friend and his are getting married in two months. We cross paths because we have to, not because I want to.

My past with Drake? It’s complicated. When a man gives you the best one-night stand of your life and you ruin everything by running out on him and never speaking to him about it again, things are bound to get tricky. Every time I see him, a slow burn of attraction sizzles just beneath the surface, and I do everything I can to pretend it isn’t so.

Because I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. It’s the last thing I need in my life.

It’s not like I didn’t know that See Food is his favorite hangout. He only lives right down the beach, for Pete’s sake. I just wasn’t expecting to see him
now.
And certainly not with that slut pressed against him like white on rice.

Dammit.
I don’t want seeing him with another woman to affect me like this. I don’t want it to affect me at all!

My heartbeat thumps wildly in my chest as I watch him. I want so badly to tear my eyes away, but I just can’t. He’s clearly tanked. His eyes are glassy, and he’s tilting slightly sideways on his stool. Which is completely at odds with everything I know about Drake. He’s always calm, cool, and collected. He’s always in control.

The dude is a freaking ex-army Ranger. He’s someone others can depend on.

Well, most others.

Suddenly, Lenny’s face is directly in front of me, replacing my view of Drake and the Blonde Bombshell.

“Um, hello…Mea? What the hell is wrong with you, girl? You’re about to drop that tray!” Her voice is more concerned than angry, and that’s just so typically Lenny that a lump suddenly forms in my throat.

Horrified at the thought that I might actually cry for no reason and in front of anyone else, I blink rapidly and swallow hard.

“Oh, uh…right. I’m on my way to table twenty-three with these. Just…sorry.”

“I’ve gotta run to the office for a minute.” Her last sentence pulls me back around to face her. “After you drop that off, can you hang behind the bar for a few until I get back?”

Slowly nodding my agreement, I turn on my heel, and doing everything I can to avoid dropping the tray of not-quite-hot food, I scurry in the opposite direction of the bar. I drop off the food at my table and then take a second to gather myself.

This is where I work. I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let the sight of Drake Sullivan and some flavor-of-the-week stop me from helping Lenny when she needs it.

They both glance up as my rag swirls the bar top in front of them. “Everything okay here?”

Drake’s bleary gaze meets mine, and then his eyes widen in surprise. “Mea? What…what are you doing here?”

I prop my hip up against the bar and send him a smirk. All the while, my heart beats like the wings of a trapped butterfly inside my chest.

Drake looks…hell, he looks damn good. He’s traded in his usual T-shirt for a white button-up, and the dark ink winding around his forearms catches my eye.

“I work here, Drake.” I’m proud of how well I’m able to keep the tremble out of my voice.

Why is he affecting me so much? Maybe it’s because of the woman. My gaze slides to her.

“We’re fine here.” Her high-pitched voice sends me a very clear signal.
Step off. He’s mine.

Which, of course, only makes my smirk grow wider as my eyes slide back to Drake. “Y’all let me know if you need anything, k? I’ll be behind the bar until Lenny gets back.”

His eyes drinking me in, Drake lifts his chin once in acknowledgment.

The fact that he hasn’t looked at his drinking buddy once since I’ve been standing here makes me smile as I move on down the bar to check in with other customers.

I can feel his eyes burning into me as I chat and refill drinks. When Lenny returns, I take the opportunity to head for the front door. A quick breather is all I need. A chance to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.

For just a minute, I need to be as far away from Drake fucking Sullivan as possible.

The night drags by. Despite my best intentions to keep my head down, serve my tables, and get through the night without snatching the blonde off her barstool or elbowing Drake off of his, my eyes continue to track their movements from wherever I am in the restaurant. Drake’s been different than his usual self—he seems almost down in the dumps—oblivious to everything, including the blonde for the most part. I can tell from the time she’s invested in him that she thinks he’s taking her home tonight. But, watching Drake way more closely than I should, I’m not so sure he’s on the same game plan as she is.

He accepts her attention, but he doesn’t dish out any of his own. Mostly, Drake’s eyes are trained on the drinks that he keeps slugging down like they’re going out of style.

Except for the occasions I can feel their searing gaze on me.

Blondie’s getting impatient with his lack of attention despite all her efforts.

A small smile quirks at my lips when she literally begins to pout. That’s the moment when Drake decides to glance up from his drink. His dark gaze nails me to the spot, instantly freezing my movements as I’m caught up in his stare.

Do you know that expression
time stands still
? You know, the one they only use in chick flicks and romance novels?

Yeah, I now understand what it means. It doesn’t mean that the second hand on your watch stops ticking. It doesn’t mean that everyone around you pauses, grotesquely frozen in whatever activity they were engaging in. No, it’s not like that at all.

When time stands still for me at that moment, it happens because Drake’s gaze meets mine, and the intensity of it as recognition dawns on his face levels me. Flattens me. Roots me to the spot where I stand. And even though everyone and everything continue their normal goings-on around us, the thread that holds us together at that moment stretches taut, and I can’t tell how much time passes.

Do seconds tick by? Minutes? An hour?

Hell if I know.

Drake’s previously watery gaze sharpens in that moment, perfect clarity reflecting in his eyes. Awareness sizzles along my skin, tracing the path that my nerve endings draw, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the effect he’s having on me.

Not a damn thing.

I hold my ground. Neither of us moves a muscle for at least ten seconds, and I have the uncontrollable urge to move toward him. He blinks, and I take that moment to flee. I don’t want him to see me so unraveled. I don’t want him to know that seeing him liquefies my insides, turning me into mush. Escaping through the high-top tables in the bar area and around the long wooden high-top where Lenny is filling a glass with something dark and frothy, the kitchen door swishes shut behind me and I lean against the wall. My chest rises and falls with my heavy breaths, and there’s only one thought running through my mind at top speed.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Because if I’m honest with myself—and it’s not very often that I allow that to happen, not when it comes to this—Drake Sullivan has had this effect on me since the moment I laid eyes on his gorgeous self. And I’ve never been able to stop it.

Ignore it? Yes. I can ignore it with the best of them.

But stop it from happening? Never. And I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t have the first clue as to how he affects me.

I intend to keep it that way.

I need to keep my eye on the prize. And that prize has nothing to do with a sexy, deliciously dark man like Drake.

T
he back of my neck prickles.

I rub it, trying to ease the sensation out of my muscles, but it’s surface level. I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts, because not doing so could get me, and the entire team of men around me, killed. So instead of ignoring the feeling, I lift my eyes from my highball glass to glance around the bar area. It’s easy to find her. I’ve been keeping track of Mea’s exact placement in the bar all damn night.

The sight of Mea Jones standing behind the bar earlier stopped my breathing just as fast as a chokehold would have.

I see Mea around a lot. My best friend, Dare, is marrying her best friend, Berkeley, in just a couple months. As best man and maid of honor, we have to be in the same room from time to time. We share a tight-knit circle of friends that neither of us is willing to give up. But Mea avoids me like the plague when she can, and I know it’s because our past together is sticky.

But tonight, something’s different. She’s just standing there, staring at me from her place on the restaurant floor just outside the bar area. Her petite body is tight and stacked, and my big palms itch at the thought of running them over every curved inch of her. What she lacks in size—hell, she can’t be taller than five foot two—she makes up for in attitude. She’s got miles of it, and is never too shy to put someone in their place.

But right now? She looks like someone just punched her in the gut. And those big, dark brown eyes are wide and tentative, something Mea is most definitely
not.
She looks…vulnerable. Like she needs something from me.

God, at that moment, even in my inebriated state, I wish I could give it to her.

My eyes scan her, because I can’t fucking
help
it. It’s January, and she’s a girl with half a brain, so no tight tank top like Tina, the blonde beside me. No, she’s wearing a casual long-sleeved shirt that dips into a deep V, showcasing just a tease of the perfect set of tits I know lay just beneath. My cock stirs to life again just looking at her, but I force my eyes to keep moving upward and focus on her face.

Her gorgeous, flawless face. Skin the color of the richest caramel. Lush, pert lips set in a perpetual pout that chicks usually have to pay for. And then her hair, fanning around her face in a mess of wild, wild dark brown curls.

Wild. Free. Untamed.

That’s Mea to the hilt.

She’s always been like a little tornado, a force to be reckoned with who sucks everyone around her into her orbit. She’s all power, tucked into a tiny, sexy frame.

Fuck
.

I blink, shaking my head to clear it, and when I open my eyes again she’s gone. Like a ghost, she’s disappeared, probably into the back somewhere. Anywhere she doesn’t have to see me. Or talk to me.

It’s what I’ve been dealing with when it comes to Mea ever since Dare moved to Lone Sands two and a half years ago and started dating Berkeley. They went through plenty of ups and downs in their relationship, and Mea and I were there for them every step of the way. Me on Dare’s side, Mea on Berkeley’s.

The one night I spent with her? The one where she blew my fucking mind and then just walked away? That happened shortly before Dare arrived. I’ve been living with the memory for three damn years.

The second I saw her again all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms. Touch her. Love on her.

Taste her.

But when she looked at me, it was with venom and acid and I was so shell-shocked by it I never asked her why. To this day, I have no idea what turned her against me so absolutely.

And now, not only are we going to have to costar in this wedding event in March, she’s apparently also working at my favorite hangout.

Fuck.

“What?”

Right. The blonde. Tara? I must have said that last “fuck” out loud. She’s looking at me the way an orderly in a mental hospital looks at a patient.

Shaking my head, I put my hands to my head and rub my temples. I’m so fucking tired. Why’d I think it was a good idea to come out and get tanked? And how the hell am I gonna get home?

Sighing, I signal to Lenny. She walks over, wiping her hands with a rag. Raises a brow in my direction.

“Close me out, Len.”

She nods. Glances at the chick glued to my side. “Hers, too. On my tab. And then call her a cab, will ya?”

Nodding again, Lenny turns to the register. “What about you, big guy? How you gettin’ home?”

I stand so I can pull my wallet out, and then groan as the liquor in my stomach sloshes around. A wave of nausea hits me, and my head threatens to split my vision in two. Blinking rapidly, I take out a few bills and toss them onto the shiny bar top.

“Guess I’ll be walking tonight. The cold air should help.”

I know I’m slurring, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m drunk as fuck, and damn if I’m not ashamed of myself for it. This has never been my thing. Losing control like this…it’s not me. I just needed to let loose after the previous seventy-two hours from hell.

But now I’m straight fucked.

The bar’s gone pretty quiet around us. At this hour, the crowd is gone and the staff is starting their closing duties. The blonde, finally realizing we’re not going home together because that’s the absolute
last
thing I need, turns around in a huff and flounces away. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but I watch to make sure she makes it to the door okay. The cab should be out there for her.

“You’re welcome for the drinks,” I mutter and turn back to Lenny.

“I can call Dare,” she offers.

I shake my head vehemently at that, and wince at the pain it causes. Shit, how many whiskeys did I have? I’d lost count somewhere around eleven o’clock.

“Don’t do that, Len. I’ll be fine. Let me just—” I attempt to make my legs move me toward the front door, but they end up getting twisted around, and I stumble, nearly falling on my ass.

“Boozer!” Lenny hollers. “Get out here!”

Her giant of a husband appears instantly from the kitchen. He takes one look at me, shakes his head and frowns. “What the hell, Drake?”

Shrugging, I chuckle. “Rough day, Boozer. You don’t wanna know.”

He sidles up next to me, holding up one side of me, not grunting with the effort, because he’s as big as I am. “Where am I taking you?”

I’m about to open my mouth to answer him, when instead a sweet, sassy voice from my other side does it for me. “You can put him in my car, Booze. I got him.”

Boozer glances at her and scowls. “You don’t got shit.”

Mea pulls herself up to her full height, which makes me grin, and narrows her eyes at him. “
I said
I got him.”

Boozer looks like he doesn’t know which one of us is annoying him more right now, but he and Mea work together to help my pathetic ass walk to her car. Boozer pushes me in on the passenger side, where I feel like a sardine crunched into a small aluminum can, and closes the door. I lean my head back against the seat, taking deep and steady breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.

My eyes are closed, so I only hear Mea when she gets in beside me.

Without a word, she starts her ignition and pulls out of the parking lot.

The silence is thick but the last thing I want to do is piss her off, so I stay quiet and just concentrate on breathing and not throwing up. Because I’d never live it down if I did.

“Where are we?” I ask when the car rolls to a stop. Opening one eye, I check our surroundings.

“Your place. Because this is where you live.” Mea speaks slowly, like she’s talking to a kid. I guess I deserve it.

“Thanks. I can take it from here.”

“Sure you can.” She rolls her eyes, sighing in total exasperation. “Stay right there, you big idiot. I’ll help you.”

This time I watch as she scoots around the front of the car, her hair billowing out all around her. She walks with her shoulders back and her head held high. Proud, proud, proud.

Whatever can be said about Mea Jones, she’s not weak. She’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s tough as nails.

And when she grabs my arm and begins tugging me out of her car, I try my damnedest not to snort with laughter. I help her out, lugging myself up and out and trying not to lean too heavily on her while we walk from her car parked in my driveway to the front door of my house.

I glance at my keys, then glance at the lock. Realizing this task might just be harder than my numb mind can handle at the moment, I hand the keys to Mea. She throws me a heated glance, busies herself with unlocking the door, and we both lurch into the living room. She kicks the door closed behind her and we both collapse onto my couch with triumphant exhaustion.

“I’ll give it to you, Mea,” I pant. “You’re tiny, but you’re strong as a goddamned ox.”

“And I’ll give it to you,
Drake
,” she shoots right back, full of sass and snap. “You’ve usually got your shit together, but right now you’re a big hot mess.”

I throw my head back and roar with laughter. “Yup. Can’t argue with you there. But you know what? That’s kind of what happens on the day you put your mom in the ground.”

Silence. My eyes are still aimed at the ceiling.
Why’d I say it?
It’s the last thing I want to talk about, and I know Mea couldn’t give two fucks. She’s made it clear where she stands when it comes to me. Now I’ve gone and gotten myself drunk, let her drive me home, and I’m shooting off at the mouth about my dead mother. How much more pathetic can one dude be?

So the shock that jolts through me when she lays a hand on my arm jerks my head right up off the back of the couch. The place where she touches me is tingling with warmth. I marvel at the way the delicate contours of her hand contrast so perfectly with the tough ink marring my tanned skin.

With a single touch, she has the power to unhinge me.

Still.

When I glance up at her, her eyes meet mine, and it’s like fire and gasoline. Someone just dropped a match into the pool of liquid fuel, and we’re both in serious trouble. I get a little lost in her stare, because it’s just so damn beautiful. Hypnotic.

“I’m sorry, Drake. I didn’t know.”

I nod slowly, afraid that if I move too fast she’ll pull away. But she doesn’t. She just sits there with an understanding in her eyes that lets me know this isn’t pity.

It’s compassion. And it causes a pain in my chest so fierce I use my free hand to rub the spot in agitation.

“Yeah,” I answer her, my voice soft and rough. “We weren’t close or anything. But it sucked, you know? Going back to a town I never wanted to see again. Remembering. It sucked.”

She stares a moment longer, and then pops off the couch like a jack-in-the-box. I miss her touch immediately and pull my hand back into my lap. I’m being so stupid right now. This chick hates me.

And I don’t need the grief that would come with trying to change that. I decided a long time ago to just let it be.

“Where are you going?” I ask, expecting her to say good night and flounce right back out my front door.

She pauses, headed toward the kitchen rather than the front door. Turning her head, she gives me a sexy smirk that I don’t even think she means to be sexy. Goddamn. She’s trouble. Always has been.

“When you’ve just buried your dead mother, you shouldn’t have to drink alone. So I’m going to find the strongest liquor you have in your bar, and then I’m going to catch up to you.” She turns on her heel and marches out.

The second I think I’ve got Mea Jones figured out, she throws me for a completely fucking loop. And that should make me crazy. It does. It makes me feel like the wheels are about to come off.

But when she’s the one riding beside me…I kind of don’t mind it.