A Red Flag in Disguise

Chapter 5 Episode 5

His shy smile is now a full-on devilish grin. “Glad you found my bar top for your one night in town. Anything you need, I’m your guy. I’m Jax, by the way.” He puts his hand over the wooden countertop to shake mine.

“Stevie.” I place my hand in his, noting the veins and muscles of his forearms that continue up under the sleeve of his black button-down shirt.

Suddenly my original plan for the night doesn’t sound all that bad.

“Actually, I do need something from you, Jax.”

“Anything.” His eyes twinkle with mischief.

I lean forward, crossing my arms on the bar top and bringing my most flirtatious grin, wearing my mask of confidence once again. “Can you put that TV”—I gesture to the large screen directly behind him—“on the Devils and Bucks game? It’s on ESPN.”

His eyes narrow, but his lips tilt even more. “Beer and basketball girl, huh, Stevie? What do I have to do to keep you at my bar top all night?”

“Depends how many beers you pour me.”

He lets out a deep, sexy laugh. “Your glass will never be left empty.”

The skin around my eyes crinkles with satisfaction. This is what I needed—a little attention from a cute guy, my brother’s game on the screen, and a beer in my hand. I feel better already.

“And I’ll take a burger when you get a chance.”

“Damn, Stevie,” Jax exhales. “Stop making me fall in love with you.”

He shoots me a wink over his shoulder before redirecting his attention to the computer where he places my food order.

* * *

My food has taken a little longer than I thought it would, but I don’t mind. The bartender’s attention and the first quarter of the basketball game keep me plenty occupied. Not to mention my second beer.

Tara’s little remark about my uniform is less so at the forefront of my mind, though I realize now why it bothered me as much as it did. It’s not just because that’s an insecurity of my own, but how she said it was very similar to how my mother talks about my body.

It’s never direct. It’s always backhanded because how dare a Southern lady speak so directly. They don’t do that. I understand that my mother is a perfect Southern belle with an overactive metabolism, but that’s not me. And it’s never been me. I’ve got big t**s, a big ass, and an even bigger desire never to become the kind of woman she is.

I love her, but she’s judgmental. I’ve never felt like enough in her eyes. I grew up playing with the boys because my twin brother was my best friend, and he was much more fun than any debutant ball or pageant my mother was so adamant about me participating in.

When I was in college, I refused to rush a sorority, which almost did her in. It’s big in the South, and my mother’s entire side of women have all attended the same University in Tennessee and rushed the same sorority. I’m a legacy. It would’ve been easy for me, but I don’t want to be anything like them.

And once she realized she lost the battle of me being a real proper Southern woman, her attitude towards me quickly shifted to disappointment. Her attention was no longer focused on how great I’d be in Southern society and instead, how different my body looked from hers.

Unfortunately, it’s become ingrained in me, making me believe something is wrong with the way I look. My shape became more womanly the older I got. But my mom, she’s not used to curves, and in her mind, I’m overweight. But I don’t know what she expected. Her husband, the other half of my DNA, looks nothing like the ginger hair, freckled, thin-framed side of my mom’s family.

I want to be proud that I’m half of a remarkable man, but it’s hard when my own mother is disappointed in the way I turned out. And for some reason now, it seeps in more than it used to.

As the bartender places my burger down in front of me, a quick regret paces through my mind. The more I think about my mother, the less appealing this food sounds. Maybe I should’ve ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Maybe my uniform will fit a little better tomorrow if I eat that instead.

“If you don’t start eating that burger, I’m gonna scarf it down myself,” Jax, the bartender says, pulling me out of my self-doubt trance.

“I don’t share food,” I tease, pulling my plate closer to me.

His chest heaves in a laugh as he pours me another IPA, placing it next to my previous one that’s still half full.

This guy is good. And there’s a good chance he’s going to get lucky tonight. If not from me, then by one of the beautiful women filling this bar and desperate for the attention of the hot bartender. But at this rate, I wouldn’t mind it being me.

My eyes stay glued to the game on the screen as Ryan starts the second quarter. He’s leading the team in assists tonight, as he should. He’s the point guard and the best playmaker in the league.

The Devils run a motion offense on their first time down the court as Ryan gets open for a three in the corner. His teammate kicks the ball to him, and he sinks the shot.

“f**k yes, Ry,” I ring out, much louder than I intended.

“Devils fan, huh?” Jax asks, his eyes panning to the TV then back to me. “Stevie, I hate to break it to you, but this might be the end of our love affair.”

I laugh mid-chew. “You don’t have to be a Devils fan. Just a fan of number five.”

“Ryan Shay? Who isn’t a fan of Ryan Shay? Best point guard in the league.”

“Damn right he is.” I pop a fry in my mouth. “And he’s my brother.”

“Bullshit.”

I continue to eat, not needing to convince him one way or another.

“Are you for real?”

Before I can respond, someone in my peripheral view holds an empty glass in the air for a refill, drawing my attention.

My gaze immediately falls on two guys from the plane. The one holding his glass up is the player with dark curly hair who promised a peep show next time he changed on board. Rio, I think his name is. And the other one is the person I was happiest to see get off the plane.

Evan Zanders.

I unintentionally roll my eyes.

Fully dressed up to the nines, he probably took three times longer than I did getting ready as he brings his whiskey glass to his full lips, resting them on the rim before he takes a drink. He doesn’t see me, and he’s not doing it to be seductive to anyone in particular, but the guy naturally oozes s*x.

It’s really f*****g annoying.

I immediately turn back to the bartender. “I need my check and a box, please.”

“What?” he asks, confused, his eyes darting back to my full beer.

Tara’s warning of fraternization rings through my mind. The idea of finishing my food, beer, and ending my night with this hot bartender between my legs sounds fantastic. But not as fantastic as keeping my job.

If it were anyone else from the plane, I might stay and hide in the crowd while I finish watching the game, but the fact that it’s Evan Zanders, of all people, makes me want to leave even more. He was exhausting all flight, ringing the call light for absolutely anything he could think of, and if one of the other two girls went to see what he needed, he always sent them back for me.

He’s going to make my season on the plane a living hell. I don’t need him intruding on my time off too.

“I need to get going,” I tell Jax. “Can I get the bill?”

“Is everything okay?” He’s clearly confused, and I don’t blame him. I spent the whole time flirting with him, both of us having an unspoken hope of where our night would end once he’s off work.

But he’s an attractive guy with a bar full of women. He’ll be just fine finding a warm body for the night.

“Just gotta get going. Sorry,” I finish with an apologetic smile.

Jax brings me a box and my check, leaving off all my drinks from the bill. I quickly transfer my food and hand my credit card off to be swiped, but it’s too late.

Before my card makes it back to me, two large hands land on the bar top on either side of my body, caging me in. His fingers are long and slender, decorated with gold rings. Every knuckle is tatted, including the back of his hands, and his nails are cleanly manicured. I keep my eyes glued to the ridiculously expensive watch on his wrist as he leans down behind me with his lips close to my ear.

“Stevie,” Zanders says in his smooth velvety voice. “You following me?”

M addison stuck true to his word and went straight to bed after meeting with his friend for dinner. On the other hand, I refuse to call it a night at nine thirty, especially because it’s the first night on the road of the season.

I live for this. I get plenty of action at home and thoroughly enjoy my summers in Chicago, but there’s a different kind of thrill when it comes to p***y on the road. The unknown of who it’ll be, the excitement of where it’ll happen, the satisfaction that I don’t have to see them ever again if I don’t want to. That’s how I like it.

Which is why I didn’t reply to either of the girls from Denver who slid into my DMs earlier. The thrill was gone. It was no longer exciting.

“Another round?” Rio asks.

I quickly examine my half-full whiskey glass, knowing I don’t need another. I try to keep my limit to two during the season, especially the night before a game. It’s one thing to stay up late and get laid, but I’m not dumb enough to get f****d up and play hungover.

“I’m gonna nurse this one.” Raising my glass to his, I take another small sip.