Have you met Grayson Blake yet? If not, let me introduce you via Chapter One of 608 Alpa Ave. đ
Chapter OneÂ
HaleyÂ
âI don’t get it,â I mutter.
My hand stills against the countertop, a white bar rag clutched firmly in my grasp.
Natalia Barlow leans across the end of the bar, putting her ass and the top of her thong on full display for the table of bikers behind her. An unlit cigarette is perched between her cherry-red lips, threatening to topple to the floor as she catches me looking and smirks.
I roll my eyes and turn my back to her.
âI donât get it,â I say again, louder this time.
My gaze fixes on the manâthe only manâoccupying a barstool on this side of the restaurant. Grayson Blake. Black hair, scruffy beard, tall, and oh-so muscular with tattoos etched into his tanned skin. Word has it that he has flames inked on his right hip, and when he moves, they dance as if theyâre alive.
Iâve mentally filed that away because itâs something Iâll (sadly) never know for myself. Guys like Grayson Blake? They go for women like Natalia. Vixens. Women who give as good as they get. Women who understand them or, at the very least, the games they play.
Iâm not one of those women. It will be both my personal and professional downfall.
Grayson lifts his beer bottle, and as if it pains him to do it, he slides his gaze to mine.
I swallow. Hard.Â
It doesnât matter that Iâve worked at Fireside Bar and Grill for two years or that Iâve spent countless hours behind this very bar while Grayson sits on the other side, I canât think straight when he looks at me. I also canât look away. Itâs quite the predicament.
âIt just perplexes me,â I say, sinking my gaze into the steely depths of Graysonâs eyes. My voice isnât quite as confident as it was a few seconds ago. Itâll come back around, though. It just takes a moment to get my bearings.
Graysonâs features are void of humor. Or emotion. Or curiosity. He watches me as if Iâm a toddler and heâs in charge of making sure I donât choke on a peanut or small coin.
I bite my lip. âI just ⊠Natalia âŠâ I shrug, my voice fading into the rock music playing overhead.
Graysonâs thick, engine grease-stained fingers grip the bottle. âAm I supposed to ask?â
The grit of his tone washes against my skin, leaving a flurry of goose bumps in its wake. Itâs this way every time he talks to me. And whenever he talks to Corbin, the bartender whoâs training me in the art of bartending so I donât have to just waitress anymore. Come to think of it, I also have the same physical reaction to him when Iâm in the Cherry Street Market Grocery Store buying bagels and I hear him talking from an aisle over.
Who am I kidding? I react this way every time Iâm in Graysonâs proximity. Hell, I shivered in my flip-flops when I caught wind of his cologne outside of Pearlâs Pawnshop and Liquor Store last week.
âAre you supposed to ask what?â I ask him.
âAbout whatever you keep jawing about other thereâabout Natalia, I reckon.â
âWell, since you askedââ
âI didnât.â He smiles a lopsided, amused smile that makes me wonder if heâs smiling with me or at me. âI asked if I was supposed to ask. I didnât ask.â
I narrow my gaze. âYou know what, Grayson Blake? Youâre an asshole.â
He brings the beer bottle to his lips, hiding a satisfied grin, and pulls his gaze back to the hockey game on the television in the corner.
I pick up the rag and start polishing the bar again, but I canât let it go.
âIt wasnât Natalia,â I say, the words thrust into the air as though theyâre self-explanatory.
Graysonâs brows rise but he doesnât say anything. Not that I expect him to. Men refuse conversations. They fight tooth and nail when encouraged to share some insight into what theyâre thinking. That whole thingâbecause itâs a thingâis what got me in this predicament.
I sigh. âI understand what Natalia is doing down thereâletting her ass hang out for half the town,â I say, the rag squeaking against the laminated countertop. âShe wants attention, and by golly, sheâs getting it. And you know what? Good for her. Good for freaking her. Work it, girl. If I had that body, Iâd flaunt it just the same.â
I plop the rag down with a flourish. Iâm sure my face matches the color of the embroidery on my Fireside shirt. Thatâs just wonderful. But Iâm on a roll. Iâve already opened the door, so Iâm going to go with it. Because what do I care at this point? Grayson canât dump me. He canât make me feel like a prude or cheat on me behind my back or use me for a blowjob and then never call me again.
Not that those things have happened to me.
More than once.
âWhat I donât get,â I say, moving toward Grayson, âis why men only reactâovertly reactâto thongs and red lips and ⊠and ⊠and long, dark hair that has more body than my actual body? I mean, my lips are kind of thin, but theyâre good. And I donât wear a thong, mostly because the three times Iâve tried it, the little slip of fabric gets wedged in the crack of my ass, and then I walk around the bar like I have a wedgieâbecause I do. And I donât have great hair,â I say, pausing for a micro-second to get a half-breath of air, âbut I have my grandmaâs hair, and I like it. But men ⊠donât.â
Grayson sits back in his chair and has the audacity to look smug.
âWhy am I asking you this?â I say, irritatedâmostly at myself. âI need to learn to shut up.â
âWhy are you asking me?â he asks, a thick brow arched to the ceiling.
âBecause youâre sitting there.â
His smirk eases just enough for me to notice. I wonder whyâwhat made the corner of his lips slip, but my curiosity feels like just one more thing to think about.
âIâm just ⊠frustrated,â I say, leaning against the ice dispenser. The cool metal bites into my back.
âReally? I hadnât noticed.â
I give him a look but stay focused. âIâve been working on this chapter in the book Iâm writingâchapter one, actually, but it sounds like a hobby when I put it like that, and Iâm determined to make it my career someday. Anyway, I canât capture the hero the way I want him because all the language I use is âŠâ
âUnrealistic?â
I narrow my eyes. âI want him to use language like an Ed Sheeran songâromantic and beautiful and altogether lovely.â
Grayson grins. âSo, I was right. Unrealistic.â
âIâm sure that somewhere out thereââI motion toward the door and beyond itââthereâs a man who wants more and is capable of more than a SisqĂł song, dammit.â
Either he misses the seriousness in my tone or he doesnât care.
Probably the latter.
His grin deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest.
I blow out a breath and go back to my bar wiping. âHow am I supposed to find a real man and create a fictional one when I donât know anything about men? And how do I not know anything about men, anyway? Iâve been surrounded by them all of my life.â
Grayson leans forward. His thick, heavily roped forearms rest against the counter. The movement causes his cologne to float my way, and I brace myself. This time of day, the spiciness of the scent is mixed with the sharpness of gasoline and the allure of testosterone, and it makes my knees weak. Every. Single. Day.
âYour problem,â he says, âis that youâre overcomplicating men.â
I flinch wildly as though Iâve been hit upside the head with a skillet.
âYou okay?â Garret Blake, one of Graysonâs two brothers, slides onto a stool beside him. âLooks like you were having a seizure.â
Grayson almost smiles. Almost.
âIâm fine,â I say with a sigh. âJustââ
âSheâs driving me up the fuckinâ wall, is what sheâs doinâ,â Grayson says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Thereâs a near-smirk on his lips that tells me heâs kidding.
I grab a beer out of the cooler. âI am not. We were having a conversation, and you were even taking part. Slightly, Iâll admit, but a touch of back and forth was happening, and that constitutes a conversation.â
Garret takes the bottle. âIâm glad youâre up for a convo because you darted outta the shop before we could talk.â
âBy design.â Grayson takes a long swig of his beer, his attention back to the television. âLook, I donât know how to branch out into Syn City. I know their shop is closing next week, but I donât know how to bring them over here to Cherry Falls. I got nothinâ.â
I lean against the bar and listen to the two men discuss their auto repair shop.
The three Blake brothersâGrant being the youngestâare the epitome of opposites. While Grayson is broody and mostly a jackass, Grant is as gentle-hearted as they come. Garret is the brains of the bunch and repairs more spreadsheets and sales figures than he does cars. Together, they run a respected enterprise in Cherry Falls that seems to need a shot of new blood.
I shift my weight as I watch them talk.
Garret is worried theyâre becoming stagnant. He thinks if they donât expand now, theyâll miss their opportunity. I feel that deep in my bones.
If I donât figure out how to understand men, Iâm going to end up single with a house full of cats and a barely started novel. I have hopes and dreams tooâof a family of my own. A job that doesnât require a name tag. The affection of a man who can kiss me sweetly and then scoop me up and take me to bed to ravage me.
That is just out of reach, and itâs all because I donât know how to get it. Any of it. How do I craft the voice of the hero Iâm searching for while capturing the hero I want for me?
I glance over my shoulder. Natalia looks demureâshy, evenâas she bats her lashes at Corbin. He, naturally, is eating out of her perfectly moisturized palm.
âI asked Daisy at the Cherry Falls Gazette if she could create some marketing materials for us, but sheâs booked solid for two months,â Garret says, drawing my attention back to the bar.
âWhat kind of marketing materials are you looking for?â I ask.
My heart begins to thump as I ignore the curiosity in Garretâs eyes. Iâm not sure what Iâm doingâor, why, ratherâbecause itâs a ridiculous idea. Completely foolish, really. Heâll never go for it, and even if he did, he probably wouldnât give me anything useful, anyway.
âThereâs a festival happening in Syn City next month,â Garret says carefully. âI was thinking we could pass out some fliers over there and try to let the townspeople know that Blake Brother Auto Repair is here. Maybe run a promo of some kind.â He brings the beer bottle in front of him and holds it with both hands. âI wanted to freshen up the language on our website. That kind of thing. Nothing too heavy.â
I wipe my hands on my jeans. âCanât you do that?â
âI do. Every day. I feel like we need an objective voiceâsomething fresh and fun.â
A chill runs down my spine as I part my lips. âIâm fresh and fun.â
My voice is three octaves higher than my normal speaking voice. That must be what causes Grayson to whip his attention to me. He doesnât speak, though. Just watches me to see if Iâm kidding.
Although I laugh, Iâm not kidding. I donât think.
âWhat are you saying, Haley?â Garret asks.
âIâm saying,â I say, sucking in a deep breath, âthat I can write. Iâm writing a novel, after all. Iâve taken a few creative writing classes, and I know my way around a website thanks to my motherâs online store selling homemade grape wreaths.â
âThatâs a thing?â Garret asks.
âSurprising, I know. AnywayââI gulpââI could help you out.â
I cast a sideways glance at Grayson. Heâs looking at me. The heat of his gaze kissing my cheek is enough to make me shiver.
âThat would be amazing, actually,â Garret says, oblivious to what Iâm about to propose. Grayson, though? I think heâs onto me.
âIt would be my pleasure,â I say, fighting a grin.
âWhat would you charge?â he asks.
I bite my lip and take a step away from the bar. âOh, not much. It would be more of a favor than anything.â
âWe would pay you,â Garret insists. âYou name the price.â
Bingo.
I hem and haw around as I think this through.
It really is an asinine idea. Itâs also brilliant.
If I can get Garret to exchange my marketing help with a day of interrogatingâinterviewingâGrayson, it would be an excellent use of my time and energy. It could really benefit them too.
Graysonâs gaze gets hotter. And testier. And hotter.
I force a swallow down my throat.
âWell, since you put it that way âŠâ I grin as innocently as I can. âWhat if I donât charge you anything except maybe a Q and A session with Grayson.â
âDammit, Haley,â Grayson groans.
âWhat?â My hands fly to my hips. âI need your help just like you need mineââ
âGarret needs your help. Not me.â
âIt sounds like a family business problem to me, bud.â
Grayson turns his stare on his brother.
âThis seems like a very fair exchange, Gray,â Garret says, chuckling.
âYeah, Gray.â
Grayson looks at me, the corner of his lip twitching. âCareful, little girl.â
My blood runs hot at the warning. Something about the way he issues it, the way it feels like a promise instead of a cautionary tale, makes me pant.
âJust let her ask you some questions,â Garret says. âWhatâs it for, anyway? A college paper or something?â
âNot exactly,â I say warily. âItâs so I can understand men, actually.â
Garret laughs. âWell, hellâif Grayson is going to act like a dipshit about this, Iâll answer your questions for free marketing assistance.â
Grayson grins and faces me again. âYeah, Haley. Ask Garret your questions.â
His eyes sparkle because he knows. He knows the questions I need answered are for him.
Garret is a great guy. Heâs polite and kind and has a great work ethic. Heâs also super attractive. But heâs not Grayson.
Grayson is rough and grumpy. Heâs raw. Heâs roguish and irritable, and that makes him ⊠perfect.
It doesnât help that heâs the walking advertisement for the word man with his beard and muscles andâgah!
âLook, Garret,â I say, choosing my words carefully, âyou are so sweet to offer. But I donât thinkââ
âWhat?â Grayson smirks. âYou donât think what, Haley?â
I level my gaze at Grayson. âI donât think your brother is rude enough to answer my questions honestly. But you are.â
Graysonâs chest rumbles as he holds back a chuckle. âFair enough.â
âIâm offended. I think.â Garret looks confused. âI can answer questions about men. I am one.â
âThat you are. Youâre a nice one, Garret. But your brother over here can give me insight that you canât.â
Garret nods knowingly. âOh, so you need asshole insight?â
âYes.â
Grayson rolls his eyes. âShe needs a real manâs input. She wants to know how we think. Why we fuck the shit outta women like Natalia.â
At the sound of her name, Garretâs eyes avert to the red-lipped queen at the other end of the bar. âOh.â
âWanna explain that?â Grayson asks.
Garret looks back at me. He almost looks ⊠sullen. Definitely nervous. âYouâre right. Grayson is perfect for the job.â
I laugh at his expression.
Grayson gets to his feet and takes his wallet out of his back pocket. Itâs brown leather and looks like itâs been through the wringer. He takes out a few bills and slaps them against the counter.
âThere ya go,â he says. âI got yours too, Garret.â
âThanks,â Garret says, tipping his bottle back again.
I bite the pad of my thumb. âSo, we have a deal?â
Grayson grins. âNope.â
And out the door he goes.
