Summer Love by Piper Rayne

Chapter One

“Hey, Gibbs,” I greet my coworker and fellow bartender at the one and only SeaBird. My family has owned this bar for as long as I can remember. It’s my home away from home, even when it’s a little difficult juggling my shifts as a bartender and my homework for my business degree. But hey, it’s life. I’m not complaining.

Gibson, however, looks like he has a bone to pick. I’m just not sure who’s starring on his shitlist at the moment.

He ignores my greeting, dialing a number into his phone as the swarm of customers crowds the almost empty stage in the back corner of the building. The place is hoppin’ even more than usual, and that’s saying something.

With a phone pressed to his ear, Gibson mutters, “Shit.”

“There a problem?” I ask. He looks like he’s about to puke.

“Fen’s supposed to be on stage, but he’s missing,” he answers, his thumbs jabbing out a text message with more force than necessary.

Fender is the lead singer of Broken Vows. He’s also Gibson’s half-brother and is a handful on a good day. The fact that he’s gone missing or is late to a show isn’t exactly surprising, but Gibson’s furrowed brow is.

“Anything I can do to help?” I offer before mouthing one sec to a customer who’s waiting to order a drink a few feet away from us. I just got here and should be pouring booze already, but Gibson’s anxiety piqued my curiosity enough to put my job on the line. Not that I’d ever get fired. My dad owns the place. But still.

“Dammit,” he seethes, hanging up another unanswered call. His jaw tightens before he tears his gaze away from his phone and looks over at me. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Okay?”

“Do you see that guy over there?” His attention flicks toward a silver fox in a soft gray suit with a Rolex around his wrist who’s sitting at the opposite end of the bar.

“You mean the hot older guy?” I offer, still confused.

“He’s not that old. He just has a couple of white patches of hair, but yeah. I need you to make sure he doesn’t leave.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s here to watch Broken Vows play––”

“Which is why you’re pissed that Fen’s missing,” I surmise.

“Exactly.” He looks back at his phone and hits Fender’s number again. “Can you just…buy me some time?”

“And how do you expect me to do that?”

“I dunno. You’re hot. You said he’s hot. Just…do your thing.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

He looks up from his phone. “I’ll owe ya one, okay?” He dips his chin to his chest and leaves a scathing voicemail for Fen, which we both know he’ll never listen to.

Well, I guess that’s that.

Puffing out my cheeks, I wipe my hands on the white dishrag tucked into the black apron wrapped around my waist before filling the order for the first guy who’d been waiting at the bartop. Once he’s taken care of, I head to Silver Fox. The guy isn’t that old, but he’s definitely older than me and looks like he’s aged like a fine wine. Then again, I’ve always had a thing for older guys––much to my father’s dismay––and this guy fits the bill perfectly.

“Hi,” I announce, hooking my arms behind my back to keep him from seeing how shaky my hands are. I’m a terrible liar. There’s no way he won’t see right through me. “Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you?”

“You’re not the one who’s kept me waiting,” he mutters under his breath without bothering to look up at me as he fishes out a few bills from his leather wallet. Even though there isn’t a drink in front of him, and he has nothing to pay for, he sets a couple of twenties on the counter before glancing up at me. His crystal blue eyes almost knock me on my ass as he pauses and settles back onto his barstool.

“Hey,” he greets me, his eyes flaring with interest.

How he can make a single syllable sound so freaking sexy is beyond me, but I bite my lip to keep from grinning like a lunatic and answer, “Hi.”

“You weren’t here a minute ago.”

With a light laugh, I confirm, “No. No, I wasn’t. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Okay. Well––” My words get lost in my throat as those same crystal blue eyes zero in on my mouth before his ticks up on one side, obviously aware of how flustered he’s making me. Which is weird. I don’t get flustered. I’m used to guys asking for my number multiple times a night. It’s not that I’m drop-dead gorgeous or anything. I’m just…an easy target, I guess. And I get tipped when I’m friendly, regardless of whether or not I’m really interested.

This guy, however, I’m interested in.

At least for one night.

I clear my throat and wipe down the already clean bartop that separates us, ignoring the money he’d set in front of him. “Can I get you anything?”

“I was just, uh…” He pauses as his gaze flicks toward the empty stage, then to the exit as if it’s calling his name. But he doesn’t get to his feet. “Leaving.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I’d love to buy you a drink.”

“You wanna buy me a drink?”

“Of course. You look like you’re new around here, and what kind of host would I be if I didn’t make you feel welcome?” With a sugary sweet smile, I offer my hand for him to shake. “I’m Sammie, by the way.”

He rests his elbows on the tall counter, then takes my offered hand. “I’m Hawthorne.”

The warmth from his touch sends tingles racing up my arm, but I try to ignore them.

“Nice to meet you,” I return.

“You too, Sammie.” He rubs his thumb along the back of my hand for an extra second, then lets me go.

I bite the inside of my cheek in hopes of it staving off my blush before asking, “So, Hawthorne. Is that a first or last name?”

“Last.”

“In that case, I take back my last introduction. If we’re not on a first-name basis, then I’m Norris. Nice to meet you.”

He snorts, the sound taking me by surprise. The guy screams finesse and decorum. And a snort is very un-gentlemanlike, but also…kind of awesome. “Nice to meet you, too, Norris.” This time, he offers his hand, and I take it, playing along with our second introduction while dying to see if that same spark ignites from a simple touch.

My skin pebbles with awareness as his grasp tightens around my tiny hand.

Yup. There it is.

Why, hello, again, Spark.

“So, Norris,” he teases, lifting his chin toward the back corner of the bar where a certain someone is still missing. “Tell me something. Is the band always this late to start?”

With a grimace, my attention flicks toward the quiet stage and back to the man in front of me. “Not usually.”

“Any idea what’s holding them up?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure, but it’s definitely uncharacteristic of the band to be this late,” I lie.

“This late?”

Shit.

“Can I buy you a drink for your patience?” I ask.

He hums low in his throat as his cool gaze slides over me before his mouth quirks up on one side––again––as if he’s come to some kind of conclusion, though I have no idea what it is.

“I’m not known for my patience, Norris. But if you keep me company while I wait for Broken Vows to get their heads out of their asses, I might be willing to make an exception.”

A light laugh escapes me. “I think I can do that. Give me two minutes to make sure everyone is taken care of, then I’ll be back with your drink. What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

It takes me a minute to fill everyone else’s orders before I set a short glass filled with two cubes of ice floating in amber liquid in front of him. “Order up.”

His gaze holds mine as he lifts the glass to his nose and sniffs softly. “Whiskey?”

“Top shelf. On the rocks. Seems like you’re a man with expensive taste.”

“And yet you offered to buy it for me.”

“Maybe,” I quip. “Depends if you still plan on sticking around or not.”

He smiles, making my stomach tighten. “Depends on if you’re gonna keep ignoring me or not.”

I laugh. “Ignoring you and working are two different things.”

“Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. So tell me, Sammie, do you treat all your customers with this much hospitality?”

“Well, it is my father’s bar, after all,” I point out.

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum.

“Then I assume you know the band pretty well since they’re regulars.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you care to explain why Gibson Hayes is currently forcing that pretty waitress onto the stage?”

Brows pinched, I scan the buzzing crowd before finding Gibson guiding Dove, one of the waitresses and his total crush though he refuses to admit it, toward the stage.

“Um…” my voice trails off as I watch her stumble up the steps before giving the audience her back while facing the other two members of the band. They’re talking in hushed voices, though I have no idea what they’re saying, and I’m left lost and confused.

“Um?” he challenges.

Gibson, I’m gonna kill you for making me lie to this guy!

With a grimace, I turn back to Hawthorne and ask, “So, what’s your first name?”

The guy sees right through me and shakes his head. “Nice try, but I’m not gonna let you off the hook. Are you stalling for Gibson?”

Tucking my thumbs into the back pockets of my jean shorts, I rock back on my heels and shrug my shoulders. “I’m sorry. Stalling for who?”

“You’re cute, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you’re not stupid. Were you told to play me?”

I bite the inside of my cheek but stay quiet.

“Why is there a woman on stage instead of the lead singer, Fender Hayes?”

The beginning chords of one of their bigger songs echo throughout the room as the bassist, Stoker, begins strumming.

“Sammie,” he prods, his gaze still focused on me.

“Sh… It’s rude to talk during a performance.”

He shakes his head before swiveling on the barstool to face the stage fully, though I have a feeling our conversation is far from over.

Dove is one of the shyest, most introverted people I’ve ever met. The fact that she’s on stage in front of a good chunk of strangers is huge. And makes absolutely no sense. I might’ve pretended that this is the norm to Hawthorne for Gibson’s sake. But the truth is, this is so out of the ordinary that I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.

Dove grabs the microphone and licks her lips before bringing it closer to her mouth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she sings the first set of lyrics, her voice shaky but also gorgeous before I catch Gibson weaving his way back through the crowd.

What are you doing?

He takes the stairs two at a time, grabs the microphone in front of Stoker, and joins her. On stage. In front of everyone. Singing. Together.

Holy shit, Batman.

This. Is. Huge.

Gibson can sing? What is happening right now?

With my mouth hanging wide open, I watch them sing the duet of a lifetime, their voices growing louder and more confident with each passing lyric until the final note is played.

The crowd goes wild as the mysterious Fen jumps on stage and yells, “Did you see that?! Did you freaking see that?! Let’s give these two another round of applause!”

Gibson guides Dove off stage, his hand on her lower back, while Fender straps on his guitar and dives right into the next song in their set. Like the whole thing was planned when I have no doubt it was the opposite. And all the while, I can feel Hawthorne watching me.

Again.

Me.

Not the stage, which is the entire reason he showed up at SeaBird tonight.

But me.

The realization makes me squirm.

“Why’d you buy me this drink, Sammie Norris?” he demands, not quite frustrated but hardly amused, either.

Avoiding his gaze, I rest my elbows against the counter and lean forward, making sure he can hear me over Fender’s talented voice.

“Speaking of drinks, do you need another?”

His calloused palm grips my forearm and keeps me in place before he closes the last bit of distance between us, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Do you know who I am, Sam?”

“Not exactly,” I hedge.

“And what do you know?”

“Not much.”

“Sam.”

“Fine,” I huff, crumbling under his hypnotic stare. “All I know is that you were here to watch Broken Vows play, but they were a little late in starting, so I was supposed to keep you from leaving before you had a chance to listen to their awesomeness. That’s it.”

Damn those baby blues.

“And the pretty girl who just sang?”

My eye twitches as the compliment slips out of him.

He smirks but doesn’t comment on my jealousy. “Does she normally sing with the band?”

“Pretty sure you should ask Gibson that question.”

“Pretty sure I was asking you, the other pretty girl of the evening.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” I pull my arm back a bit, but he holds me in place. Not with bruising force, but with a determination that only fans my curiosity. I’ve always been a sucker for an alpha, and the man in front of me clearly fits the bill through and through.

“He won’t be in trouble, and neither will you,” Hawthorne promises me. “But I need the truth if Broken Vows has any hope of touring with Organized Chaos. Understand?”

So that’s what this is about.

Touring with Organized Chaos would be huge for Gibson and the band. Especially when they come from a small town like ours. Which means Hawthorne can make or break Broken Vows’ future. And I’m in the crosshairs.

Greeeaaat.

“As far as I know, she’s never been associated with the band before tonight,” I explain carefully. “However, she does work here and has a major thing for Gibson, but he has a major rule against dating coworkers, so he’s never pursued anything. Then again, I’m pretty sure he has a thing for her, too, especially since he just got on stage and sang in front of a bunch of people, even though I had no idea he could sing. So…yeah. Does that answer your question?” I ramble.

Damn. Those. Baby. Blues.

“Let me take you out tonight,” he decides, obviously entertained by said rambling if his smirk anything to go by.

Feeling whiplashed, I flinch back a few inches. “Wait. What?”

“Unless you were just flirting with me to distract me from a very late performance by your friend?” he challenges. The bastard has me exactly where he wants.

He leans a little closer, his whiskey-laced breath fanning across my cheeks and scattering my thoughts like leaves in a windstorm.

A date?

“You’re serious?” I ask.

“Like the plague.”

“But…why?”

“You’ve intrigued me, Sammie Norris. And I haven’t felt intrigued in a long time. Unless you admit that your flirting was all a rouse and you aren’t interested…”

I lick my lips but don’t pull my arm away from his warm grasp. If anything, I lean closer.

That same arrogant grin shines back at me before he murmurs, “When do you get off work?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure.”

“I need to have a little chat with Gibson. I’ll be back in ten. Don’t go anywhere.”

He lets me go, and I’m left reeling.

And to think I wasn’t going to come to work tonight…