Page 31 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Tucker

I love this bar.

I love it because I know exactly what to expect every time I step in the door. Sticky floors, upbeat music, cold cheap beer, and familiar faces.

Nothing really changes. Not the decor. Not the menu of fried appetizers. Not the eighties cover band that plays every other Saturday night or the fact that Friday is dedicated to karaoke.

I also love it because no tourists are here. Sure, we thrive because of the Canadians taking two-week-long vacations in March and the New Yorkers grabbing a discount airline ticket for a quick weekend getaway. I love that they love our weather and our beach and our beach town charm.

But…I hate the traffic and waiting in line for a table at my favorite BBQ joint and finding out someone has walked their dog downtown and not cleaned up after them the hard way.

I’m a simple guy with simple needs, who doesn’t really love change, and who has had the same friend group since the age of five.

Shoving open the door, I spot my friends in our usual spot, stage left, two tables shoved together.

Swanson’s is a Honeysuckle Harbor staple for locals.

The tourists have never discovered it because it’s down what looks like a questionable dead-end alley before entering the parking lot for the shipping docks.

It’s chock full of fishermen, dock workers, and service staff for the various resorts that dot the coastline.

It’s cash only, because the owner, Salty Sam Swanson, is, well, salty.

He thinks credit card fees are for pussies.

On the upside of his outdated business model, the drinks are cheap as fuck.

The boys already have a bucket of beer on the table, the sweating bottles jammed into ice in a blue bucket that has a peeling, crackled sticker declaring, “I lost my virginity at Swanson’s.

” There are various myths and legends surrounding the origin of the sticker’s slogan, but I think the most commonly accepted truth is that “it was the eighties.” That’s the explanation for almost everything about Swanson’s, and we don’t bother to question it.

I wave to my friends and pull up a stool.

“Hey, what’s up?” Henry calls out to me, standing up to give me a shoulder bump.

Around the table with him are Ashton, Cliff, and Diggs, which is his last name but effectively turned first name at this point.

We all have been friends since tee ball, and while we have various careers and partners and even a baby in the case of Ashton, we still manage to make it to Swanson’s to hang out once a month or so.

We used to be in a dart league here, but Diggs nailed Cliff in the cheek with a dart—it was a superficial wound—and the fallout of that argument and who was wrong and who was right led us to leave darts in the past.

Now we just hang out and have a couple of beers.

Henry does sing karaoke because honestly, he’s fucking good at it, and we enjoy giving him shit about having the “voice of an angel.”

We all exchange greetings.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Diggs comments.

I yank a beer bottle off of the ice and pop the cap off. “I am. The lawsuit against me got dismissed thanks to my lawyers. Well, and the fact that it was bullshit.”

I can’t say I was really worried, but the whole allegation was a pain in the ass. Time and money spent that I didn’t want to waste.

“Hey, that’s awesome!” Henry says. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks. It’s a relief, though I never had any doubts about it.”

“Yeah, but you always need a good lawyer. Glad it worked out,” Cliff comments.

“Just in time too,” I say. “One of the firm’s lawyers left.”

What a mess that had been. I had felt really fucking bad for Finley.

Normally, I’d say kissing a woman wasn’t the best way to express that, but Finley had been staring up at me like she wanted me to take charge.

So I did, and she’d responded very damn positively.

Mr. Fucking Fix It, that’s me.

Ashton gave me a knowing look. “Definitely just in time. My sister is friends with Kyle, who works there, you know. I heard all about Finley Anderson’s boyfriend hooking up with the big boss.”

Damn it. That is the one irritating thing about living in a small town.

Nothing is a secret.

I scowl at Ashton. “Maybe stop gossiping about other people’s fucking lives. That’s nobody’s business but Finley.”

“Whoa.” Ashton puts his hands up. “Look, I wasn’t judging anyone in this story. I was just siding with you that the timing of getting your lawsuit dismissed was a good one, because I imagine things are tense in that office right now. Relax, buddy.”

I realize my fists are clenched and my shoulders stiff. “Finley doesn’t deserve to be talked about.”

It’s obvious I’m saying too much. My buddies are all eyeballing me with suspicion now.

“Got a thing for Finley now?” Cliff asks. “I saw her at the coffee shop the other day. She grew up real nice.” He makes a gesture to indicate big breasts.

Before I even realize what the fuck I’m doing, my arms shoot out and I grip Cliff by the shirt with two fists and jerk him across the table toward me. The beer bucket clanks and Cliff’s stool goes sliding out from under him.

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that, got it?”

Cliff doesn’t look worried. He’s grinning. “Got it.”

Deflated by his reaction, I release him. “Good. Don’t be disrespectful.”

I feel that way about women in general.

But…this might be a little bit of misplaced anger. I want to knock Evan Young out for hurting Finley.

The next best thing I can do, though, is give her an amazing night of hot sex.

And a speech over the karaoke mic that will satisfy her gleeful need to even the score with me.

“I guess the girls don’t know the full story,” Henry comments, lifting a beer out of the bucket.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Though I already know. They’re on to me.

“It means you’ve been Finley’d,” Diggs says. “You like her, don’t you?”

I nod, because I do like Finley. As an intriguing, complicated, fascinating woman.

Who I fully intend to fuck tonight.

But that’s none of their business.

Sure, there are going to be questions after I take the mic, but I’ll deal with my friends tomorrow.

Tonight is all about Finley.

“I do like her.”

“She’s a cool chick,” Ashton says. “You going to make a move now that she’s single?”

I barely hear Ashton.

Because Finley has walked into Swanson’s.

I don’t know what made me swivel my head to view the door, but I did.

There she is.

It was like a magnetic pull. Like I knew she was there just by her energy entering the bar.

Damn. I am practically vibrating with the need to be inside this woman.

Finley is wearing a black lace skirt, a tight burgundy shirt that doesn’t reach the waist of her skirt so I can see a ribbon of smooth pale flesh, a leather jacket, and short boots with a thick heel. She has on very dark lipstick, and her hair is tousled and shaggy.

She looks very, very fuckable.

I stand up.

“I think that’s your answer, Ash.”

Ignoring him, I move across the bar.

One of the advantages of being tall and broad is that people tend to shift out of the way subconsciously when I walk through a room. It allows me to cut through a crowd quickly, and I’ve never appreciated it more than I do right now because I’m over to Finley in seconds.

“You look…hot as fuck,” I tell her. “Is this a breakup revenge outfit meant to make guys want you? Because it’s working.”

She gives me a smile that borders on a smirk. “I was going for witchy. You know, in honor of our breaking the curse tonight.”

That makes me chuckle softly under my breath. “My cock is getting hard just thinking about how we’re going to celebrate.”

Finley glances down at the front of my jeans. “Oh, well. Hello there.” She raises her gaze to meet mine and flicks her tongue over her bottom lip in a way that only increases the blood flow to my dick. “Buy me a drink.”

I realize I’m trailing after her, and I don’t even mind.

Jesus. This girl…

“Vodka tonic,” she tells the bartender.

“You’re not even easing in,” I comment.

“It’s been a week…or two.”

“I can imagine. How are you doing?” I ask. “For real? As a friend.”

“We’re friends now?” She leans against the bartop. “I had you more in the fuck- boy category, if I’m being honest.”

That annoys me more than it should. She’s clearly just trying to get under my skin or stay in control. Or both.

I edge into her space. I half expect her to push me away, but she doesn’t.

Finley holds her ground.

When I brush her leg with mine, forcing her to widen her stance a little, I lean forward.

Her breath hitches. Her lips part.

She thinks I’m going to kiss her.

Which I want to do.

But not yet. I shift right past her and grab a handful of nuts out of the bowl on the bar. Normally, I would never eat these fucking nuts, but I don’t have any other excuse for my reach, so I toss them in my mouth.

“Sorry.” I step back. “I’m hungry.”

Finley’s cheeks are a little pink, and she turns away from me with a huff.

“Hastings! Hey, Hastings!”

My friends are calling over to me. “Mike says you’re up.”

“Gotta go,” I tell Finley. “Time to dedicate a song to you.” I tap her nose because I suspect she’ll hate that.

I’m right. She instantly bristles.

But before she can respond, I say, “Be right back.” Then I move to the makeshift stage in the center of the bar and accept the microphone from Mike, the emcee. He’s been hosting karaoke since the dawn of time, and he looks surprised to see me up there.

He should be surprised. I hate singing in public.

“‘She Hates Me’ by Puddle of Mudd,” Mike says jovially. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of this one, but it sure doesn’t sound like a love song.”

Finley’s jaw drops.

Every ounce of embarrassment I’m about to feel is worth catching her off guard.