Page 12 of Memphis Bound

Considering that kiss is all I've freaking thought about since the moment his lips were on mine, avoiding him seemed like the smart thing to do.

I didn't come here to fall into his arms. I didn't come here to fall for him. And yet…I feel myself slipping anyway. I think about him when I shouldn't. He's invaded my dreams, my fantasies, every waking moment. The man is haunting me, and he isn't even a ghost.

I should be relieved that he hasn't been around much. Instead, I've missed him. The bar feels empty without him. I feel cold without his eyes on me.

He spent the whole time he was here last night staring at me from behind the bar like he wanted to eat me alive. Women kept trying to flirt with him, but he wouldn't even acknowledge them. Didn't say a single word to any of them, as a matter of fact. He just stared at me the entire time.

I shouldn't like that nearly as much as I do…yet I do.

It's utter freaking ridiculousness!

I need to get it together and get him out of my head. He's like an annoyingly catchy pop song, though. He refuses to dislodge. Accepting his job offer was a terrible idea. I thought I could handle myself—that I could be here night after night and not get too close, that I could learn more about him, figure out who he really is and what makes him tick.

It was a bad idea.

I'm already too close. And I don't know how to pull back and rein myself in now. I like this version of Memphis far more than I should. So does everyone else. Everyone I've talked to respects him. They like him. Even the girls here, most of whom hate me, have nothing but good things to say about him and how well he treats them.

He isn't the same man he was when I was a kid. Because of Jayson?

"Order's up." Jessup slides three beer bottles across the bar to me, his eyes locked on the group from my booth standing around the pool tables. Concern burns in his blue-gray eyes. "Careful when you head back over there. Those two can be trouble."

I follow his gaze to the two bikers who just walked in, but they don't look any more problematic than anyone else in the bar. They're dressed in the same black boots, faded jeans, and cuts as everyone else in the bar. One of the two, a younger guy with dark hair and a wicked scar across the side of his face, holds his fist out for someone from my booth to bump. The guy with him is older, his long hair graying.

"I'll be fine," I say confidently, not particularly worried about either of them. I've been turning down bikers for the last three nights. They're all flirty and outrageous, but for the most part, they've been respectful about it. No one has crossed any lines. They flirt, I get sarcastic, and they leave me alone. It's a flawed system, but it works.

Hesitation flickers across Jessup's face, but I shoot him a calm, confident smile and scoop up the bottles. "I'm fine, Jessup. I can handle myself."

Whenever I see Memphis again, however, we're going to talk. I have a feeling he told Jessup to babysit me. That isn't what he pays him to do, and I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. I've been doing it my entire life. I don't need him treating me differently than he does anyone else here, especially when the other girls already hate me because of Shelby.

I skirt around tables and dodge bodies on my way to deliver the beer. As I move to step around the two bikers Jessup warned me about, the one with the scar steps in front of me, blocking my path.

"Hey, doll," he drawls, eyeing me like I'm the last shot of whiskey left in the bar.

"Excuse me."

He doesn't move.

Great. I guess we're doing this.

"Can I help you or are you just going to stare at me all night?"

He smirks, the scar down the side of his face pulling taut. "How about you get a couple shots for me and my brother here, and then join us? I'll save a spot for you on my lap."

"Sorry, we don't serve delusions here. Only alcohol," I shoot back, earning laughter from the other guys around the pool table. Even his brother chuckles.

Apparently, he doesn't find me nearly as funny as everyone else. His smirk slips, his stare turning cold. "You too good for us, you rude bitch?"

"Nope. Just busy and not interested."

"Didn't ask for your fuckin' schedule. You want a tip, work for it, bitch."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Rick, one of the bikers from my booth, haul himself upright from where he was leaning over the pool table. He sets his cue stick down, turning slowly.

"Ease off, Phantom. She's Memphis's old lady."

Memphis's old lady? What the crap? Is that why everyone is being respectful? They all think I belong to him or something?

"I am not hi—"