He just shakes his head, walks up to me, and pats me on the back. “Let’s try and have a good time tonight. Drink a few, unwind, whatever. But can we try not to trash the place, please.”
I laugh and lift the second beer to my lips, draining it in one chug. “Sure thing,” I tell him with a smirk.
7
Emily
I should be working. Scheduling ads for the Whiskey Run paper. Doing some social media posts. Hell, there’s a whole list of things I should be doing, but instead I’m sitting here, still trying to figure out Dawson.
He obviously doesn’t like me, but that doesn’t make sense. He’s gone out of his way to help me. He literally saved me last night. He bought me brand new things for the apartment upstairs, got everything moved in and set up before I even got here, and he’s taken care of my car. If he was really an asshole, would he have done all that?
I thought since he had the night off, I would be able to get work done without worrying about him always scowling at me, but as the night goes on, I start to miss him, which is crazy. I obviously don’t have the best taste in men. Why would I want someone that is going to be an ass?
Ring. Ring. I pick up the phone, ready for a distraction. “Savage Ink. This is Emily.”
“This is Malcolm.”
I silently groan. There’s usually only one reason that Malcolm would be calling. He’s the manager of the Whiskey Whistler. He owns the bar a block down the street, and I’m already wondering if I can just hang up and unhook the phone. “How you doing, Malcolm?” I ask lightheartedly, as if I don’t know why he’s calling.
He growls into the phone. “I’ve been better. Send Aiden or Treyton down here to get Dawson before he destroys the place.”
“They’re both in the middle of tattoos.”
He sighs loudly into the phone. There’s all kinds of noise in the background, and I’m pretty sure one of the voices I hear is Dawson. “Fine. I’ll just call the sheriff.”
“No, don’t do that.” I don’t know why I stop him. This is becoming a regular occurrence where Aiden or Treyton is having to go and save him. I should just let him spend the night in jail and sober up—face the consequences, but after everything he’s done for me, I know I can’t. “One of us will be there in a minute.”
“Fine. Ten minutes, then I’m calling.”
I hang up the phone and walk back to Aiden’s booth first. “Sorry to interrupt. Malcolm just called... Dawson is...”
“I can’t go. I have to finish this. Can you ask Trey?”
I nod and walk down the hall to Treyton’s booth. I lose hope when I walk in and Trey is in the middle of a big back piece. There’s no way he’ll be able to go. “Hey, Malcolm called and said someone needs to come get Dawson before they call the cops.”
Trey stops the buzzing tattoo gun and looks up at me. “How is it up front? You busy?”
I shake my head. “No, but...”
“He’s harmless, Emily. He’d never hurt you. He’s just hard on himself and doesn’t know how to deal with his shit.”
I purse my lips together. I’m not sure what all that means or why he’s telling me that, but that’s the second time that someone has made it seem that there’s more to Dawson than I know about.
“Can you go and get him? Take him home?”
Reluctantly, I nod my head. “Yeah, I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll lock up.”
I nod and go back up front to grab my purse. I drive down the block and park right in the front of the Whiskey Whistler. The place is rundown on the outside, and if it was my first time here, I’d be surprised by what I find inside. Everything is fancy. It’s like a big city bar instead of the small-town dive that it appears to be on the outside.
As soon as I walk in, I spot Malcolm, and he points his head toward the back of the bar. I walk to the back, and Dawson has a chair raised over his head like he’s about to throw it. “Dawson!” I scream over the loud music and chaos.
His head turns toward me, and he drops the chair instantly. I stomp my way over to him, and I don’t know if it’s all these weeks of dealing with his bullshit and attitude, but I don’t stop until I’m right in front of him. I grab his shirt and pull him down until we’re face to face. “What the hell are you doing?”
I never in a gazillion years would have been prepared for his response. “Emily,” he says huskily, right before he puts his lips on mine. Push him away. Knee him in the nuts. All these thoughts go through my mind, but I don’t do any of them. No, instead I pull him closer and let him deepen the kiss. Damn, what have I gotten myself into?