For You - By Mimi Strong Page 0,1

just brown.”

“And how old are you, Aubrey with a b?”

“Old enough.”

“Too young to be married.” He had a mischievous grin as he looked pointedly at my left hand.

I shrugged. “Them's the breaks. Another beer?”

He leaned forward, like he was about to get out of his chair, but didn't. “You going to be here a while?”

I glanced at the imaginary watch that wasn't on my wrist. “Few more hours.”

We were interrupted by some people yelling a few tables over. They were two guys from up north, down in the Lower Mainland for a court case, for “bullshit charges,” as one of them had told me. Every other word was profanity, and getting louder.

Sawyer got up and slipped past me, heading in a straight line for their table. What the hell was wrong with him? You don't mess with guys who have nothing to lose. Those two were the human equivalent of a piece of shit car that you let go ahead of you on the road.

I was scared for the guy, but then the strangest thing happened. As he got closer to their table, the two guys seemed to get smaller, shrinking into their chairs. Sawyer was tall, but not enormous, so it had to be his swagger alone that made him seem so intimidating.

He was speaking low and quiet, so I couldn't make out what he was saying, but the two guys had wide eyes and kept nodding. He offered them his hand—the same hot hand I'd just held—and they each shook it respectfully.

Dumbfounded, I just stood there, my jaw dropped.

Sawyer came back to his table, a hint of a sexy smirk on his face. He looked eager for me to ask him what he'd said, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even though I was dying to know.

His face switched from sexy smirk to smug grin. “Just call me the Redneck Whisperer.”

“Another beer?”

“That sounds like a fine idea. One more, and I don't want to get out of control, so I promise I'll nurse it so I can keep you company the rest of your shift.” He looked pointedly at the two guys in their court-date finery, ties unfastened and shirts unbuttoned. They were both red-faced, but no longer belligerent. “I'll keep an eye on Rednecks One and Two over there for you.”

“Oh, really?”

He winked at me. “Yes, really.”

I turned around to go pour the beer, a lightness in my face. Possibly the beginning of a genuine smile. It was kind of sweet to have someone looking out for me.

The beer was only half-poured when the two rednecks got up and crossed over to the pool table. One of them could barely walk in a straight line, which meant it was time to cut him off, but the taller, skinny one glared at me with malevolence in his eyes.

Great. My trouble was just beginning.

Unfortunately for me, it was still early in the day. I was the only floor server on shift, so they were definitely my problem for the next hour.

I looked over at my uncle with pleading eyes, but he was busy sweating and grunting over a leaking line under the counter.

“Hey, Uncle Bruce?”

He didn't look up from where he was crouched. “Just call me Bruce. That other word makes me feel old. Makes my knees hurt.”

“Which drink did you say was the best one for servers?”

He put the wrench down and turned to look up at me. Unlike my mother and me, he didn't have blue eyes, but got the same amber-brown eyes as my Grandpa Jack. Bruce had the same dark, wavy hair and narrow nose that I inherited. My little sister Bell got lucky with blond hair and a button nose, but I got the Braun family traits. My uncle wasn't even forty, but he wore a thick, full beard that made him look older and tougher.

Bruce scratched his neck, his lower lip jutting out. “Gin. Pace yourself. No more than one an hour.”

“It's just that those guys are such assholes.”

“A doctor doesn't hold back the medicine, kid. If those guys put you on edge, have a drink so you're on their level. It's what we do in the hospitality business.”

“But you don't drink at work.”

“Not where anyone can see me.”

I poured myself a shot glass of gin, ducked down behind the bar, pretending to be retrieving something from the floor, and downed the gin shot in one swallow.

“Like a champ,” Bruce said, and he offered me his fist to bump.

The gin burned all