Hendrix: A Pittsburgh Titans Novel
Hendrix: Chapter 3

“What’s with pretty boy?” my dad asks as I walk back behind the bar and deposit the tray beside one of the beer coolers. He looks over his shoulder to where Harlow, Stone, and his teammates sip on draft beers to chase the whiskey shots.

“Trying to get a date,” I say nonchalantly as I reach for my pool cue case. “I declined, and he said if I gave him ten minutes he could talk me into it.”

“So, you’re going to give him ten minutes over a game of pool?” he asks, returning his attention to me.

“No, he bet me a game of pool with the prize being ten minutes of my time.”

My dad chuckles as he lifts his beer mug to his mouth. When he settles it down before him, he says, “Does he know you’re a shark?”

I grin impishly. “Didn’t ask.”

After opening the case, I screw my stick together and glance down the bar. It’s nowhere near as busy as it was when the event started, but there’re still more patrons than we normally have. I’ve got two working the bar and one circulating, but I hesitate. I never take time for something personal on evenings that I work.

“I’ll help cover if necessary,” my dad says, reading the worry on my face. “Besides, you should hang out a little with Harlow. You’ve been working all night and haven’t been able to enjoy the success of the evening.”

My heart lurches in boundless love for my father. He reads me so well and is always the first to make sure I’m taking care of myself, even if it means insisting I take a few minutes to have some fun.

And it will be fun to beat the gorgeous hockey player who thinks he’s far too charming for me to say no to him.

“Holler if it gets too hectic,” I instruct my father as I come around from behind the bar and bump my shoulder against his.

“Got you covered,” he replies in that gravelly voice I’ve heard described on more than one occasion as a dead ringer for Sam Elliott. “Also, tell that boy if he holds on to your hand like he did before, I’ll cut it off.”

I snort and shake my head. Not that my dad wouldn’t do exactly that, but he’d have to beat me to it. If I hadn’t wanted Hendrix to touch me, I’d have made him let go. You can’t be a female bar owner with a rougher clientele and not know a thing or two about putting handsy men in their place.

Carrying my cue toward one of the empty pool tables, I catch Hendrix’s eye and jerk my head, indicating for him to follow me.

To get his ass kicked.

He meets me at the table, followed by Harlow, Stone, and the other players I haven’t had a chance to meet formally yet. We were swamped tonight, so Harlow handled running the toy collection and photographs which allowed me to keep the bar running efficiently. The Titans’ celebrity brought in more customers than I’ve had in the last thirty days combined, and I wasn’t prepared for it.

Harlow introduces me, although I recognize each of them since I’m a huge fan.

“Choose your game,” I tell Hendrix as I pick up a square of blue chalk.

“Nine ball,” he says, moving to the wall rack to choose a cue.

I shoot a wink at Harlow, who grins back at me. She knows how good I am and I wonder if she gave him a heads-up. I fully intend to win, exact my prize by having Hendrix clean up the bar tonight, and then I’ll laugh about it with my friend next time we talk.

♦

My jaw drops as I watch the nine ball slowly roll into the side pocket off Hendrix’s impressive bank shot. He leans against his cue, grinning at me across the pool table. From the corner of my eye, I see his friends exchanging money, and it’s obvious some of them knew he was pretty damn good to have bet on him.

Not that I didn’t think he might be skilled at pool, but it’s just that I’m really, really good. Sadly, I didn’t play up to my potential tonight.

Harlow moves to my side, leans her head in, and whispers, “It’s almost as if you wanted to lose.”

“I didn’t want to lose,” I growl under my breath. “I hate losing.”

“If you say so,” she murmurs playfully, her eyes cutting across the pool table where Hendrix’s buddies slap his back. But he’s not paying them any attention, instead staring at me intently. “If I had to guess, you’re going to enjoy the ten minutes he just won.”

I wheel on Harlow, taking her wrist in my hand and pulling her a few feet away. “What is he expecting in that ten minutes?”

Harlow laughs. “Nothing more than what you’re willing to let him have, so relax. Hendrix is a nice guy, I promise you.”

“But he just dumped his girlfriend.” That doesn’t sound so nice.

“Trust me,” Harlow says with an incline of her head. “She needed to be dumped. She was one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever known.”

“Then why was he with her?” I ask curiously.

Harlow shrugs. “You have ten minutes with him. Maybe you should ask.” I scoff, because I don’t care about his personal life. “Although I suggest you continue the flirting you two had going on. It was fun to watch.”

This time, I roll my eyes, because the last thing I could ever be called is a flirt. I mean, sure, I’ll turn on the charm with my customers when I’m behind the bar, but that’s part of my job—and it increases tips.

Still, I did replace myself engaging with Hendrix as we moved around the pool table, analyzing angles and calling shots. I know the booze in him probably buoyed his natural charisma, but damn, he’s fun to be around. Playful, witty, and actually quite the gentleman, despite his obvious interest in me as a woman.

“I want my ten minutes now.” I turn around to replace Hendrix behind me, his eyes cutting briefly to Harlow. “And I want them to be quality, which means we’re not talking while you’re working behind the bar so we need someplace quiet.”

I twirl around, noting the still thirty or so patrons, and then nod toward the jukebox. “I can’t make it quiet in here.”

He grins devilishly as he hands his pool cue to Harlow and takes my hand. “Luckily, I’m an observant guy.”

To my shock, Hendrix leads me through the bar to the small hallway that branches off to the bathrooms on one side and the stockroom on the other.

It’s the stockroom door handle he grabs, pulling me in behind him. I glance back once into the bar area and note my father watchful but unmoving. He knows I can handle myself, but I can tell you Hendrix just landed a point against himself for pulling me into a private place. Not my problem though, especially since after he gets his ten minutes, I’ll never see him again.

The door closes and Hendrix looks around, taking in the rough wooden built-in shelves around the perimeter filled with supplies, as well as beer cases stacked in the center. Using his hold on my hand, he tugs me over to a lonely stool in the corner. It has a slight tear in the seat, which is why it’s in here.

He releases me and admittedly, I’m charmed when he presses down on the stool top, testing for stability. It holds strong because the rip is the only defect, and then he’s got me by the shoulders, spinning and pushing me down gently onto it.

Hendrix reaches a hand up to one of the wooden shelves, casually tucks his other hand in his jeans pocket, and crosses one ankle over the other. “Okay… since I only have ten minutes—”

“Starting now,” I say, glancing at my watch.

He powers on without missing a beat. “You should know my ultimate goal is in securing a date with you. It would help if you could tell me what hesitations you have in agreeing to such a thing. Like… for example, if you’re not attracted to me, there’s not much I can do about that, and I won’t waste our time.”

“It’s really that I’m too busy to—”

“Aha,” he says in triumph. “So you are attracted to me.”

“I didn’t say that,” I exclaim as I stand from the stool, trying to hold back the twitch of a threatened smile.

“You didn’t not say it either.” He smirks, moving very quickly out of his casual lean. He backs me up into the shelves, putting his hands on the wood at my shoulders, caging me in. “Looked like you were going to escape.”

“Just don’t like having to look up at you,” I counter, still needing to tip my head to look him directly in the eye because he’s so tall. “And back to your original question, the main reason I don’t want to go on a date is that I’m too busy.”

“I’m busy, too, but we can replace time.”

“Well, you did just dump a girl today, so you probably have more time than I do.”

“I didn’t dump her on a whim, you know.”

“And you’re already on the prowl,” I point out.

“Not prowling.” He moves in a bit, dips his head a little closer. “And my relationship with Tracy was severely broken. I should’ve ended things a long time ago.”

I hear a bit of disappointment in his tone, and that makes me curious. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because it takes effort to make a relationship work and I tried my damnedest. I’m not one who gives up easily and I don’t ever want to have regrets. Now, I definitely might have hung on too long trying to change things, but I won’t wake up tomorrow with any remorse for finally calling it quits.”

God, I can never let him know that right there would convince me to give him a try. One of my pet peeves is quitters. People who run when things get too hard, and that stems directly from my mom abandoning me because “having a kid was just a little too hard.”

Still, I’m stubborn and unwilling to let him know that meant anything to me. “We wouldn’t be well suited. You’re all preppy polos, and I’m a biker babe.”

Hendrix laughs, truly amused by my description. “Going to have to do better than the way we dress as an excuse.”

“It’s not just the way we dress,” I snap in defense. “You’re just… too… vanilla.”

If he found me funny before, he thinks I’m fucking hilarious as his bark of laughter is loud and deep. His humor wells up from his belly, and he laughs so hard, tears form in his eyes.

Shaking his head, still chuckling, he reaches a hand to tug on a lock of my hair just above my shoulder. “It’s cute you think I’m vanilla.” His eyes lift to meet mine, and his voice drops an octave. “If that’s a true concern, I’m willing to disprove that theory right now. I could have you screaming out my name in far less than ten minutes if you gave me the go-ahead.”

“Less than ten minutes, huh? Not a lot of lasting power, buddy.”

“I didn’t say I’d be screaming in that time frame. Only you would be. Trust me, I’ve got a lot of ways to get you there.”

God help me, but that hit me right between the legs and my throat is so parched my words come out in a rasp. “So, you’re all about a hot hookup then, huh?”

“Did I say I wanted a hookup?” His eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s still a low simmer of heat deep within. “I believe I asked for a date, but we can make it what you want.” Hendrix’s voice drops even lower with a sexy rumble. “I’m very willing to please.”

And I have no doubt he’d deliver if I let him.

I think about the opportunity before me. It’s absolutely true that I work very hard and don’t have a lot of free time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t date. Granted, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been on one and I might have gotten into a bit of a rut. But the question is, should I give Hendrix a try?

He’s gorgeous, and Harlow wouldn’t have let me take this bet so far if he wasn’t a decent guy. It’s true I think he might be a little vanilla, but the way he confidently challenged me makes me think I might be misjudging him.

All things in his favor, but most of all, I can’t let go of the fact that working hard on relationships is important to him. Not that I’m thinking we’d have anything past a first date, but I respect anyone who isn’t going to run scared when things get tough.

“Okay,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.

“Okay?” Hendrix says, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Okay,” I affirm.

“What’s your phone number?” he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket. I watch as he types in my number. My phone rings, and I move to pull it free, but his hand wraps around my wrist and stills me. Hendrix places his phone against his ear and waits a moment, then speaks to my voicemail. “Hi, Stevie. It’s Hendrix. Leaving this voicemail for you to listen to later in case you start having doubts and try to weasel out of our date.” His eyes are locked onto mine, his mouth curved into a boyish smile. “Just listen to this message as a reminder that something happened in the stockroom tonight that made you change your mind about me. Something that made you decide you could slice time out of your hectic schedule for a date. Remember what that was.”

He hangs up and winks.

I try not to be enchanted, turning sideways to slide past him. “Shoot me a text and let me know your availability.”

“I already know my availability,” he says as he follows me to the door. “I have tomorrow night off, then the night after that I have a home game. We can go out tomorrow, or I’ll get you a ticket to the game on Thursday, and we can go out after.”

“I have to work,” I reply automatically, reaching for the doorknob. Because I’m here almost every night.

“But do you really?” he asks, nabbing my hand before I can open the door. “You’re the owner. I’m sure you can replace someone to cover for you.”

I’m not about to get into it with him that I pour so much of myself into this business, so I don’t have to put myself in the dating world. My mom abandoning me might have left an indelible mark, making me wary with more than a few trust issues. Instead, I merely say, “Let me look at the schedule, and I’ll let you know.”

I turn for the door again, but Hendrix pulls me back until my attention is on him. “Is it too forward if I kiss you?”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, I say, “That’s pretty vanilla to ask permission, especially when not but two minutes ago, you were promising you could make me scream.”

Hendrix laughs, pulls my hand to his mouth, and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I know. I like keeping you off-balance.”

He releases my hand, reaches past me to the door, and opens it. Hendrix motions me through and I precede him out. Once the door is closed, he bends down to put his mouth near my ear. “It has been a real pleasure getting to know you tonight, Stevie.”

I shiver over the way he rolls out the word pleasure like it’s a promise.

Then he walks away without a backward glance.

Shaking my head in equal parts amusement and consternation since that didn’t go at all how I’d planned, I move back behind the bar.

My dad stares at me with one eyebrow lifted. “I don’t like him.”

“Why not?” I ask, grabbing his empty mug and moving to the tap to pour another.

When I return it to him, he says, “He’s too pretty.”

My gaze moves past my dad’s shoulder back to Hendrix, now talking to Stone and Harlow. I wonder if he’s telling them what went down in the storeroom.

Turning my regard back to my dad, I say, “He’s not too pretty.”

He’s actually remarkably handsome with his dark shaggy hair that looks windswept, expressive brown eyes, and lips that are too full to be disregarded. I wonder what they’d feel like, and the bad girl inside me thinks I might learn the answer to that question.

My dad twists his neck to look over his shoulder, stares at the players for a moment, and then looks back to me. “Did he make a move on you in the storage room? Because I could rearrange some parts of his face.”

Leaning over the bar, I pat my dad’s arm. “You’re cute. And no, he was a perfect gentleman.”

Although if he knew the promises Hendrix made that involved screaming, my dad would kill him right now.

“Are you going out with him?”

“I agreed to a date.”

“You let him know that I have lots of guns and I have broken men’s bones before.”

“I’ll let him know,” I promise with a smile.