Calendar Girl 12 - December Read Free Page B

attraction was all me.
    I put the cool glass of cider against my cheeks, relishing the chilly reprieve against the heat, while Alex continued.
    “Turned out I fucking hate working with numbers unless they are adding up someone’s check. I love working a crowd, meeting new people, providing a nice place for people to come and just be. The stress, the tension, man, it was killing me. So I got out.”
    Wes choked on his beer. “You just left? Weren’t you making a lot of zeros?”
    Alex grinned. “Yep. Enough that I bought this bar right off the guy that owned it, put some cash down on my own place up here and now enjoy breathing fresh smog-free air. Every. Fuckin’. Day. I love my life.”
    “What about a mate?” Wes asked.
    At that question, Alex’s shoulders slumped, and on a man his size, it was like dropping a couple sandbags to the floor. “One day,” he said in a way that made me believe it would happen for him because he was open to it.
    Wes put his hand over his buddy’s forearm in a supportive gesture. “Happy for ya.”
    Alex looked at me, smirked, and gave me the guy head tilt. “Very happy for you.”
    “Can’t complain there.” Wes wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against his chest.
----
    O nce we finished our drinks , Wes ordered us a couple more. Before I knew it, there was a person tapping on my shoulder.
    “Um, you Mia Saunders?” A deep voice asked from behind me.
    I swiveled my chair and turned around. Then I looked up. And up. Into the rugged face of a man with a thick head of dark, layered hair that fell into his eyes. His square jaw was shaved clean, and his chin had one of those little dents that made a woman want to put her thumb into it and hold him in place when she kissed him. At least, I would kiss this man if I were a good thirty years older and in need of a hunky gentleman. He wore a long-sleeved waffle thermal with a plaid shirt left open. Actually, this must have been what was called lumberjack chic, because Alex was similarly dressed, and he was a quarter of a century or more younger.
    “Of course you’re Mia.” His eyes seemed to skip over each of my features. My hair, face, body, but in a cursory glance. He spent far more time on my eyes, which sent a shiver rushing down my back.
    Wes stood and wedged himself in front of me, protective as usual. Only this time, I appreciated it because this guy looked at me as if he knew me, which was disconcerting.
    “You Kent?” Wes asked.
    Kent put out his hand. “Kent Banks. I’m the reason you’re here,” he said automatically.
    Wes shook his hand and introduced himself. I did the same.
    Kent held out a hand toward a booth over to the side. “Care to sit a spell?”
    “Sure. Thanks,” I said, wrapping my hand around my cider. Wes did the same with his mostly full Guinness.
    Kent picked a booth off to the side where there wasn’t as much noise. The place was a bit rowdy with the game in the third quarter. The crowd didn’t seem to have a preference over which team to root for. Almost every play came with cheers, clapping, and smack talking. I was used to it, growing up in Vegas, working the bars most my life. Noise didn’t bother me, and I could easily tune it out.
    We sat down, and I got right to business. “So, Mr. Banks. Care to tell me why you’d pay a bunch of money to have me specifically come out here and do a show on local artists, one of whom is your wife?”
    Kent furrowed his brow “I didn’t pay one red cent to get you out here.” He scoffed and sat back folding his arms over his chest.
    I glanced at Wes. He looked just as confused. “My boss’s assistant said you donated money to get me out here in person to do a segment on your wife, a local artist.”
    The man shook his head. “Not true.”
    “Um, I believe we have a misunderstanding then. Did you not request me?” I asked, uncertain. If he hadn’t, why was I here, and why was he meeting me at the local hangout to talk shop before the