Salt Water Wounds (Oyster Cove #1) Read Free Page B

husband up and left her, after beating her to the brink of death, and if it wasn’t for her father, she would have lost everything. She’s been back on the island for the past seven years, and as far as I can tell has hooked up with quite a few waterman her father does business with. I guess I’m on some list she wants to conquer, unfortunate for her.
    I get it though. I understand what it’s like to want to feel the touch of another. I can appreciate that she’s able to go out and get attention when she needs to feel wanted. I’m not appreciated, at least not as much as I’d like to be.
    We’re both damaged. Two wrongs do not make a right.
    A lot of locals frequent this bar, making it the one place I feel comfortable drinking at. I’m not going to receive dirty looks from any of the old folk visiting, assuming I’m nothing but a derelict drunk, at least not as much.
    On weekends the place is packed with people of all ages. She has entertainment each night, and offers the best selection of beverages to choose from on tap and top shelf.
    I smile after she acknowledges me. “Perry.”
    She places a shot glass on the bar top and grabs a bottle of Jim Bean. “I had a feeling you’d be in today.”
    I smirk, but not because I’m impressed. Small town life leaves little secrets. Everyone knows your business, whether you want them to or not. She’s obviously noticed a pattern and made a mental note of it. Bartenders in general have a way of learning to read people. I suppose some folks would appreciate having a free shrink while enjoying a frothy cold beer, while I’d rather sit in a corner and mind my own damn business.
    I nod and take the first shot, closing my eyes as the initial burn makes its way down my parched throat. I’m not gentle when I sit the tiny cup in front of her and await a refill.
    She obliges and fills it to the brim, watching, but never saying anything. To avoid conversation, I spin around and make my way to a corner round table away from the bar. I want nothing more than to be alone, celebrating the life of my wife in peace.
    Perry comes over a few minutes later with a pitcher of beer and an empty frosted glass. I conjure a half smile because she’s read my mind, or felt sorry for me once again “Let me know if you need anything else, Buck. If you’re hungry I can have the kitchen make you something.” She winks as the words escape her mouth.
    “I’m good for now. Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it. Sometimes we all need a break.”
    I watch her amble toward another customer as they enter through the door, then keep my eyes focused as she leads them toward the bar and serves them a beverage. She’s not as friendly to this person as she is to me. In fact, I can sense that she’s uncomfortable. Her body language changes, and she’s not making eye contact with the person as they speak with her.
    If I had to guess, Perry is in her thirties, maybe early forties. I’m a terrible judge of age and weight in women, and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about it.
    She’s got long brown straight hair, giant chocolate eyes, and skin that’s almost as tan as mine. She’s curvy, but not overweight, not to my standards, granted I like a woman with a little extra to grab. Her ass reminds me of Layla’s, and the way my hands would cup each cheek when I’d come home each night and pull her into my arms. If I close my eyes I can almost feel it happening, like it was yesterday. Sometimes I’ve thought about Perry when I’m alone in bed at night. She’s been a good visual for stress relief, sometimes making it difficult to have a normal conversation with her in real life.
    I focus on the visitor I don’t recognize. The patron picks up a glass dish full of peanuts and chucks it toward an unprepared Perry. She darts out of the way at the last second. I scan the room and notice that the other four people in the establishment haven’t noticed this altercation.
    Her voice raises and she points to