Jenna took the journal, flipped to the right page, and added something to her list:
Get laid.
Then she drew an arrow pointing at Hot Guy.
The guy nodded in approval. “Now you’ve got a list.”
“Keep dreaming, buddy.” Piper shook her head at Jenna. “And you. Are you kidding me? You wrote that in ink.” Which meant it couldn’t be erased. And Piper couldn’t rip it out either. You couldn’t just rip out a page from a bullet journal; it went against how she’d been coded. She supposed she should just be grateful Jenna hadn’t turned to the next page and revealed her secret secret bucket list.
Jenna turned to Hot Guy. “Listen, don’t let her bad attitude scare you. She’s all bark and no bite.”
He shrugged. “I like bite.” And his and Piper’s eyes locked. His were an intense, assessing hazel, a swirling, mesmerizing mix of green, brown, and gold. He was good-looking, but so were a lot of men. He was clearly in good shape—also not all that uncommon. But there was something else, something intangible that created an odd fluttering in her belly, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was—interest. Which made no sense. She wasn’t looking for anything, and he . . . Well, in spite of his easy engagement in their conversation, his eyes seemed . . . hollow, and he hadn’t cracked a single smile.
Maybe they were kindred perpetually-pissed-off-at-the-world spirits, she didn’t know. But one thing was for sure, he didn’t seem uncomfortable in the least as she studied him. In fact, he didn’t seem the sort to be uncomfortable in any situation.
Around them, the bar was in full nighttime fun mode. Music, talking, laughter . . . Everywhere came the sounds of people having a good time, not a one worried about the storm building. When someone called out for Jenna to join a darts game, she slid off her stool. “Okay, so, I’m going to abandon her now,” she told Hot Guy. “Feel free to play the gallant gentleman swooping in to save the birthday girl. ’Night, Piper.”
“That’s Grandma to you.”
Jenna just laughed and kept walking, and Piper pulled out her phone to thumb in a text.
“Bet you’re telling your wingman that you’re going to kill her.”
Okay, gallant gentleman her ass. More like dark and dangerous . . . She hit send and looked up. “I might’ve mentioned she shouldn’t close her eyes when she goes to sleep tonight. But you know what? Yours is better. Hold please.” She typed a new text: Don’t forget, thanks to my dad, I know a ton of ways to kill someone with my pen.
He read over her shoulder. “Nice.”
“You find violent tendencies nice?”
He shrugged. “Being able to defend yourself is smart.”
“You know I was just kidding about the pen thing, right?”
He cocked his head and studied her. “Were you?”
About the killing Jenna thing, yeah. But not about knowing how to do it with a pen. And yet no one had ever, not once, called her out on that threat as being real.
“Your dad military?” he asked.
“Was. He’s gone now.”
He gave a single nod, his eyes saying he got it at a core level. “I’m sorry.”
She supposed it was his genuine and clearly understanding reaction that had her doing something she rarely did—saying more, unprompted. “We lived overseas in some seriously sketchy places. He made sure I knew how to defend myself and my siblings.”
He gave another nod, this one in approval, and it had her taking a second look at him, at the calm, steady gaze that withheld any personal thoughts, at the way he sat at rest, but with a sense of tightly harnessed power. And then there was his build, which suggested he could handle whatever situation arose. “You were military too.”
He studied her right back for a long beat, assessing. “Still am.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she arched a brow, waiting for more, but it didn’t come. “Let me guess,” she said. “It’s a secret. If you told me, you’d have to kill me.”
The very corners of his eyes crinkled. She was either annoying him or amusing him. “I’m actually a DEA agent,” he said. “But also Coast Guard.”
“How do you do both?”
“I was active duty for twelve years. Been in the Reserve for two. My DEA job schedule allows for the times I’m in training, activated, or deployed.”
Man. She thought her parents had lived dangerous lives. This guy had them beat. And considering what had happened to her mom and dad, she decided then and there that she had less than zero interest in him, no matter how curious she might be. Because seriously, where was a hot easygoing surfer when you needed one? “How often does any of that happen? The training, activation, or deployment?”
“My unit trains three days a month in Virginia. We get activated at will. Deployed less often, but it happens.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal that he put his life on hold at what she assumed was short notice to go off to save the world.
“The DEA doesn’t mind you leaving at the drop of a hat?”
“They knew that when they signed me on. I had the skill sets they needed.”
“And what skill sets are those?”
He gave her another of those looks, and she smiled. “Right. Now we’re at the ‘you’d tell me, but then you’d have to kill me’ part.”
With a maybe-amused, maybe-bemused shake of his head, he lifted his drink in her direction. “Happy birthday, Piper.”
She blew out a sigh. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He gave a very small snort. “You’re really not a fan of birthdays.”
“No. Or parties.”
“I’m getting that.” He was looking at her list again, and she put a hand on the journal to prevent him from flipping to the next page, which was even more revealing, and braced herself for the inevitable comment about the getting-laid thing.
But he surprised her. “It’s way too cold in Alaska,” he said. “If that were my list, I’d be aiming for a South Pacific island.”
“Preferably deserted?”
He met her gaze. “Maybe not completely deserted.”
Her stomach did a weird flutter, and that scared her. She didn’t want to feel stomach flutters, not for this guy. “If you’re flirting with me,” she said slowly, “you should know I’m not interested.”
“Good thing, then, that I’m not flirting with you.”
How crazy was it that she felt just the teeniest bit disappointed? Plus, she didn’t know how to respond. Reading social cues was not her strong suit. Feeling awkward, which was nothing new for her, she slid off her barstool and tucked her journal into her rain jacket pocket, surprised to realize they were still surrounded by people, her people, along with music and talking and laughter, and yet . . . for the past few minutes it’d felt like they’d been all alone.
“You out?” he asked.
“I think it’s best if I call it a night.”
He rubbed his jaw again, and the sound his stubble made did something to her insides that she refused to name. “Let me at least buy you a drink for your birthday first.”
“Thanks, but there’s the storm blowing in.” As she said this, the power flickered but held. “I should keep my wits about me.”