I’d laid fairly low for the past few weeks, not wanting to take any unnecessary notice, but this time I was shifting into a position that required notice. I was a professor at Boles, and I needed to seduce my new TA. So I headed toward a bar I hadn’t yet visited but had already marked out as the most popular student drinking spot.
Maybe I could casually pick up some more information on my new target. Sure seemed like she’d gained a bit of a reputation, if the jock earlier was to be believed.
I took a seat right at the bar, ordering myself a plate of hot wings and loaded fries to go with my beer. Thieves who claimed they didn’t drink so it didn’t impair their skills were just shit at their jobs. A real professional could lift a diamond necklace right off a princess’s neck while three sheets to the wind, and get away totally unscathed.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the pretty bartender asked as she delivered my food to me.
I nodded. “Yes, just today. I’m John.”
She smiled, giving a small eyelash flutter that she probably didn’t even notice she was doing. “Nice to meet you, John. I’m Krista.” She pointed to the name tag on her very low cut shirt. “What brings you to Whispering Willows? Sounds like you’re not from these parts.”
Given that I was using my “real” identity for this cover story, I’d reverted to my “real” accent over the general American one I often used while state-side. Of course, nothing about me was truly real, it was just the name and accent that I found most comfortable, so I’d adopted them for my day-to-day life. I sure as shit couldn’t put Hermes—my underworld codename—on my passport, could I?
Someone tried to get her attention from further down the bar, but she ignored them as she waited for my response. I glanced down toward the impatient customer, then cleared my throat as I looked back to the flirty bartender.
“Uh, I’m here for work,” I told her truthfully.
“Oh yeah? What kinda work?” she asked, even as the customer called out again.
I arched a brow. “I think someone wants a drink.”
She blinked at me a moment, then blushed and took the hint that I wasn’t interested, quickly disappearing back along the bar to serve more patrons. I probably could have pumped her for some information, but I just wasn’t in the mood for empty flirting. I wanted to eat my wings, drink my beer, and ruminate on how I acted like a total moron this morning with Tristian. Tris. She said to call her Tris.
The androgynous name strangely suited her somewhat aggressive nature.
I winced as I replayed that whole conversation about her painting again. How I’d assumed she was the artist's muse like some sort of painting groupie. What was wrong with me? I knew better than to make sweeping generalizations like that. I also knew better than to let my mouth run away with itself, and yet I couldn’t seem to shut the fuck up under her unimpressed gaze.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a familiar raven-haired beauty stepped through the door of the bar, accompanied by some boring looking guy in a sweater-vest. Was this the boyfriend? Shit, I thought it was actually going to be a challenge to seduce her, but if that was the kind of guy she was dating…
“Can I get you something else?” Krista the bartender was back.
I shook my head. “No. Thanks.” I barely even glanced at her, my eyes locked on the prickly woman across the room. She was too far away for me to eavesdrop, and that just wouldn’t do at all.
Patience was my middle name as I polished off my food, waiting as Tris and her date got situated in a booth near the little stage where a band was setting up. For someone with a reputation at Boles for being a “cold bitch” she seemed perfectly comfortable laughing and flirting with the sweater-vest-wearing loser. It only confirmed my suspicion she’d shot the jock down and his ego was bruised.
When she was distracted, I relocated myself to the booth directly behind hers. It was occupied by a couple of frat boys, but they quickly evacuated when I gave them a death glare and short command to fuck off.
Sometimes my size came in handy, where it was usually a hurdle to overcome in my line of work. What I would give to be a foot shorter and half the width I currently held. The tight spaces I’d be able to access…ventilation shafts, wall cavities, garbage chutes. Some thieves had no idea how easy they had it.
For the next hour, I listened to Tristian’s date tell her all about his day at the Whispering Willows country club. He wasn’t there as a guest; he apparently worked there as a golf pro, which was fancy speak for the instructor. He spent all day teaching rich pricks how to improve their putting, and thought that was great material for a date conversation.
It droned on so long even I started feeling sleepy, and I nearly laughed out loud when I heard Tris cover a yawn with a fake cough.
When he got up to use the bathroom, I couldn’t help myself. I turned around in my seat and leaned over until my chin nearly rested on her shoulder. “I dunno about you, but I think he’s hoping for a hole in one tonight.”
To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “Crass humor should be beneath a gentleman scholar like you, John,” she replied in a cool voice. “Or did you not proclaim my artwork as awful and insulting this morning for a few subtle suggestive elements?” She turned her head just enough to arch a brow at me.
Fuck. She was close enough to kiss…I wonder how she’d react?
“Are you stalking me, John? First you admit to internet research and now you’re creeping on my date. This is getting uncomfortable.”
Okay…she had a point. It didn’t look great, but surely I could spin it somehow. Or maybe just leave it mysterious? Yes, she seemed like the kind of woman who’d be driven mad with a lack of information, so maybe I’d opt for silence over bullshit explanations.
“Mere coincidence,” I murmured, settling on a middle ground. “I’m glad for it, though, I learned so much this evening. Like the fact that your boyfriend loves to listen to himself talk so much he wouldn’t actually notice if you fell asleep. Does he talk while he fucks you, too?”
Her jaw tensed and her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink, but she tipped a graceful smile toward Captain Sweater-Vest as he made his way back from the bathrooms. “I have no clue,” she admitted quietly, for my ears only. “But I’m sure I’ll find out.” She rose out of her seat, tossing that silky hair over her shoulder and lightly smacking me in the face with it.
I shifted backward on reflex as the heady scent of her shampoo filled my senses. When I looked back over, she had her arms looped around Golf-Dick’s neck and her lips sealed against his. He kissed her back with the enthusiasm of a hungry bulldog, and I rolled my eyes. Apparently Tris wasn’t over our little clash just yet.
She must have suggested to her date that he was going to get lucky because he tossed money onto the table and all but dragged her out of the bar. I watched them go, and a shot of smug satisfaction rippled through me when she glanced over her shoulder.
I waved, she flipped me the bird. Cute. That was becoming our thing.
When they were gone, I pushed up out of my own seat, intending to head back to my cottage. I paused as I passed the table Tris had been at, though, glancing down at the money Tiny Dick had dropped. Then I frowned, doing the math on what they’d ordered. It was enough to cover the bill, but nothing more.