Jerk: Delinquent Rebels MC (5 page)

Her stomach twisted at the fact that she even remembered Van Palmer’s drink preferences from high school.
Does that make me pathetic?
She thought.

However, rather than returning within seconds, it took him about two minutes to make her drink. What he set in front of her was unexpected, and April took some time to admire it. Somehow he’d created a beautiful shade of violet, but as April turned the huge glass—far bigger than anyone else was getting—she noted that in certain lights, there were blue elements to it. Magic in a glass. Lips pursed, she glanced between Van and the drink, and he watched her expectantly.

“You better not drug me, Van Palmer,” she joked, as she pinched the black straw. He smirked.

“Wouldn’t need a drink to do that, April O’Hara.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s horrifying. Thanks.”

Still grinning, Van filled an empty glass with clear liquid from one of the nozzles behind the bar then raised it to toast her. “Cheers.”

She raised her drink in return then took a tentative sip.

If heaven was a drink, it would taste like what was in her glass. One sip wasn’t enough, and before she knew it, April had gulped down half the glass. She set it down, face puckered. The drink was perfectly sweet, but now that she was done drinking for the time being, its alcoholic aftertaste was beyond strong. A dangerous combination, certainly.

“What was that?” she asked, coughing a little as she pointed at his drink. He set the glass aside and wiped his mouth, her eyes lingering on the way his thumb swiped across his lower lip. It seemed to move in slow motion.

“Water,” Van told her. “I don’t drink on the job.”

She shrugged.
Was that supposed to impress me?
Most of the working world didn’t drink on the job.

“How’s the drink?”

April shrugged again, but wondered if he could see just how badly she wanted to guzzle it down. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll do better on the next one.”

“I only want one.”

“But you get them free for the next hour and a half,” he insisted, winking when their eyes met. She blushed, hastily looking back at her concoction of wonderfulness. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his fingertips grazed her hand, and April sat up sharply as if a jolt of electricity had shot straight from her fingers to her spine, then down to her toes. Van leaned in, and she couldn’t look away this time. “I’ll be here all night. You want me; I’m at your beck and call.”

Fuck
. Unable to come up with anything even remotely appropriate in response, April merely grabbed her drink and stuck the straw in her mouth—and
drank
.

“Okay, okay,” Van groaned, finally turning to address the horde of people demanding drinks on the other side of the bar. She was tucked away just around the edge of the bar’s counter, and no one had bothered to cluster around her, even though clearly that was where Van’s attention was held. “Which one of you noisy fuckers wants a drink?”

She bit back a smile as they all clamored for alcohol—though her laughter fell flat when Van immediately went for the hot chick with the big boobs at the back of the crowd. Biting the insides of her cheeks, she turned away and continued to nurse her drink, pretending wholeheartedly to take in the architectural detailing of the walls around her.

Because if she didn’t, she had a feeling she’d be inadvertently staring daggers into the busty brunette flirting outrageously with Van—and there was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing her jealous.

There was no reason to even
be
jealous. Huffing, she stabbed at the ice chunks at the bottom of her nearly finished drink a few minutes later, but before she could even set the glass down, Van was there with a new beautifully colored drink and a wink, to which she said nothing. The drink was delicious—and it’d be rude to refuse one he’d put in the effort to make for her, especially when he had other
paying
patrons he could serve. His boss would probably rip him a new asshole if he was caught favoring her.

The thought brought her smile back.

And that smile was still there, four drinks later—well after the cut-off point for the ladies-drink-free shtick they had going. They’d been chatting for the better part of an hour, and each time she finished her drink, Van asked if she wanted another—and of course she did. The drink was
magical.

Van
was magical. April told him so at one point.

“You’ve got magic fingers,” she said, a slight slur in her voice, as she leaned over the bar, drink between her hands. Van leaned in, though only slightly, and behind him the other two bartenders had to deal with the onslaught of patrons as midnight neared. “Magic drink making fingers… and, if I remember right, m-magic fingers for other things, too.”

“Oh, naughty girl, April,” Van said and laughed, as she leaned back on the barstool. A look of panic flashed in her eyes when she nearly tumbled backwards, her center of gravity a little off suddenly, but she regained her composure quickly enough. Van grinned at her, arms crossed and eyebrows up. “You’re drunk.”

“
You’re
… drunk,” she fired back, pointing at him, her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

“Bet you couldn’t walk a straight line if someone paid you to right now.”

I could so!
She thought. Ready to show him, she was almost off her barstool, eager to prove him wrong, when a fight broke out over by the pool tables. April turned, her vision a little blurry, and watched the scuffle spill out onto the dance floor. Within seconds, bouncers in black uniforms swept in to break things up, and Van was suddenly behind her, sitting her back down on the stool.

“Stay here,” he breathed in her ear, and she shivered. However, just as she reached back to touch him, desperate to cop a feel of that toned midsection, he was gone, straight into the thick of things on the dance floor.
Bartenders don’t break up fights.
Frowning, she slid off the stool and wobbled after him, her drink forgotten
.
She thought,
Didn’t he know? Bartenders tend bar. Behind the bar. For me. All night. No one else
.

The crowd had thickened around the scene, and as the bouncers pulled one of the guys away, maybe to take a walk outside, Van was in a heated discussion with the other half of the fight. Even in her inebriated state, April could tell their exchange wasn’t a friendly one.

“You know what? Congratulations,” she heard Van snarl, as she squeezed through the crowd. “You just got yourself banned from the bar.”

“Fuck you,” the guy spat. “Says who?”

“Says the owner,” Van barked. “Get out of my bar. If I catch you here again, you won’t be walking out of here, I promise you that.”

April gasped when the other guy took a swing at Van, her eyes widening. The few remaining bouncers swooped in immediately, but not before Van ducked and socked the guy right in the nose. He went down like a lead balloon, and a few people in the crowd cheered.

Suddenly, she needed to sit down. Her head spun as the crowd dispersed, the music’s volume climbing again, and it was only then that her rational mind realized she’d had one too many of Van’s surprise cocktails. Placing a hand on her forehead, she searched for an exit, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

“April?” Van’s voiced trickled into her ear, but she turned away.

Van. Gorgeous Van. Making me drinks. Talking to pretty girls with big boobs. Fuck Van. Playboy Van.

Someone grabbed her by the arm, and when she felt a muscular arm wrap around her waist, she looked up, confused. Blinking rapidly, Van’s face slowly came in to focus.

“I told you to stay by the bar,” he insisted, and even to her drunk brain, she could tell that he sounded irritated. “You never know how many people these stupid bar brawls suck in… You could have been collateral.”

“You punched a guy in the
face
,” April announced, her knees giving out, her body limp and relaxed, as the alcohol coursed through her system. Van sighed in her ear, his breath warm and soothing.

“Yeah… I did.”

She tilted her head back to study his handsome face—then added, “Yeah. You did.”

“Let’s get you some fresh air.”

With an arm still wrapped around her, Van led her through the crowd and out onto the nearly vacant patio overlooking the lake. She inhaled deeply, the brisk night air rattling her brain around just enough to clear some of the drunken fog. Leaning on the thick wooden railing, April watched the stars twinkle on the water’s surface.

“So,” she started, the tipsy slur gone from her voice at last, “you own the bar, huh?”

“Didn’t I mention that?” Van leaned on the railing, hands knitted together over the water. She glanced at him, an eyebrow up. “Ah. Guess not.”

“No, you didn’t.” He’d spent a lot of his time making suggestive comments about their night together, but not once did he mention he
owned
Cedar Lodge. She couldn’t place the source of the feeling, but guilt had started to fester in her stomach—maybe because she hadn’t given him a fair chance when they met up again. She’d just assumed he’d be a low-life playboy, and yet each time they met up, he managed to prove her wrong.

Her head ached. Placing a hand against her forehead, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. It had been a while since she’d been drunk on anything but a few glasses of wine with some friends—usually at home—and her body was
not
pleased.

“I didn’t want to take over Dad’s position in the club,” Van continued, and she opened her eyes quickly. “His interests weren’t mine. So I saved up, bought the bar last year before the bank foreclosed on it.”

“And by club you mean his… motorcycle gang?”

“Not really a gang, April,” he chuckled, and she caught him roll his eyes a little. “It’s a club for people who share a common interest.”

“Right.”
Being biker thugs, apparently, and carrying out shady backdoor deals under the radar. Oh, and threatening future stepdaughters. Let’s add that to the list too.

“Why don’t I take you home?” he suggested, as the silence dragged on, and she pursed her lips. For some reason, she was annoyed. Whether it was the booze or Van or recalling James’s threats, her temper spiked in that moment.

“I can get home by myself,” she insisted. “I drove here, and I can—”

“Yeah, I’m not losing my liquor license because I let a drunk girl drive home,” Van told her, pushing off the railing, “no matter how hot she looks in that dress.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she took a few moments staring out pointedly at the lake to collect herself. When she was ready, she fell in line behind him, still a little wobbly in her heels.

The inside of the bar really got to her: the smells, the sounds, the stench of sweaty bodies combined with the humidity of the dancing horde made her head spin again. However, determined to stay on her own two feet, she focused on Van’s broad back and nothing else, following him straight through the crowds until they reached the doors.

“I’ll be right back,” Van told one of the bouncers. “Just taking my friend home.”

April’s eyes swept over the bouncer, and she realized he was another former high school acquaintance. A year ahead of her, like Johnny, but his name was nowhere near the tip of her tongue, so she kept her head down and said nothing.

“I think you broke that guy’s nose, bossman,” the bouncer laughed, though there was a hint of concern there too. “You think he’ll sue?”

“Fuck him,” Van grumbled, taking April by the arm and leading her down the stairs. “I’ve got a whole bar full of witnesses who saw him swing first.”

***