Whiskey Sour (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 3) Read online

  Harper typed away while sipping black coffee. The sounds of food frying, orders shouted, customers chatting, and the door chiming helped her focus.

  When DeeDee, the server, brought her her bowl of oatmeal, she asked, "Sure you don't want anything else, honey?"

  DeeDee snapped her gum and smiled down at Harper, who returned her smile. DeeDee was an old high school classmate of Harper's. The two women had been friends back in the day but had lost touch over the years. Since the pandemic ended and the diner re-opened, the two of them had struck up a habit of reminiscing about old times whenever Harper came into the restaurant.

  Harper thanked her, and DeeDee asked her what she was working on. "It's Friday. Aren't you supposed to be at the distillery today?"

  Harper pointed to the rectangular spiral notebook that rested on the table next to her work-issued laptop. "I'm working for The Dispatch. I'm a real working stiff now, no more family business for me."

  DeeDee congratulated her with a friendly side hug and said a complimentary strawberry shake was forthcoming.

  "Oh, you don't have to do that, DeeDee." The truth was, although she enjoyed talking to DeeDee and eating the food here, she didn't want any more interruptions. The diner's loaded oatmeal—topped with berries, nuts, and maple syrup—was Harper's favorite food, and it was plenty.

  DeeDee insisted. "It's on the house, and I won't take any pushback from you, young lady."

  People could say what they wanted about Dockside, but the neighborhood had its bright spots. Cherry's Diner was one of the brightest.

  Soon enough, Harper was in a state of flow, soon realizing she had a surprisingly good story. She tied in the angle of a local business person having to scrap their plans because of a global crisis, only to come out of it with bigger and better goals. She weaved in details about the escape room's puzzle (without giving any of it away, of course). Was it possible that Dash had had a good idea in his pea-sized brain when he'd insisted on her being a part of the team?

  And on that subject, who had put a bossy horndog pill in that man's corn flakes that morning?

  Indeed it had been an accident when he'd grabbed her hand. He had never laid a hand on her before. Dash was hot-tempered but not touchy-feely. The only time she'd seen him hugging his friends was when Holden, the big softy, had insisted on it after ending an argument. Harper could not stand the sight of Dash, but the picture of his friends hugging him warmed her heart. She especially liked that thing his face did when people embraced him. Like he was reluctantly acquiescing to a force greater than himself. Well, he ought to be used to it by now. Since the pandemic, people were of two minds—super affectionate or so germaphobic that they never wanted anyone touching whatsoever.

  When Dash's dad passed away in 2020, Harper had offered him a hug on the street—because there had been no wake or funeral—but Dash had only glared at her and quietly accepted her condolences.

  She had let it slide because what else could she do? She was the last person to criticize how anybody worked through their grief.

  Sooner or later, though, that man would have to come to terms with the fact that people loved him and wanted him to be happy.

  Not her. Not Harper. But people in general. Not my circus, not my monkeys. He was insufferable anyway.

  The entryway door chimed again, but Harper allowed it to blend into the background while she tore her thoughts away from the aggravating Dash and focused on her story.

  Two seconds later, two women slid into the booth across from her. Startled, Harper looked up to see two excited and proud women looking back at her.

  "Hi, Mom. Hi, Mom."

  Harper's moms, Lora and Desiree Ross had tracked her down.

  "Whatcha doing?" Lora asked, her dark blonde hair in a messy bun and her nose pink from the cold outside.

  Harper smiled. She knew her moms were both proud and could not wait to bug her on her first day of work.

  "Writing my story for the Dispatch."

  "What's it about?" Desiree asked. "Big demonstration happening somewhere? Do you need my gas mask?"

  Harper laughed. "No," she said and told her what the story was about, her cheeks heating in slight embarrassment.

  Lora and Desiree exchanged looks and smiled back at Harper. "Well, you know, you can always come back to the distillery. There's always a space for you there," Lora said.

  Harper blinked. "And who is there now, while you two are here, having lunch with me?"

  Desiree told Harper that the tasting room was closed that day for renovations.

  "That's earlier than expected," Harper said.

  "Yeah," Lora said. "The foundation is shot thanks to that tunnel. The other contractors kept stalling and putting me off, but this new guy said he could start work today."

  Harper shivered. The stories about the underground tunnels that were dug during Prohibition always gave her the creeps. "They should have filled those in ages ago. Most of the owners of buildings that are still standing from that era have already bricked in the access points anyway. And now we have a sinkhole."

  Desiree leaned forward, "It's kinda cool, though, right?"

  Harper sighed. Desiree leaned a little more romantic about the seedy history of Newcastle, which had prospered during Prohibition.

  "Cool if you think mafia guys are cool, Mom."

  Desiree leaned back. "Yeah. There is that."

  Harper looked between the two women and finally asked, "Are you two going to sit there and stare at me while I work? Because it's going to be a little distracting."

  Lora covered her mouth. "Oh! You're right. We should go. We just wanted to say how proud we are of you."

  Desiree nodded, clasping her hands together, eyes shining. "So proud."

  Harper nodded and smiled through gritted teeth. "Love you guys. Learn how to text, please."

  Before exiting together, Lora saluted, and Desiree called out, "Go get 'em, tiger!"

  Harper rolled her eyes but could not help but smile to herself. She understood they were proud. Harper just wished they wouldn't pop in unannounced like that. Lora had a way of tracking her down no matter where she was, like a sixth sense. Desiree was just a ball of love and joy and enthusiasm. Harper could not have asked to have been raised by two better humans. Only sometimes…they were a lot.

  Back typing away at her keyboard, Harper was about halfway through checking and double-checking her quotes when she sensed yet another presence stop short while walking by her.

  Harper looked up to see an imposing man in black and a clerical collar, accompanied by that bouncer Levi's grandmother.

  "Hello, dear!"

  "Hi, Mrs. Spanos."

  The woman smiled broadly. "I heard about your new job. Congratulations!"

  Newcastle might be a big city, but the Dockside neighborhood was like a small town. If that small town was full of gangsters, biker clubs, dive bars, and a booming black market economy.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Spanos."

  The grandmotherly woman clapped her hands together. "Oh, I'm so excited we have someone working for that newspaper now. Now, maybe someone will find some answers about that missing girl."

  Harper's stomach lurched. "Not on my first day, but maybe soon."

  The older woman replied, "Well, you could always ask your friend, Dashing Dash, to keep an eye out for any dirty dealings going on at that bar. Lord, I wish my grandson would hurry up and get himself out of that job."

  Harper knew what she meant but had no clue why the woman was bringing up Dash Fitzgerald—or referring to him as dashing. Dashing was not quite the word Harper would use. Annoying, brusque, impulsive, and, now, lacking boundaries. But dashing? Never.

  "Now, now. You're just trying to get a reaction out of me, Mrs. Spanos."

  "Maybe I am," Mrs. Spanos said, winking.

  What was that wink about, Harper wondered. Could the woman, like, smell the scent of that kiss on her? That could not be the reason she was winking.

  Harper worked hard to keep t
he irritation out of her tone, but Fr. O'Brien picked up the vibe. He was good at that.

  "We'll talk later, dear. It's been some time since we've seen you at Mass. Maybe we'll speak on Sunday?" he interjected.

  Harper cocked her head and smiled up at the middle-aged priest. "Well, you see me every day when I go home since you live across the street. Most people around here would say that's about all they can take of me."

  "I'm sure that's not the case," he replied. "I also see you shoveling the snow and salting the ice on my walkway in the middle of the night, so that'll earn you ten fewer Hail Marys next time you come to confession."

  Harper blushed. "I didn't think you'd seen that."

  The priest rested a hand on her shoulder. "The Lord sees everything, even what's done in secret."

  Harper hadn't always liked Fr. O'Brien. They disagreed on a lot of things. But he did a lot of nice things for people in Dockside, and he cared a hell of a lot. Harper fully came around on him when Fr. O'Brien went rogue and low-key married Lora and Desiree the year that same-sex marriages became legal. The diocese had censured him but ultimately did not defrock him because he had performed it without his clerical collar, and it was a civil ceremony.

  "That sounds ominous," Harper said.

  "Have you ever heard the phrase, don't let the right hand know what the left hand is doing?"

  Harper nodded.

  "A lot of people don't see the real you, Harper Ross. But God does."

  Harper raised her eyebrows and nodded, sipping her coffee. "God creeping on my page? Kinda stalkery."

  The priest leaned down and spoke in a low voice, "And She told me to tell you, She's very proud."

  He patted her shoulder and then, mercifully, shuffled Mrs. Spanos away.

  Fuck me; this was a terrible place to try to file a story.

  She finished the story in just under an hour, as she'd promised Greg.

  Harper didn't enjoy sitting for too long. She'd been inside that diner for about an hour, and she needed to walk.

  Even in cold, dark, miserable February, she would much rather walk the neighborhood than drive her car.

  Besides, she needed to think, and she did her best thinking while walking. She had plans to head back to the newspaper office this afternoon to review her story with the copy editor and be available for questions.

  Inevitably, her mind wandered back to the kiss.

  What was that all about? What had he been thinking? It was so weird. Nice, though. Wasn't it? He was a shockingly good kisser for such a hotheaded sourpuss.

  And then, less than one block up from Cherry's, she walked right into Dash, nearly knocked him over when she wasn't looking up, having been gazing at the cracks in the sidewalk as she marched along.

  She gasped. "You again. Are you stalking me or something?"

  "It's my neighborhood too. I'm taking a walk. Sorry, you got the wrong impression," he replied.

  Harper felt skeptical. "You're just out for a stroll in the middle of February in below-freezing weather?"

  He narrowed his eyes. Why did he always look at her like that? "It's not that bad."

  Laying on the sarcasm, Harper said, "Sure. You're right. It's lovely. I don't know why we don't have more outside dining options."

  Dash shook his head in wonder. "Why are you like this?"

  "Because I feel like you're following me and not owning up to it," she said.

  Finally, she'd pushed his button enough times that he reacted, "Maybe I have errands to run, and my car isn't working! Do you ever think that maybe the world doesn't revolve around you, Harper?!"

  She had not ever, in her life, been accused of thinking the world revolved around her. Self-centeredness was the antithesis of Harper Ross. She was riddled with worry about her city, her community, the environment, and her one goal in life was about trying to get people to give half a shit. How dare he?

  Her eyes welled up. "I'm sure one of your bros will be more than happy to give you a ride somewhere. Also, fuck you for thinking I believe the world revolves around me. I think it's pretty clear I don't think that. Now, excuse me, I have to be going." She took a step beyond where he stood, unable to put distance between herself and Dash fast enough.

  Unexpectedly, he insisted, "Don't go that way."

  She turned back to him. "Fuck you; I'll go wherever I want."

  Growling, he came at her, and to her extreme dismay, he picked her up. He just picked her up as if he had the right to do it and began walking in the opposite direction from where she needed to go. "If you won't listen to me, then I'll force you to listen."

  "Put me down."

  "No."

  "This is kidnapping. I will call the fucking FBI."

  Dash laughed. "They're busy. That's why I have to take it upon myself to sort your ass out."

  She snarled and hammered his chest with her fist. "Put me down!"

  "Fine!" Dash set Harper down in front of Pawny Express.

  "What is it with you Fitzgeralds? Boy, you know how to stick with a grudge."

  Dash blinked at her. "This isn't about a grudge."

  "It's not? You have a little mantrum every time you see my face."

  He appeared genuinely confused. "What's a mantrum?"

  Harper chucked. "I'll let you figure that one out on your own. I have to get back to the office to edit my story."

  "That's not where your car is parked," he pointed out.

  "How do you know where my car is parked?"

  Dash shifted his eyes around, then said weakly, "Because…if you drove to that escape room place from the office, you most likely parked it up on the nearest public parking lot, which is Haven Street, which means you're going the wrong way."

  Harper narrowed her eyes at him. "Good guess. Too bad you could not apply those deduction skills in the escape room."

  "Wow."

  "Wow yourself," she mocked.

  Dash glared down at her, and then it happened again. He leaned in for a kiss.

  This time, though, Harper did not reciprocate the kiss and backed away abruptly. Outraged, she thumped him on the chest with the pinky side of her closed fist, like a hammer. Flushed, she looks around.

  "You need to stop."

  "OK."

  "I mean it. And don't even think about telling your boys about this. As far as the Brute Squad is concerned, that never happened."

  "What never happened?"

  "The, you know, kiss. From before."

  "Oh," he said with a cocky grin. "You thought that was worth repeating to my friends? Sweetheart, if I'm gonna kiss and tell, it ain't gonna be about a kiss like that. When you get thoroughly kissed by Dash Fitzgerald, you'll be feeling it so hard in all the right places, you'll be writing that into the newspaper."

  She swallowed. "Right…places?" Why was she asking that, and why did she even care about the answer?

  He stepped toward her, although there was nowhere for him to go as she stood her ground. The net effect of this was his pelvis pressed against her stomach. His hard cock could not be ignored. But she would try.

  Before she thought about how to respond, she walloped him on the chest again.

  "Ow," he said with a laugh.

  "Not a real kiss, huh? Talk about thinking you're the center of the universe. Fuck you. I'm sorry I'm so repulsive to you, and you hate me that much because of some stupid feud from 80 fucking years ago."

  "What? What…happened 80 fucking years ago? Why do you keep bringing up some feud?"

  "Horace Ross? The whiskey recipe? Hello!?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Harper waved her hands in front of her face because her brain was malfunctioning due to shock.

  "Are you telling me that your dad and mom never told you about Fitzross Whiskey?"

  Dash looked at her for a second like he was mulling over that name, then let out a barking laugh. "Fitzross! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Is that our names combined? Did you write that in your super-se
cret diary?"

  Harper bit back the instinct to gasp in offense. Instead, she thumped him on the chest one more time. "Ow! Hey, that one hurt."

  "Go ask your mom about Fitzross! Or, I don't know, have a conversation with your mother about something other than yourself! Be a grown-ass man! Ugh!"

  Harper walked away in a huff once more. How many times a day could she do that? How many times in her life had she flounced away from Dash Fitzgerald?

  More times than her body wanted to if she were honest with herself.

  Well, now she had to evict that tall, hard man not only from her mind but also from her libido. Now that he had awakened something else within her besides supreme annoyance, she was doubly annoyed.

  She practically marched down the street as she made her way to her car. Soon, the cold wind began to knock the indignance out of her, and she found herself talking out loud as she walked. The talking helped her rationalize what had happened with Dash and also took her mind off the cold. "Random kisses just happen sometimes, don't they? Especially when emotions are running high. It doesn't help that he waltzes around in that blue shirt that matches his eyes and leaves it unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest as if I want to see his muscles. Who cares about his muscles? I don't."

  A couple was out walking their dog on the sidewalk, pausing by a hydrant. All three stared at Harper as she passed, continuing to talk out loud to herself. She didn't care. "There's nothing wrong with being sexually attracted to the wrong person. You just don't want to act on it. What you need is a good solid orgasm. Good for what ails you, and what ails you right now is a sneaky, tall, glowering jerkface who somehow can tell that you're horny as fuck. And do not try to justify letting things go any further by thinking you can just fuck him out of your system. That does not work."

  Locking her car doors and warming up the engine, she blew out a breath, received she'd talked things through with herself. She had a new resolve and felt good about it.

  But damn, she thought as she revved the gas pedal, none of that newfound resolve is going to keep me from thinking about sitting on Dash's grumpy-ass face.

  Chapter Five

  Dash

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