Chapter 4

Cleaning the counter also gave her time to think about the fiasco of this morning. Mitch Greenway fascinated her about as much as he totally pissed her off. Their relationship, friendship, encounter—she had no idea what to call what they had—began, because she intended to manipulate him to fix her sister’s piece of crap car. She threw herself at him, screwed him in his garage, and even had a threesome with him and her friend, Sandy, from the local radio station right outside Sand Dune on the beach. What did Karla get in return? He chased after Aimee, instead. Of course, Aimee and he never had sex, but it did put the twins at each other’s throats for a couple of weeks.

Her phone vibrated again. Because we’re not dating. Isn’t that the gist of what I heard you tell Brad this morning? And I paid last time. She growled. They weren’t dating, that was true enough. However, Karla Harper didn’t pay, not for dinner, not for car repairs, not for anything, and she told him that in her next text. He knew it, of course. He was just trying to make a point. Well, he knew where he could stick his point.

She gave a soft laugh as her dirty mind took over. Mitch Greenway did know where he could stick his point, and he was as skilled in the bedroom—or anywhere else, for that matter—as she was. He was also just as big a player as she was, and that was probably why the two of them kept coming back to each other. They weren’t in a relationship, but they were more than friends with benefits. She just wished she knew what that was.

Her phone vibrated. Okay. Nevermind then.

She stared at the phone. What the hell? That son-of-a-bitch won’t go out with me unless I pay? Who the hell does he think he is? He knows better. She simply texted back, Fine, her fingers pounding her frustration out on her phone’s keyboard. She shoved the phone into her back pocket as two more guys stepped up to the bar. She didn’t need Mitch’s bullshit. There were enough men at Sand Dune who would play by her rules. She didn’t have to tolerate Mitch’s mindgames. Karla made men play her games. It did not go the other way around. Ever.

He tried the control gamut a few days ago when he told her he was taking her out to dinner. Told her when he would pick her up. That wasn’t even the most ballsy move of his that evening. He showed up and told her to change clothes. He didn’t ask and he didn’t doubt she would do it, either. The point that really pissed her off, the point that frustrated her and was infuriatingly unbearable, was that she obeyed. She actually did it. Oh, she mumbled and bitched, did her best to be an obnoxious date, but, nevertheless, she did everything Mitch Greenway asked of her. On top of that, to add salt to her wound, he walked her to her door and simply kissed her goodnight. He made no attempt to get into her pants whatsoever. As a matter of fact, she practically begged him to come inside and fuck her. It was infuriating. Humiliating.

And somehow, it was all hot as hell.

Karla filled two tall beer glasses with Samuel Adams and slid them in front of two college kids. She couldn’t focus on the customers anymore. Her emotions became the ping-pong ball between the paddles of frustration and excitement when it came to the roguish Mitch Greenway. She found herself constantly batted back and forth. It drove her crazy.

“What’s up, gorgeous?”

Turning, Karla noticed Charlie Haverston leaning up against the bar, his fingers laced together as a smile decorated his tanned face. “Just another Wednesday night,” she said as she matched the dark-haired man’s posture. Charlie was one of the many weekday regulars at Sand Dune who preferred the quieter nights to that of hip hop music and barely-legal looking females who flooded the place on the weekends. He also avoided the sandier sides of the bar where the surfers and beach-goers gathered, not a fan of sand. Karla always thought it weird that he came to a beach bar but dreaded the beach. “Nothing wrong with girls in skimpy bikinis off the beach,” he would tell her. Karla would just laugh and say he missed out on part of the fun. Girls in skimpy bikinis were good on or off the beach. “What are you having tonight?”

“You?” He gave her a wink.

“Not on the menu—tonight. How about a Jack and Coke?”

“Not as tasty, I’m sure, but all right. Hopefully, I’ll be here for when you are on the menu.” He stared at her ass as she poured the whiskey into a high ball glass over ice and then topped it off with Coke, a thin layer of foam at the top.

Sean, her bartending partner, came out of the back with a tray of clean glasses. “Charlie, when are you going to learn you’ll never be that lucky?”

Charlie shrugged. “My luck’s bound to change sooner or later.”

She slid Charlie’s drink in front of him. “Now, that’s a positive outlook.”

He lifted his glass in a toast. “To luck.” She nodded as he took his first swallow of the night. Sean just shook his head as he moved to the end of the bar to help two ladies in short skirts.

Glancing over his shoulder, Charlie asked, “How’s the hump day action tonight? Seems pretty quiet.”

“Quiet for a Friday night, but perfect for a Wednesday, which it is,” Karla said. “You may be satisfying your own needs tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Practical, but not very satisfying. I could always hang out until last call. Buy you breakfast. Then, we could play barmaid and well-satisfied customer.” He smiled, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he gazed at her with a hopeful look.

She patted his hand. “Not on the menu, remember?”

“And just what puts you on the menu?”

She grinned as she batted her eyelashes a bit. “Well, I do, of course.”

He just laughed as he took another sip of his drink. A couple of blonds walked in, laughing and smiling as they crossed the empty dance floor. Charlie watched their progress, his smile revealing his thoughts. Already distracted by another set of legs. Men were predictably fickle.