“I might have kind of crushed the can after I pulled him out of it,” Alexei admitted. “Then smashed the can through the rear window of his expensive sports car. Accidentally. Like he spilled that wine.”
She tried not to stare. “You accidentally crushed a metal trash can with your bare hands?”
He gave her a flash of a grin, lighting up his face in an unexpectedly attractive way. “Naw, I crushed the can on purpose. It was tossing it through the window that was an accident. More or less.” He peered dubiously at the bottle of beer. “You know, destroying personal property is very thirsty work. I might need a shot of vodka to go with this.”
Bethany choked back a laugh. “You got it.” She reached up to the top shelf for the good stuff. He’d earned it.
Chapter 2
Alexei stayed at the bar until Bethany closed the place up around one AM. After all, he had no place else he had to be. And he liked bars; they were as close to home as he got these days, since he had walked - or driven - away from anything and anyone that might once have resembled such a thing. All the other customers had left by midnight except one exceedingly drunk older man whose resigned looking son picked him up about the same time Bethany turned off the neon signs in the window.
She clicked off everything but the main light and came to stand beside Alexei. “Sorry, big guy. ‘You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.’” When he looked blank, she added, “The Gretchen Wilson song? Seriously, you hang out in bars across the country and you haven’t heard that one?”
Alexei shook his head but he slid off the barstool and headed for the door. “Not that I recall. But I get the point.”
The small redhead put one hand on his arm. “You need me to call you a taxi? I mean, you’ve been here pretty much all day. You probably shouldn’t be driving.”
Alexei laughed, a deep sound that bounced off the walls of the empty bar. The sad truth was he couldn’t really get drunk - not without putting a pretty substantial effort into it. Damned Rider constitution. What good did it do him, now that he was no long a Rider? But he didn’t have any way to explain that, nor the fact that, if need be, his still-magical steed-turned-motorcycle could drive itself.
So instead he did his own version of the “prove to the cops you’re sober” routine, walking a straight line with his eyes closed, touching each forefinger to his nose, and then, because he couldn’t resist showing off to a pretty girl, doing a handstand that ended up with him supporting all of his weight on the palm of one hand, before springing to his feet and taking a bow.
“See? Sober as a judge.”
Bethany snorted, but he could see the smile lurking at the corner of her full lips. “Actually, that drunk old man you just saw leaving? That’s the local judge. But otherwise, a very impressive performance.” She opened the door and waved him out before locking it behind them. “I guess I feel comfortable letting you drive, although I still don’t know how you managed to drink for over twelve hours and not get even a little buzzed.”
“It’s all in the pacing,” he said.
“And being the size of a small mountain.”
“Yep, that too.”
Bethany glanced around the parking lot and spotted his Harley, a couple of spaces away from the battered dark green truck that was the only other vehicle remaining. She rolled her eyes. “Why I am not surprised?” she said. “I hope you don’t have far to go. It’s warm for the end of March, but still pretty brisk out for a motorcycle ride. Where are you staying?”
Alexei shrugged. “Don’t know. I just rode into town this morning.”
“Are you serious?” she put her hands on her hips. “You do realize that because it’s the off-season, most of the smaller bed and breakfast places are closed, and the one hotel in town locks its doors at midnight.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said in a reasonable tone. “I don’t have money for anyplace swanky anyway.” He pulled a rumpled wad of mostly ones and fives out of his pocket. “Unless you think they’ll rent me a room for what’s left of my pool winnings.”
A sigh gusted out into the night. “So it’s my fault for not letting you go all pool shark on my customers? Don’t you have a credit card like normal people?”
He also wasn’t going to explain that it was hard to get a credit card when there was no actual record of your existence. At least not outside of old Russian fairy tales. “Don’t believe in them,” he said. He pointed at the bike. “I’ve got some gold coins in my saddlebags, but I doubt there’s anyplace open that would take them. I’ll just sleep on the beach. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’ve got my bedroll. I’ll be fine. I like the sound of the water.”
Bethany let out an inarticulate exasperated noise. “It’s forty degrees out. Way too cold for sleeping on the beach.” She shook her head. “Besides, I’m not going to just send you out into the night, not when you saved that poor girl from being drugged in my bar on my watch. I would never have forgiven myself.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she just narrowed her eyes at him and he shut up. He’d spent too many years hanging around with Baba Yagas not to have learned when to let a strong woman have things her way.
“Come on,” she said in a resigned tone. “I have a place you can stay. It’s only a couple of miles away, so you can follow me on your bike. Try not to wake up everyone between here and there by revving your engine.” She clearly wasn’t a Harley fan.
Alexei swung one leg over the seat and leaned over to whisper to the motorcycle. When it started up, it was barely louder than a purr. He grinned smugly at Bethany. “I’ll bet the exhaust on that rusty old beater you’re driving makes a lot more noise than this.” And it did.
*
Bethany pulled up in front of the long one-story house with its fading gray paint and peeling black shutters. As soon as the weather warmed up, she was going to have to add painter to the long list of other duties she was currently performing. Her father had never really cared about appearances. Only the wheelchair ramp was new and neat, an ironic contrast to the rest of the place.
She got out of the truck, closing the door hard because it didn’t stay shut otherwise, and walked over to Alexei.
“Do you live here?” he asked, looking around at the scrubby plants that were all that grew in the sandy soil, and the path made out of crushed shells that branched off toward the house in one direction and a small mother-in-law apartment in the other.
Bethany nodded her head in the direction of the house. “That’s my dad’s place. I’m staying with him for the moment. He had an accident about six months ago and I came home from Boston to take care of him and run the bar until he could get back on his feet.” She winced at her poor choice of words. “Figuratively speaking. He broke his back, so he’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”
“Tough luck,” Alexei said, matter-of-factly.