“Dude, it’s like the best surfing ever.” His eyes sparkled with excitement. “You’ve been to Waddell Creek?"
Max shook his head. “Nope. I’m pretty new to California. Just moved here from New York a month ago.”
“You’ve gotta check it out, bro'. It’s like way cool.” He drew in a breath, looking like he was getting ready to give a pretty detailed spiel about the merits of Waddell Creek, when the big bartender walked back in.
“You’re good to go, Red. The locker rooms ain’t gonna clean themselves.”
A flash of disappointment crossed his face. “Aaw. I was just going to tell this dude about the time I killed a crazy wave over at Waddell Creek.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waved a beefy hand at him. “Now stop harassing the customer and get going.”
The kid heaved a sigh then dropped the dishcloth in the sink and headed out the back. He hadn’t so much as given Max a nod as a sign of courtesy at his departure. Yeah, well. Kids.
The bartender pretty much ignored Max, busying himself with tidying up behind the counter, so he turned his back to the bar and raised the last of the Gatorade to his lips. He was quaffing it down when a pretty picture caught his eye.
It was the woman, Suave, who had left just minutes earlier. She’d just burst in through the door and this time she looked hopping mad.
“You.” Her dark eyes flashed with a blazing fire that hadn’t been there the first time he'd seen her. “You’re the jerk who goes around harassing helpless women, are you? Well, Mr. Big, Bold and Bad, let’s see how you handle me for a change.”
Max froze, his hand in the air, the bottle still to his lips. Then he frowned and slowly lowered his drink to the counter. The woman was staring straight at him and she was livid.
He stared at her. Had she mistaken him for her tormentor? They were both dark-haired, heavily muscled and wearing white T-shirts, but they looked nothing alike. How could she mistake him for the jerk?
“Yeah, so what’ve you got to say now, buster? Cat got your tongue?” Looking like she had not even one ounce of fear, the woman walked right up to him and jammed her fists on her hips.
Now this was taking things way too far. What kind of game was this woman playing, pretending like he’d done her wrong? She was either seriously nearsighted or freakin’ crazy. “Listen, lady,” he began. He got no further.
“No, you listen. When you feel like it makes you a man to grab a woman and manhandle her then you’ve crossed the line, buddy.” She thrust her face forward, close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “Do you know I could have you charged for assault?”
“Hey, hold on there now.” Peter, his face turning a dark shade of red, planted his brawny hands on the counter and scowled at Max. “Was this guy harassing you?”
“He was harassing Suave. He literally grabbed her, the brute. I saw the marks on her arm.”
Harassing Suave. Grabbed her? Why was the woman referring to herself in the third person? This was getting weirder by the minute. But, weird or not, it was time to put a stop to this drama. “Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. There was a guy here before, he was the one who was messing with you-”
The bartender slammed his palm down on the counter, the sound splitting the air like the crack of a whip. “You come in here and mess with one of my customers? My regular?” His nostrils flared as he sucked in his breath, the blood rising in his face. “Listen, guy, I don’t know who you are or where you come from but this is a respectable establishment and we don’t stand for that crap. Now you either leave right now or I throw you out. Take your pick.” The big man balled his massive hands into fists like sledge hammers and began to lift the hinged counter so he could exit the bar.
As big as Max was – six feet tall and well-muscled – the man was way bigger, at least six foot three and about three hundred pounds. The burly bartender would have his ass for breakfast in any fistfight but Max was not going to turn tail and run off like some girl. He was not backing down.
Sliding off the stool, he stood up to face the giant. He might have little more than a snowball’s chance in hell of winning but he wasn’t going down without a heck of a fight.
The big man was in front of him now. He lifted his hands and cracked his knuckles. “You’d better apologize to the lady,” he said, not even bothering to mask the threat of bodily harm.
“What the hell for? I didn’t do a damn thing to her. She’s mixing me up with someone else.” Max swung his eyes back to the woman and now her arms were folded across her chest and her mouth was buttoned tight and mutinous. It looked like she was determined to see him go down…even though she was one hundred percent wrong.
The first time he’d seen her he’d thought she was a sweet girl but now he realized she was nothing but trouble…with a good dose of crazy thrown in.
The bartender shifted like he was ready to make a move. Max swung round to face him, ready to slam him in the gut.
“Wait.” The woman inserted herself between them, forcing them to back off. “You can let him off easy this time, Peter. I don’t think he’ll be messing with women around here anymore.”
“Now, you listen-”
“No, you listen,” Peter, growled, his tone menacing. “The lady said to leave and I suggest you do that. I don’t want to have to mess up that pretty face of yours.”
Max scowled and his hands tightened into rock-like fists. He didn’t take kindly to being threatened. And then he glanced from the man to the woman glaring at him and he saw that they were resolute. There was no convincing either of them that he wasn’t the guilty party.
Fuck it. He wasn’t going to stand here arguing with these two, trying to plead his case. If they didn’t want to believe him, that was their problem.
His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile as he looked them over. Lucky for them he was a private person who kept his identity under wraps. But he could still mess them up. One phone call and the entire sports complex would be his, lock, stock and barrel. Then he would have the bartender’s ass. And the girl? Well, she’d just have to play tennis somewhere else.