Unconditional

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me.

I turn and sweep the desk clear with frustration, sending paperwork and empty bottles crashing to the floor. I grab my cellphone and start scrolling through, watching the list of girls’ numbers speed past. I could call any one of them up right now and be in their bed in twenty minutes—forget Carina and her blue eyes, I’ll sate my lust on someone willing instead.

But I can’t.

I slowly drop my phone and sink into the chair with a sigh.

I don’t want another girl, a brief release of all my desire and frustrations. I want Carina, just her, and don’t I know if that doesn’t spell a whole heap of trouble.

It wasn’t just the kiss that changed it all for me, but everything we shared there on the dock. When I swore to take care of her, I meant it. I saw past her brittle exterior, all the gloss and sniping, down to her bruised, beautiful soul. She showed herself to me that night. She was strong enough to look me in the eye and reveal all her darkest secrets and insecurities, and God, if her bravery didn’t take my breath away.

I’ve never met anyone like her, not even close. She’s taken the wreckage of her past and is trying to rebuild her life, brick by brick, and I can’t explain it, it’s not even rational, but I know I’ll do anything to keep her safe from harm now, no matter what the cost.

But everything’s changed. No matter how much I pretend on the outside we’re no different from before, under the surface, it’s a whole other story. It’s like I suddenly developed a radar for her presence, tracking her movements without even thinking, just to know if she’s close. If she’s smiling or in pain. If I can do something, anything at all to chase the shadows from those beautiful eyes and bring laughter back where it belongs.

I made a promise to her that I would protect her from the pain, and I meant it. Which means I can’t betray her with my base desires, a lust she doesn’t even know I’m hiding. I have to be good, for her. She’s had enough selfish ass**les, men who take from her without a second thought. I won’t be one of those men; just the thought of them sickens me.

I can’t have her, but I don’t want anyone else.

Which gets me just about nowhere. All over again.

I take another breath and get up, heading back out to the bar. It’s still empty, nobody but Brit hanging out by the bar and a couple of locals testing out my breakfast menu. Except they split an order of waffles and haven’t ordered anything new in an hour.

I grab a notebook and settle in to think up a Hail Mary for this place. My personal life may be screwed up beyond redemption, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let my business go up in flames.

“How about Sports Night?” Brit suggests, later in the day. Business still hasn’t picked up, and I’m stumped for ideas about how to turn this around. “You could install a couple of big-screens, do wings and beer. People go crazy for that kind of thing.”

“If I had a couple of grand to spare,” I point out. “And there’s a sports bar over in Lawrenceville. I can’t compete.”

“What you need are low-cost ideas to rebrand and redevelop.” Carina’s voice comes from the doorway.

I turn—and promptly have a heart attack. She’s looking like a million bucks: her hair falling in glossy waves, wearing this tight little pink dress that wraps around her slim body and fastens with a single knot.

I wonder, if I tugged on that cord, would the whole dress just slide right off her?

“What did you say?” Brit asks coolly, snapping me out of my X-rated fantasies.

“The bar.” Carina comes closer. “There’s potential here, you just need to figure out the gap in the market.” She holds out her hand and beckons for my notebook. I slide it over.

She flips through, looking thoughtful. “You’re going about this all wrong,” she decides.

“And what makes you the expert?” Brit still sounds frosty, even when I send her a warning look.

“Because this is what I do,” Carina explains. “Promotion, publicity, events—it’s my thing.” She turns back to me. “You’ve got to think about your unique selling point.”

“My what?” I blink, still taken aback by this new side to Carina: polished and in control.

“Why do people come here?” she asks me. “It’s not for sports or fancy cocktails.”

“I don’t know.” I catch a breath of her perfume, and my mind goes blank. I stutter for something to say. “It’s…familiar.”

“This place has been here forever,” Brit adds. “There’s nowhere else to get a drink in town.”

“Right!” Carina exclaims, smiling. “It’s got history, local charm. You need to play that up. This breakfast menu is all wrong,” she adds. “If people want waffles, they go to Mrs. Olson’s. People come here because it’s authentic, divey. They want beer and peanuts. You just have to make that more appealing, reach a bigger audience.”

“And how do I do that?” I ask, watching her.

Carina looks around. “It’s a big space, so use it. How about a music night? Bring in live performers, make an event of it. Like Brit says, there’s nowhere else to go, so if you make some entertainment, people will come from all over.”

I pause, thinking it over. “Wouldn’t that be a big expense? I don’t really have the cash.”