“Hey. It’s me you’re talking to. No need to be cagey about whatever’s got you messed up enough to hang out at Mabel’s.”

He shrugged. “Can’t talk here. Too many wagging ears. And besides, I’d much rather watch the wagging ass—”

Anna slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. I’d hate to have to kill you on behalf of my #metoo sisters.”

“You’re a me-too-er? Who was dumb enough to try assaulting you?” Trevor blurted.

She lied, “Are you kidding? I’d break any guy in half who messed with me.” That might be true now, compliments of him and the other guys who’d trained her in unarmed combat. But it hadn’t always been that way. As a girl, she’d gotten pretty before she got tough.

“By the way, you look…like a girl…rather…you look nice. Like, really nice.”

He’d noticed? Suddenly, she was glad she’d taken time to put on mascara and a little lip gloss and to wear her hair down for once. Abashed, she mumbled, “Good recovery, there, Slick.”

“May I buy you a drink?” he asked gallantly.

There he was. The for-public-consumption version of the urbane, sophisticated, British gentleman who never missed an etiquette beat. She answered politely, “I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

“I’m drinking this piss water you Yanks call beer.”

“Don’t be dragging American beer, now,” she retorted.

He lifted his glass to let the light behind the bar shine through the amber liquid. “It’s not even the right color.”

“It’s better than that sludge you Brits call beer.”

He snorted. “Lightweight.”

“Call me that on the wrestling mat where you can put your money where your mouth is,” she challenged.

His mouth quirked at one corner. “Big words, little girl. You prepared to back those up?”

She wasn’t that little. And she was a world-class Crossfit™ athlete who’d spent a year training all day, every day, with Navy SEALs. Not too many women on earth could claim to be stronger than her.

“Any time, big guy,” she shot back.

They fell silent while the bartender plunked a foam-topped glass of beer in front of her. She took a sip of the yeasty brew. Personally, she preferred whiskey, but Trev was buying, and she wasn’t going to quibble over it.

“So, swim buddy of mine. You wanna tell me what you and Cal were yelling about earlier? He’s mighty ticked off about it, whatever it was. He’s been stomping around camp, muttering under his breath, ever since you left.”

Trevor’s entire face went tight and tense, which constituted a violent reaction from Mr. Always-in-Control. The orange and yellow light from a beer sign overhead flickered across his face, licking his skin with neon flames and painting crimson highlights in his brown hair.

What in the heck had happened between him and Cal?