It would take his eyes a minute or two to adjust to the darkness, but that didn’t matter. He could find his way to the counter of this dive with his eyes closed.

As he strode across the 1970s-era black-and-white-checked linoleum tiles to his usual spot at the far end of the bar, he took a quick inventory—five tables occupied, mostly men, two women at the bar, pool table in use, Winona behind the counter. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, was nearly at his stool when some asshole plowed back-first into him from the side.

“Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled as he turned and glared at Cole. “The fuck you doing?”

He was about as tall as Cole, but Cole had twenty pounds of muscle on him and was in just the right mind-set to use that muscle. The bastard had beady hazel eyes and one of those dumb-ass overgrown beards that made him look like a lumberjack.

Cole raised his chin as he scowled, his knuckles begging for contact with the guy’s ugly mug.

“Evening, Cole,” a familiar female smoker’s voice called out. “Got your usual ready for you.” Winona’s way of saying, Get your ass over here and stay out of trouble.

She was right. This guy wasn’t worth the trouble.

After three more seconds of stare down, Cole turned away and resumed his path to his duct-taped black-vinyl stool, second from the far end.

“Smart,” Winona said as he took his seat. “You look like you had a shit day.”

“Not my favorite,” Cole said as he pulled the glass mug of beer toward him. “Johnnie kind of day, matter of fact.”

Winona took the hint and pulled the Johnnie Walker Double Black bottle down from the shelf and filled a tumbler, skipping the ice.

The somewhere-over-fifty black-haired bar owner, who was also his landlady, knew him better than most, which wasn’t a lot. Some people would say that was pathetic, but it was how Cole preferred it.

“I’d ask you about it, but I know better,” Winona said. “You want food?”

“Got sourdough today?”

“You betcha. Roast beef and cheddar? Barbecue chips?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me,” she muttered as she went to the compact kitchen. She only offered cold sandwiches and chips, but they were freshly made and served as Cole’s dinner multiple times a week.

Left alone, Cole swigged down half the whiskey as his mind went back to the meeting with Sierra and his ace move.

One weak moment. One bone-headed sentence out of his mouth.

What the hell had he been thinking when he offered to stand in as Sierra’s fake date for her sister’s wedding?

Offered, for fuck’s sake.