exactly earned a prime spot in the local food and wine department, either. It did, however, have cold beer and satellite TV. Tonight, Cal appreciated both. Going head-to-head earlier with Piper had been the icing on a frustrating day of broken equipment, canceled dives and a boat engine leaking enough oil to re-create the Exxon Valdez.
The bar propping him up was made from salvaged driftwood, an artistic touch he’d always suspected had been Big Petey, the bar’s owner, being cheap rather than fashion-forward, given the booths with cracked vinyl seats. Neon lights in the window advertised brands Big Petey had no intention of stocking and the jukebox worked intermittently, rather like its owner. Big Petey also extended credit to anyone and everyone and had more dishwashers than he did bar glasses because he was incapable of turning down a job seeker. Big Petey was a good man, and he’d never seemed to mind Cal wasn’t much of a drinker.
Cal had a one-beer limit. Alcohol wasn’t advisable when training, and he wanted his head back in the game. Plus, he’d seen more than one good soldier lose himself inside a bar. So, for the moment, he settled for just sitting at the bar, empty bottle in front of him. The game played on the big screen, and the clack of balls from the pool tables in the back competed with the occasional groan as a batter struck out. Tag and Daeg, fellow former rescue swimmers and current co-owners of Deep Dive, had moved on to the backroom and a game of pool and talking trash. More words flew than balls when those two played, only proving that nothing much had changed since their last tour of duty together. He still thanked his lucky stars every day that he’d been able to convince them to move up here from San Diego and join him rather than reenlisting.
Big Petey looked over at him when a commercial came on. “You ready for another?”
He didn’t want to put the man out of business. “If you make it a cola.”
Big Petey also didn’t stock any name-brand sodas. Local gossip alternately claimed he’d outspent his account with both major distributors or referenced the man’s legendary cheapness. Since the stuff Big Petey poured was no better or worse than what Cal had drunk in dozens of overseas ports, and had bubbles, Cal didn’t care which version of the story was true.
Big Petey grabbed the dirty glass and stowed it somewhere beneath the bar. “You’re making me a rich man, Brennan.”
At least he’d merited a clean glass. Maybe. After all, he couldn’t see exactly where the new glass Big Petey slapped down on the bar had come from. It was possible his original glass had simply round-tripped. Big Petey aimed the soda gun in the glass’s general direction and squeezed.
“Drinks taste a whole heck of a lot better with rum.” Big Petey did not have a personal one-beer limit, and Cal’s choice of beverage was a constant source of amusement for the other man.
“Big Petey makes an excellent point.” The scent of apples and something floral surrounded him as Piper slid onto the empty barstool beside him, resting her bare arms on the counter.
A big grin creased Big Petey’s face. “If it isn’t our world champion.”
Piper made a face. “I didn’t compete.”
Big Petey grabbed another glass—from the shelf behind him, so definitely clean—and carefully set it down on a cocktail napkin in front of Piper. Piper also merited a bowl of peanuts. If Cal hadn’t already known the other man had been nursing a soft spot for Piper, he now had all the proof he needed.
“You’ll always be my champion,” Big Petey said gruffly. “I’d have been sitting here in the bar, watching you win gold, if you’d gone to the world championships.”
Piper smiled and mimed blowing kisses while admiring an imaginary medal. Cal bet it was indeed gold in her imagination. Piper had never settled for being anything but the best. He had no idea how she could handle the constant references to her almost-successes, but she always had a smile when her spot on the team was mentioned, even if she usually changed the topic immediately. She’d had to drop out after the accident because, as superhumanly competitive as Piper was, even she couldn’t force her knee to heal fast enough for the world championships.
Sure enough, she pointed to Cal’s glass and deflected Big Petey’s interest in her diving dreams. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Big Petey huffed. “Jack and cola. Coming right up.”
Piper snagged a handful of peanuts. “Cal here is predictable. He’s downing straight-up soda, and we all know it.”
He wasn’t that predictable. Was he? He turned on his stool and reached in to steal a handful of peanuts from Piper. And...wow. She hadn’t been wearing that dress earlier. In fact, he was certain he’d never seen her sleeveless mint-green number before. Little stripes covered the fabric, making him want to look closer, or maybe it was the woman in the dress. The thing had a neck high enough to pass muster with the most conservative of audiences—apparently he’d seen all he was seeing today of Piper’s breasts—but a dearth of fabric south of her butt, stopping a good two inches above her bare knees. She wore a pair of those sandals with laces that wrapped around her ankles and calves and made him think about unwrapping. Piper dressed up was dangerous.
She tugged the peanut bowl out of his reach. “Those are mine.”
Her eyes laughed at him, so he snagged a second handful.
“You bet. That’s what makes them taste so good.”
“You don’t change.” She sighed dramatically and then raised her glass in the air. “Cheers.”
“Right back at you.” He clinked his glass against hers. For a few minutes, they nursed their drinks companionably while the home team struck out on the television.
Daeg slid between them, depositing two empty bottles on the bar. “Wow. Now, here’s a sight you don’t see every day. There’s only twelve inches between the two of you, and no one’s fighting.”
“We don’t fight all the time,” Piper protested. “And you just took up all the space anyhow.”
Daeg eyed the peanuts and she nudged the bowl toward him. “Consider it a public service,” he said.
“Hey,” Cal protested at the peanut move. “You’re discriminating.”
Piper flashed him a grin as Big Petey swapped out Daeg’s empties. “You bet.”
“We get along.” Right. Like cats and dogs, oil and water...he could trot out every hackneyed, clichéd comparison and they’d all be accurate. He and Piper fought. Sparred. Lived to one-up each other.
Piper swiveled on her stool, her knee brushing his thigh. He did his best to ignore the small contact.
“Sometimes.” Daeg raised his bottle to Piper. “Cheers. But most of the time, the two of you are either fighting or daring each other to do stupid crap. I grew up here, too. I know exactly what the two of you got up to.”
Piper shrugged modestly. “What can I say? Cal here is suggestible.”
“Someone here is also a sucker for crazy dares,” Cal pointed out.
Piper had never met a dare she wouldn’t take. She’d done all sorts of crazy things over the years. She’d gone cliff jumping at midnight (which was when he’d discovered his calling as a rescue swimmer). Ridden in a string bikini printed with the American
