A Werewolf, A Vampire, and A Fae Walk Into A Bar (Book 1 of The Last Witch Series) novel Chapter 2

I take a moment to look at this rock. It's metallic gray with copper veins running through it. Veins that seem to glow, though I'm sure that's just a trick of the light. I shrug off my jacket and tuck the rock away on a shelf behind the bar.

“What you got there?” Joe asks, his voice slightly slurred because even I’ve lost track of how many Smithwick’s he’s had.

I look at it and shrug. “A rock, I guess. A bit unusual looking. You guys ever seen the wind throw stones before?”

I look around at Frank, Joe and Phil, the only patrons of our fine establishment tonight. Well, except Karl, but he's passed out in the back booth as always. There are stories that he has never moved, and he's actually a well-preserved corpse. I can neither confirm nor deny this. But his tab gets paid and he doesn't smell any worse than these other bastards. So we're good.

“It’s bad out there, guys. One last round? Then I’m closing shop before you’re stuck here all week.”

There’s a collective groan at being kicked out before nine (on a Tuesday, God forbid), but I shrug and top off drinks. They’ll thank me in the morning when they wake up in their own beds rather than the floor of my bar. I’m just serving the last beer when the bell over the door dings, and I look up in surprise as a flurry of snow chases three men into my bar.

And by three men, I mean three absolute specimens. These are, hands down, the sexiest guys I’ve ever seen. It takes me all of two seconds to make that assessment.

I place a hand over my baby bump to remind myself what happens when I let a pretty face and a hot body talk me into bad decisions--and these guys look like a lot of bad decisions wrapped in a delicious bow.

Settle yourself, woman. You don’t need more complications with a baby on the way.

“Close the door,” Frank shouts. “You’re letting in the storm and Bernie ain’t mopping that shit in her condition.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. This town takes care of its own, that’s for sure. And by the looks of these newcomers, they’re definitely not from around here.

Though they came in together, I get the distinct impression they’re not exactly friends as they glare at each other suspiciously.

What they’re doing in my pub on a weeknight during a blizzard is beyond me.

They each choose separate tables near the back, though they don’t take their eyes off each other. Strange. As I walk over to take their order, I also study them.

I may have sworn off men for the foreseeable future… like, until my kid is in college… but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some eye candy when it walks into my bar.