
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he were inhaling me. "I'd recognize you in a pitch-black room," he said, and he smiled at me. It was a broad and beautiful smile.
I looked off in another direction, pinching back the involuntary grin that rose to my lips. I was acting sort of… shy.
I never acted shy. Or maybe coy would be a better term, and one I disliked. "I guess I should say thank you," I ventured cautiously. "That's a compliment?"
"Intended as one. Who's the dog behind the bar who's giving me the stay-away look?"
He meant dog as a statement of fact, not as a derogatory term.
"That's my boss, Sam Merlotte."
"He has an interest in you."
"I should hope so. I've worked for him for round about five years."
"Hmmm. How about a beer?"
"Sure. What kind?"
"Bud."
"Coming right up," I said, and turned to go. I knew he watched me all the way to the bar because I could feel his gaze. And I knew from his mind, though his was a closely guarded shifter mind, that he was watching me with admiration.
"What does he want?" Sam looked almost… bristly. If he'd been in dog form, the hair on his back would have been standing up.
"A Bud," I said.
Sam scowled at me. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
I shrugged. I had no idea what Quinn wanted.
Sam slammed the full glass down on the bar right by my fingers, making me jump. I gave him a steady look to make sure he noted that I'd been displeased, and then I took the beer to Quinn.
Quinn gave me the cost of the beer and a good tip—not a ridiculously high one, which would have made me feel bought—which I slipped into my pocket. I began making the rounds of my other tables. "You visiting someone in this area?" I asked Quinn as I passed him on my way back from clearing another table. Most of the patrons were paying up and drifting out of Merlotte's. There was an afterhours place that Sam pretended he didn't know about, way out in the country, but most of the Merlotte's regulars would be going home to bed. If a bar could be family-oriented, Merlotte's was.
