Mismatched in Mayhem

By L.E. Rico

Welcome to Mayhem, Minnesota, with its sweater-wearing cats and ultra-competitive trivia nights. Where love really does conquer all...if you’ll let it.

Walker O’Halloran is finally ready to shed her “wild child” persona. Bartending at her family’s pub, babysitting her adorable niece and nephews, and getting her degree during the day. What she doesn’t do is date--or even think about dating. Ever. Until he walks into her bar, looking like a former Mr. Quarterback of the Football Team and Student Council President all rolled into one. No, thank you.

Mason Stevens has a secret—and it prevents him from knowing if someone is truly interested in him, or just what he can do for them. Until he meets Walker. She’s the first person in ages who doesn’t recognize him, and her grouchy attitude feels like the greatest challenge of his life. And he’s ready for it.

But the more time they spend together, the more he’s desperate to come clean—it’s just never the right time. Until the paparazzi do it for him…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640638594

Book preview

For Kelly…

my friend, my sounding board,

my gentlest critic and my biggest cheerleader.

With all my love and gratitude.

Chapter One

Walker

Will you m-marry me? he asks, and then promptly hiccups—a distinct improvement from the last time, when he belched out his proposal.

No.

Ohhhhh…c’mon, W-walker. Don’t make me b-b-beg.

I lean across the top of the bar and drop my voice.

Jake, I said no last week and the week before. And the week before that. Three shots of Tanqueray and you’re ready to walk right down that aisle—do not pass go. Do not collect one hundred dollars.

The visibly swaying sixty-five-year-old blinks hard, trying to place the Monopoly reference.

What’s this? Father Romance asks, nosing into our conversation from a few stools down. Is someone in need of my services over here? Because I do a mean wedding, he informs us with a sly grin.

I roll my eyes and lift an eyebrow in the direction of my wannabe-fiancé.

Jake was just asking me to marry him. Again.

The priest snorts, then pretends to cover it with a cough, so as not to offend his drunken parishioner.

Ah, Jake, while you clearly have excellent taste in women, our Walker isn’t in the market for a husband just yet. Besides, you know the rules.

R-rules? Jake repeats, confused.

Rules, Jake. How many times do we have to go through this? I grumble. Rule number one of the bartender’s code…

Don’t date regulars. My younger sister Bailey appears with a tray of empty beer and wineglasses in hand. The four of us—Bailey, Jameson, Hennessey, and I—were well-schooled in the dos and don’ts of behind-the-bar etiquette by our pops before he died about five years back. A regular, cash-paying customer is worth more than a date that may or may not go well, she continues. And if it doesn’t go well, we’re stuck staring at you across the bar while you try out the same lame lines on every other girl who walks in the door.

No. Regulars, I echo, nodding in agreement. And you, my friend, are a regular. Rule number two, I continue, beware big tippers.

Oh yeah—right, right, right, Bailey agrees. She puts her hands on her hips and chicken-necks with disdain. You know, just last week, I had a guy drop a fifty at the end of the night and then ask me out—like that would grease the wheels!

"I’m sure he hoped it would get something greased," I mutter.

Ewwww! She scrunches up her perfect little face. As if! Like he can buy a date with me? Total turnoff.

Poor Jake. I see his glassy eyes move between us as he tries, with great effort, to follow the conversation.

What’s all the ‘ewwwwing’ about? asks Hennessy as she comes out of the back office holding a stack of receipts. It’s her night to come in and balance the books, leaving her husband, Bryan, at home with the little hellions, twins Bud and Mick.

The rules, love, Father Romance offers.

Oh! The rules. Let’s see…no regulars. No big tippers. No little tippers—

Oh yeah! I forgot about that, Bailey interjects. Too much is obnoxious. Too little is just…cheap.

Henny nods. And let’s not forget the cutesy names. I hate, hate, hate it when a guy calls me ‘baby,’ or ‘honey,’ or ‘sweetie.’

Forget the names, I jump in. "My biggest pet peeve is the cutesy drink names! How can I respect a guy who orders a birthday-cake-flavored martini?"

We all groan. Suddenly Jake looks a little green.

I…I uh… He lurches away from us and staggers, quickly, toward the front door.

One of us will have to take a hose to the alley later, I predict.

Mmmm. Well, I’m outta here in like ten minutes, Bailey informs us, starting to load up a new tray with drinks. I’ve got a date tonight.

And I promised Bryan I’d be home in time to tuck in the kiddos, Henny says with a sympathetic smile and a shrug.

Yeah, right. So, I guess it’s my turn. Again, I mutter.

Now, now, Walker, Father Romance jumps in. It seems only right that you be the one to clean up after Jake, considering he’s going to be your husband and all.

I give him a long, hard, withering stare. The kind of stare that would make anyone else shrivel up right in front of me. But not Father Romance. Apparently, priests are impervious to the evil eye. Still, he takes my unspoken point and raises his palms in a gesture of surrender before turning his attention back to his pint.

Fine, you all just go ahead and abandon me. What else is new?

It’s not like you ever have plans, Bailey reminds me. You never date. You never go out with friends. All you do is go to school, sleep, and work.

Yeah, and? I counter. So, what? Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like an extra night off every once in a while.

Hennessy pats my back as she finds her purse behind the counter. You’re absolutely right. And, more importantly, we shouldn’t just assume you’ll be available to watch the bar whenever the rest of us have plans. That being said…

You have plans.

She gives me a sheepish smile before planting a kiss on my cheek.

Thank you, my sweet, kind, thoughtful, wonderful sister…

"Oh, for God’s sake just—just stop before I have to go out into the alley!"

You in for Sunday dinner this week? Jameson’s making lasagna. And the boys are dying to show you the macaroni art they made for you.

Yeah, Walker, you haven’t made it for a few weeks now. How about it? We can ride over to James’s together, Bailey adds.

The truth is, I’ve been checking out of the big family gatherings for a while now. Hennessy and Bryan’s business is taking off. Nurse Jameson is saving the world one high-risk delivery at a time, while her husband Scott has just finished law school. Even Bailey has been accepted into a study-abroad program in London for next year. All of these successful, productive people have a way of making me feel like a loser—even if they do love me.

Fine, I capitulate with an exasperated sigh. Fine, fine, fine. But I am not sitting next to the wonder twins. Last time, I left with half a chicken stuck to my head.

Yeah, you guys are really up to your eyeballs in the terrible twos, Bailey comments.

Soon to be threes, Henny adds. Wait till you see the birthday party Bryan’s got planned. He’s buying out the entire Benny’s Birthday Bonanza. It’s going to be amazing!

Typical over-the-top Bryan. Are they even going to remember this party? I mutter.

Maybe, maybe not. But the little guys have had some trouble adjusting since Theta left us to get married and Penny went back to Australia. They’ve had the two of them around for as long as they can remember, and now they won’t be here for the big birthday.

I’m sorry, but I still don’t get why you needed two nannies in the first place. It’s not like there haven’t been enough of us around to help you out with them.

Oh, stop being Grumpy McGrumpypants, Bailey says, swatting me with a bar towel. You’re just crabby because Penny took your BFF J.B. with her when she went back to Australia.

She’s right, of course. J.B., manny to my oldest nephew, Jackson, and I dated a couple of times. In the end, we found we were much better suited to friendship than romance. He and the twins’ nanny, Penny, on the other hand… Well, now they’re off touring the Outback on his Harley Davidson and I’m left to snark alone, which isn’t nearly as fun.

It’s fine, Bailey, Hennessy calls over her shoulder as she heads for the front door. At least I get out of the pub once in a while.

You, too! Bailey squawks back at her. Enough with the nasty, already!

Henny stops, turns around, and comes to face me across the bar top.

I love you, she says.

I love you, too.

I’m sorry.

Me, too.

She nods. I nod. We both look at Bailey. She nods.

All is right in the world again.

For now, anyway.

…

Several hours after my sisters have fled the scene, I’m starting to have hallucinations about my pillow. Unfortunately, there’s a whole lot that needs doing around here before it and I can be reunited. And, I realize a moment too late, lock the door should have been at the top of that to-do list, because one of my customers has just boomeranged back on me.

Sorry, man, we’re closed, I tell the tall blond.

I know… he begins sheepishly. I’m sorry to bother you but my cell’s dead and I was hoping maybe you could call me a cab?

I consider him carefully. He doesn’t seem to be drunk. No slurry words or goofy expression. And, while he’s a little too guy-next-door for my taste, he’s pretty easy on the eyes. If I remember correctly, I’ve served him only a few bottles of Michelob over the course of the night. Not that he couldn’t have snuck a flask in or finished one of his buddies’ drinks.

I’m not drunk or anything, he explains quickly, guessing at what I’m wondering. It’s my friends…they left while I was in the bathroom and sort of forgot to tell me. I’ve been outside waiting for them to come back…but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

You get into a fight or something?

Nah, nothing like that, he assures me, shaking his head. You may remember there were a bunch of us. We came in like, three cars, and I think everyone thought I was in one of the others when they left.

I quirk an eyebrow at him as I push a clean bar rag into a damp beer glass to dry it. Did they take your cell phone with them or something?

He looks sheepish as he pulls it out of his pocket.

It’s out of juice. The thing’s been dying a slow death for a while now… I just haven’t gotten around to getting a new one yet.

How come you’re all the way out here, anyway? I ask.

We do get some traffic from the University of Minnesota’s Iron Range campus, but that’s usually just on quiz nights and the odd chili cookoff.

He rolls his eyes. I know, it’s a hike, right? It wasn’t my idea. One of the guys is dodging his ex-girlfriend—who always seems to turn up wherever he is. So we decided to cast the net a little farther out this time. And I’m glad we did—it’s a nice place, he comments, looking around the now-empty pub.

Well, I’m glad you like it, but you’re out of luck with the taxi. There’s only one driver who services this area outside of ice fishing season, and he’s on vacation.

The only taxi driver in town is on vacation? he repeats incredulously. How is that even possible?

I chuckle.

What, you think you can just hail a cab out on Main Street? Dude, this is Mayhem not Minneapolis. And you won’t find an Uber or Lyft driver willing to come out this far this late, either.

Oh, he says flatly. I can see he doesn’t quite know what to do.

There must be someone you can call. Parents? Siblings? Frat brother, maybe?

No, not really. Both my folks are working out of the country right now… he says absently, looking more embarrassed now. Ummm, yeah, you know, it’s not so far. I’ll just walk it, that’s all. Maybe I can hitch a ride once I hit the interstate. What is that, like a couple miles from here?

Seven, I tell him and watch with some interest as his enthusiasm deflates.

Still, he just nods firmly, as if to convince himself this is the correct course of action, and starts to zip up his jacket—which isn’t nearly warm enough for the rapidly dropping temps forecast for this Friday night in November. He’s going to freeze his butt off out there. But that’s not what makes me do it. It’s…something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on as I glance at my watch.

I’ll take you.

Even I am surprised by the words that have just come tumbling out of my mouth.

What? he asks, as if he might’ve misheard.

I said I’ll drive you. But I have to finish up here. It’ll be another half hour or so.

I can’t explain my own actions. I mean, he’s not even my type! This guy looks like the captain of the football team, the prom king, and the high school valedictorian all rolled into one tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed package. Not so much as a stud in his ears or a dot of ink on his muscled limbs.

Why would you do that? he asks, sounding a little suspicious of my offer.

That’s a really good question. And the answer is that I don’t know. It’s against the Girl Code. No strangers in your car. Including the pub customers. Especially the pub customers. Still…

Because you’re stuck and it’ll take you like six hours to walk back to campus. That’s if you don’t turn into a popsicle along the way. He studies me carefully as if trying to gauge my sincerity. And it’s pissing me off. Look, you can walk if you want. I don’t particularly care. I was just trying to do something nice—which, I assure you, is a rarity. But it’s been a long night, and I’ve got some work to do around here before I can get my own butt home and into bed. So, if you’ll excuse me…

Yeah, okay, he rushes to say, as if there’s a clock ticking down on his response. That would be really great… I’m sorry, what’s your name?

Walker.

Walker?

I hate this part. How much easier my life would be if I were a Jen, or Madison, or Danielle.

Mmm-hmm.

Huh. That’s kind of a cool name.

Go ahead.

What?

You know you want to.

What?

"Tell me about the zombies on The Walking Dead—they’re called walkers, right? Or maybe you’d like to call me Skywalker. Or Walker, Texas Ranger. Or—"

Hey, hey! he cuts me off, putting his hands up and chuckling. "I said it’s a cool name and I meant it! And, for your information, I don’t watch The Walking Dead. Walker Texas Ranger, on the other hand… I think my mother had a crush on him or something, because we had like every episode on DVD. But I thought he was kinda cool. I even went as him for Halloween one year."

Did you now? I ask, suppressing a smirk. And how’d that work out for you?

Not so well, he admits, a painful look passing over his face at the memory. None of the kids my age knew who I was supposed to be. And, to make matters worse, I used superglue to attach the fake Chuck Norris beard. I spent the night in the ER while the doctor tried to get it off without taking half my face with it.

I can’t hold back anymore. There’s something about the image of this guy dressing up like Chuck Norris that makes me howl with laughter until Donovan sticks his head out of the kitchen.

Everything okay out here? he asks, looking between the prom king and me.

I wave a dismissive hand at our cook and catch my breath. Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.

Who’s your new friend?

Donovan is very protective of my sisters and me. He doesn’t like strange guys hanging around after hours…even though he knows I’ve got a Louisville slugger under the bar and I won’t hesitate to use it.

Donovan, this is… I realize suddenly that I don’t know this guy’s name.

Mason, he supplies helpfully. Mason Stevens. Nice to meet you…Donovan, is it?

It is, Donovan replies, pointedly crossing his arms over his chest. Is there something we can do for you?

His buddies went back to campus and he got left behind in the shuffle. I’m going to give him a ride as soon as we finish up here.

Don is gawking now, as if I’ve just sprouted a second head. A purple one. With antennae and a horn in the middle of the forehead.

What? I ask irritably.

Nothing… It’s just…you know… It’s kinda late…

Exactly. Too late for him to get a Lyft, or Uber, or whatever. And late enough for me to want to get home.

Hang on, he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and fishing out his iPhone. He snaps a picture of Mason, who’s less than pleased.

Hey, man! What’s that about? he demands.

Donovan stares him down. Just in case. I want to have your picture to show the police if she doesn’t get home safe and sound.

I snort. Please. I can take care of myself.

Why don’t you let me make the bank deposit on my way home, Donovan suggests.

I roll my eyes as I pull the money bag from my waistband and hand it over to him. Fine. Thank you.

At the mention of cash, Mason becomes agitated and starts digging through his wallet, pulling out assorted bills. Listen, I have money…let me pay you for your time and the gas…

No, it’s fine, I say, waving the wad of cash away as he extends it in my direction.

Please. I’d have paid for a cab anyway…

Seriously, I don’t want your money, I say a little too sharply, then adjust my tone. I said I’d take you back to campus and that’s what I’m gonna do. Just sit tight while Donovan and I do a few things…

No, no, go on ahead, Walker, Donovan cuts in. I got this.

You sure?

Absolutely. But text me when you’re headed back this way so I won’t worry about you.

Fine. You hear that, Mason? If you were thinking about killing me and chopping me up into tiny pieces, you’re out of luck.

Mason sighs with disappointment. Damn. And here I had my heart set on a little death and dismemberment tonight.

I smile as I grab my jacket from the hook on the wall and zip it up. I like this guy. And that’s saying a lot.

Chapter Two

Mason

If she notices me noticing her, she doesn’t mention it. In fact, things are pretty quiet inside the Jeep as the tall, lean bartender maneuvers through the streets of Mayhem. It’s dark, but the bright, full moon provides me with all the light I need to examine her from the passenger seat. Her hair is jet black and cropped close to her head. It accentuates her long, graceful neck. But she’s not soft at all. No luscious curves or girl-next-door, apple-cheeked face. This one is all angles, from her high cheekbones to her narrow hips.

In the bar I noticed that her eyes are the most amazing shade of gray and, now that I’m looking at her in profile, I see that they’re fringed by long, dark lashes. She is, quite simply, stunning—a fact that is accentuated by her lack of self-consciousness. She’s either indifferent to her looks or she doesn’t realize just how freaking gorgeous she is.

Did you want me to turn on the cab light so you can get a picture? she asks without batting a long, black eyelash.

So much for not noticing me noticing her.

I grin. Nope. Just admiring the scenery by the moonlight.

She harrumphs.

Yeah? Well, you’ll see more of it if you actually look out the window.

Oh, I don’t know. I kinda like the flora and fauna right here.

I get an eye roll for that one.

Dude, seriously? You think your lame little pickup lines are going to make me go all gooey on the inside? Please, I’ve had three proposals this week alone—one of them about five hours ago.

Crap. Are you saying someone beat me to the punch? Are you already spoken for, Miss…?

O’Halloran, she supplies.

As in ‘O’Halloran’s Pub’? So it’s a family business, then?

It is.

That’s when it hits me.

"Oh! Are you named Walker for Johnny Walker,