Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Jack grunts at his brother’s antics.
Meanwhile, I eye this Matt guy—I assume it’s the one who seems too familiar with her for my liking—as he holds up a bottle of white with a questioning look.
People clutter the bar area, blocking my view of Emery, much to my dismay.
The band shifts into another song, and it’s too loud to carry a conversation without shouting but most people seem resigned to that, their focus drifting between the singer who belts out verses and people-watching. The servers beeline back and forth with trays of drinks and smiles.
And with each passing minute, I grow more agitated that Emery is so close to me and yet she feels so far away.
“Where’s the can?” I shout over the music.
Jack jabs his thumb toward the far end, on the other side of the bar.
Perfect. “Let me out.”
Jameson stands and stretches. “Good timing. Need to make my marketing rounds, anyway.” He gestures at the Barrow Brewing logo on his T-shirt before venturing off to the first table of attractive women.
I cut through the sizable room, pretending I don’t feel the interest I’m drawing from all angles, don’t notice the men sizing me up as I pass them, like I’m a threat they may need to subdue. And the women? Well … they probably wouldn’t be looking at me like that if they knew who I was. Or maybe my cousins are right and that’s exactly why they’re looking at me.
A brunette steps in front of me, cutting off my path. “Logan? Is that really you?” she shouts, her sky-blue eyes bright as she peers up into my face, noting my scar a beat.
She looks familiar … but I can’t place her.
“It’s Amelia!”
I frown. Did I ever know an Amelia?
Her expression wavers as doubt creeps in, but she steps in closer. “Millie. Crawford?”
“Oh, shit,” I blurt, genuinely shocked. “Your hair …” It was always bleached blond.
“Yeah.” She giggles, toying with a strand between her fingertips. “I stopped frying it a long time ago. Went natural.”
That’s not the only thing about her that’s changed with time. By ninth grade, she had a tiny waist and giant tits, and she liked drawing attention to them any chance she got. Guys would walk out of class with chubbies. Decades later, she has a full face and an even fuller figure—still on display in a low-cut top. But those eyes of hers, they shine with seduction the way I remember them. Hell, I lost my virginity looking into those eyes.
“Sorry, it’s been a minute.”
“Yeah. It has. You look good.” She eyeballs my chest, my arms.
The moment is growing awkward, fast. And this isn’t the woman I want to be talking to. “It was good to see—”
“We should meet up! You know, for coffee or dinner or something. We have so much to catch up on.”
We did very little talking during our time together. Apparently, I didn’t even know her name. “Yeah, sounds good. Listen, I’ve gotta …” I point toward the back and then let my feet lead me away without waiting for her answer.
I round the herd of people and suddenly there Emery is again, seated and smiling at the bartender as he hands her a glass of white wine.
My breath hitches at the sight of that mischievous crook at the corner of her lips. It’s the same one that used to make me weak in the knees whenever she graced me with it.
I slow my steps, waiting, hoping …
Green eyes flash as Emery finally notices me there. She can’t hide her surprise fast enough, her eyebrows jumping as if startled. I can almost hear her sharp intake of breath over the music. The reaction is enough to draw the notice of her friends, who turn to regard me.
I feel like an intruder. At least she knows I’m here, which, for some odd reason, seemed vital to me. But I’d be a fool to think Emery wants to be seen talking to her convict neighbor, so I simply nod and then I continue, across a threshold and down a narrow hall cluttered with bulletin boards and posters, to the men’s bathroom.
Reality sinks deeper into my bones.
I’m still serving time, though outside of bars. But even when I’m done, I’ll never be in Emery’s life again. Not the way I want to be.
I’ll never be good enough.
And that little voice inside my head reminds me that’s what I deserve for my part in that night.
When I emerge from the washroom, my mood feels as heavy as a concrete slab.
A young, slender woman leans against the wall, her cleavage on display thanks to a low-cut red shirt and a push-up bra. Bare legs run for miles in a tiny skirt.
“Hey, Logan.”
I frown, instantly on alert. “Do I know you?”
“It’s me.” She tucks her platinum blond locks behind her ear, showing off a hoop earring. “Isla’s friend, Holly.”