A sharp knock on my window shatters the trance we’d fallen into.
I jolt, my heart slamming against my ribs, and turn to find Emmett grinning widely.
He opens the door and leans in, immediately distracted by Iris. “I always forget how tiny they are,” he says, scratching gently behind her ear. “How’d she do on the ride?”
“Good,” Wesley says from behind me, his voice deeper now, closed off.
Emmett glances between us, and suddenly my skin is on fire, convinced it’s written all over my flushed face—that whatever almost happened is visible, obvious. But if he notices, he doesn’t comment, and I cling to that small mercy.
“Lydia sent me to tell you to be ready in ten minutes,” he adds. “And to look hot.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
He throws up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
I laugh, and behind me, I swear I hear Wesley make a low sound.
I gently shift Iris off my lap and onto the middle of the seat, carefully tucking her in so she doesn’t wake. Emmett offers his hand, and I take it as I hop down.
“Are you coming with us?” I ask.
“Who do you think your designated driver is?” He winks. “Now hurry. You’ve got nine minutes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SADIE
Lucky’sisnothinglikewhat I expected.
I pictured a run-down, hole-in-the-wall sort of vibe. I should’ve known better than to assume.
The place is huge, with a dance floor that stretches out under a canopy of moving lights. The music is so loud I feel it in my chest, bass thumping through the floor like a second heartbeat. It feels more like a nightclub than a small-town bar, but it still has its charm.
Lydia tugs me toward the long bar lining one side of the dance floor, weaving through bodies swaying to the music.
She waves down one of the bartenders, who saunters over with a smirk. His dark hair is styled just a little too perfectly, sleeves pushed up to show off forearms he clearly works on, confidence dialed a notch too high.
“What do you want?” he asks, leaning across the bar.
Something about his grin makes my skin itch, but Lydia plays right into his game, fluttering her dark lashes at him.
“Two double tequilas,” she says sweetly.
My stomach twists.
He pours the drinks and slides them over, eyes still locked on Lydia. “You still owe me.”
Lydia scrunches her nose and passes one of the glasses to me. We clink, and I knock mine back. The burn hits instantly, fire clawing down my throat. I wince and shudder.
“I’m not letting it go this time, Lyd,” he adds, not taking his eyes off her.
“Do your job, Brantley. You have patrons to tend to,” Lydia says, shooing him away.
He shakes his head before turning his attention to a rowdy bachelorette party. They’re all wearing light-up penis headbands. I swallow another cringe.
I glance at Lydia. “What wasthatabout?”
She waves it off with a smirk. “That’s just Brantley. He’s harmless.”
