“Ty.” Lottie’s eyes flash when she recognizes me. “It’s fine. I don’t need your help.”
“Are you sure about that?” My voice comes out rasping, how it always sounds when I’m fueled by adrenaline. “You know you shouldn’t even be in here.”
Ham marches up on her other side, and his hand lands on Lottie’s shoulder. “Ty’s right. Mom will kill you if you get caught underage at a bar. You know what that will do to her approval rating. Let’s go. It’s late, and we have to be presentable for her campaign parade float tomorrow, remember?”
“I’m not ready to leave.” Stubborn as ever, Lottie lifts her chin.
“Fine.” Ham opens his mouth as if he wants to argue, but instead he sighs. “Learn the hard way.” He turns to me. “I’m not sticking around until she gets caught. The press will blame me for contributing. I’m leaving. You ready?”
I start to say yes.
I should go.
He’s right.
Though Ty and I are a legal twenty-two, we aren’t drinking. We came here only for the free pool, but the press hounds his family over every little thing they do. If Lottie gets busted for being in the bar underage, somehow we’ll get blamed for it. I glance at the exit, but Lottie laughs at something Bow Tie whispers in her ear, and it yanks me back. Everything in my chest burns because something isn’t right about this guy. He’s clearly not looking out for her best interests when he brought her here, since she’s underage. Playing it cool, I slide my feet toward the pool table and say, “Nah, I’ll stay to pocket all these balls.”
Ham gives me a look I can’t read. I’ve never told him I have feelings for Lottie. Sometimes I think he has to know. I’m not exactly the coolest guy at hiding these things. “Okay,” he mutters. “I’ll grab an Uber and leave you the Land Rover in case Lottie needs a ride too.”
My eyes bounce from him to Lottie, where I can’t help but let them linger. “Yeah, I won’t be too long.”
He digs in the pocket of his cargo shorts, removes a leather key fob to the vehicle they share when they’re in Mapleton and tosses it underhand. I snatch it out of the air one-handed as he turns and leaves. I get what he’s doing. He manages security for his mom, and he never switches out of that mode. He’s got a lot at stake if he gets in trouble, and he trusts me to take care of things.
I pick up my cue again, pretending to care about it, but my focus never leaves the bar. My gut was right about this guy,because only one song later, Bow Tie crowds Lottie again. Strain stamps her face as she leans away from him. My ear lasers in on what she’s saying, but she’s too far away from me, and the music is too loud. I settle for reading her lips, which is something I’ve become an expert in over the years. Her lips. Not in the way I would like to be an expert, but I can read her words. I don’t miss a syllable as she grabs her phone and says, “I’m calling a ride.”
That’s it.
I toss the cue down for good and stride over. “What’s this? I heard you need a ride?”
“Ty? I thought you left with Ham.” With hesitation her gaze flicks from Bow Tie to me. Then she nods. “Yeah. Sure.”
Stepping in between them, I bask in the opportunity to give Bow Tie a gentle nudge backward with my elbow to allow Lottie space to slide off her barstool. Not waiting for me, she quietly slips through the crowd and heads toward the door with her shoulders back. I’m right on her heels as the door closes behind us.
Outside, the air is sticky and warm, and we don’t talk. Walking straight to the Land Rover, she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist as I open the passenger door and stand back while she gets in. “You know I wasn’t drinking,” she says softly. “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“That’s your business.” I shut the door and run around to the driver’s side and get in. I start the engine and remain quiet as I back out.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t have to babysit me, you know,” she mutters under her breath.
“I know,” I say casually as my chest still burns with the visual of her with that guy. I pull forward and steer out of the parking lot. I’m not surprised the first thing she says is an apology. Sure, she should not be in the bar. Everything tells me it wasn’t her idea. Due to her high-profile family, she and her brother areboth meticulous rule followers. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told Bow Tie not to even go there, but aside from being a rule follower, she’s also a people pleaser who has trouble drawing the line. “You know, you say sorry too much.”
That earns me a joyless scowl, which I use as an excuse to stare at her and index all the lines in her face. Not many. Just the disapproving one pinned between her brows. “What does that mean?”
I raise a shoulder and hold it there, pondering how much I want to say. After a few minutes of silence, I resign to the fact that it’s better not to say anything. Her mother bred her to believe she’s always the problem. If she’s not apologizing for something someone else did, she’s trapped in her alternate stage of existence of overthinking. She wasn’t like that when I met her. Back then, she was bright-eyed and talkative. That changed when her mom got elected to the Senate, and every detail of her life became public knowledge.
Their anything-but-modest house is only a quarter mile down the road in the little town we grew up in. It’s a modern two-story home, and one of the nicest in all of Mapleton, with several acres of wild grasses and the best deck-view of the lake. When we pull in, I drive onto the grass, leaving the driveway clear for her parents to back out. Ahead of us, the water stretches out, with the house dark, except for the porch light, indicating everyone’s gone to bed. After killing the engine, I wrap one hand around the steering wheel and squeeze, staring straight ahead.
Neither of us moves. The engine ticks as it cools. “So, ah … I hope I didn’t ruin your date, but he looked like a tool.”
“Seriously, what would you even know about him?” She sighs, her gaze following mine to the still water. “You looked at him for all of five seconds.”
“That’s all I need.” This is infuriating, and I resist the urge to grind my molars—playing hockey defense my entire life has leftmy dental health at enough risk. “Trust me, he’s not the one, Lottie. A guy in a bar in a bow tie is only capable of loving himself.”
“He was dressed like a gentleman,” she scoffs. It’s not lost on me that she pulls her feet up on the seat and wraps her arms around her legs, like she’s content sitting here for hours. We should go inside, but this is what we do. When the whole world sleeps, we find a way to each other, and we talk about anything and everything. For hours. I don’t remember a time when we didn’t connect this way.
It’s why, in my heart, I know she’s mine.
Maybe not yet, but someday. I feel it in every fiber of my soul. So much so that the thought of seeing her in a bar, trying to connect with Bow Tie, makes my chest physically ache. “That wasn’t giving off gentleman.” I maintain an even voice. “That was a sleazeball, and you need to be more careful about who you allow to take you out.”
