Reagan grins and arches a brow. “Well, hello, gentleman.”
The other two guys, who I have barely noticed as they just don’t stand out in comparison to the first one, grin.
“Couldn’t help but notice two drop-dead-gorgeous ladies as we were walking by,” he says, stepping closer. He leans forward, accentuating the angles of his collarbone. The other two guys linger behind him—I give them a quick once-over, taking them in. One has sandy hair and an easy grin, the other is dark-haired and quiet, watching with mild interest.
I arch an eyebrow. “Does that line actually work?”
He shrugs, flashing his perfect teeth. “You haven’t told me to beat it yet, so I’d say I’m in for a chance.”
I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face.
Reagan grins. “Unfortunately for you three, I’m taken,” she says casually. “But she’s not.” She nods at me, mischief in her eyes.
I nudge her in the ribs, laughing softly. The blonde guy cocks one eyebrow at me. His ice-blue eyes are persistent, curious. “So, what’s it gonna take for you to let me buy you a drink then?”
I let out a soft laugh, more amused than offended. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that.”
“She would love to,” Reagan says. “In fact, we both would. I am parched and I know there is an incredible cocktail bar over the road. I might be taken, but I never say no to a free drink. I’m sure one of you can buy.”
She pushes to her feet, flicking her hair, completely unbothered.
God, I wish I had her confidence.
“I guess I don’t get a choice,” I say casually, and take the hand that is now extended for me.
He chuckles, then helps me pick up my towel.
“Just so you know,” I say, packing my things away. “My dad is a biker, so if you try anything, I can make sure you’re buried where no one will find you.”
“Biker dad?” He grins, unbothered. “That’s badass.”
Reagan wiggles her brows at me.
“I’m Violet, by the way,” I say, dusting off my cut-off shorts.
“Jacob.” He smiles, and I notice the faint scar at the corner of his mouth. “Pleasure.”
We finish up, and with our new friends, head over the street.
This could either be a very good, or a very bad idea.
I guess we’re about to find out.
Inside the cocktail bar, the neon lights pulse in shades of red and blue, painting the floor in splashes of color. A lazy rock beat thrums from the jukebox in the corner. The air smells of beer, perfume, and some kind of fried food—comfortable, familiar.We slide into a booth upholstered in burgundy leather, backs pressed against the fake vinyl. Reagan and I order the fruitiest cocktail we can find, while the three men take beer.
“What, too masculine for a cocktail?” I tease.
Jacob laughs. “I can’t have you thinking I’m not man enough. Not yet at least.”
Conversation sparks between us easily. Jacob is so friendly and effortless to talk to, considering that men who look like him aren’t always easy to converse with. He tells me he’s training to be a police officer—steady, disciplined, determined. I tell him I’m just home for a visit and still deciding if I am going to stay or not. I lean forward, elbows on the table, my heart fluttering in my chest. For a moment, his presence sweeps away the sharp ache in my chest where Travis used to be.
For a second, just a second, I almost forget about Travis. Almost.
The evening runs away from me, drinks multiplying faster than the minutes. Reagan is on the dance floor, doing her thing, and Jacob talks about his rookie training nightmares, and he isn’t shy about asking questions, either. Where did I grow up—here, right? Where did I run to? Did I like the city? Every few minutes, he grins to let me know he is enjoying my conversation.
The jukebox flips over to some classic anthem, and a group of guys by the pool table start singing along. Loudest among them is a man with a mohawk, half his hair bleached white, and I can’t help but laugh as he breaks it down. For a minute, I feel good. Not healed, not even numb, just a little closer to myself. It’s nice to think of something other than Travis for one night.
Two hours on, the bar has grown tight with bodies and sound, and I’m about to excuse myself for a bathroom run when I feel every cell in my body stand on high alert. Like it knows before I do. I don’t see him at first—I hear him. Travis’s laugh, loud and booming, even over the music. I twist, facing thedirection it came from when I see him at the bar in a black shirt that clings to his chest, hair all messy and his grin easy.
