Page 102 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Fletcher nods once. “I’m in.”

There we go.

I clap my hands together once. “Beautiful. See? Problem solving.”

“There wasn’t a problem,” Wayne mutters.

“Of course not,” I say easily. “Just a vibe.”

He shakes his head, but the edge has softened.

Bolt gets to his feet and ambles over, pressing against Wayne’s leg. Wayne absently scratches behind his ear.

Yeah, drinks tonight are necessary. Because whatever’s sitting between them, it’s not about a busted transmission or alternators.

The Mile Marker is already humming when we push through the door. Low lights, neon beer signs buzzing wildly, the familiar mix of whiskey, citrus, and old wood soaked into the place’s bones. Tess clocks us immediately from behind the bar, one sharp brow lifting.

“Well, look what the highway dragged in,” she says. “You three look like trouble with a side of unresolved tension.”

“Evenin’, Tess,” I reply easily. “Round of whatever Wayne’s buyin’.”

Wayne mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like asshole, but he steps up to the bar anyway.

“Whiskey,” he says. “Neat.”

Fletcher orders the same. I follow suit. No mixers. No nonsense. If we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ it honest.

Tess slides the glasses across, eyes flicking between the three of us, taking bets.

“Try not to break anything important,” she says sweetly.

“No promises,” I tell her.

We take a high top near the back. Not hidden exactly, but far enough from the pool table noise that we can hear ourselves think. Or, in Wayne’s case, brood.

First drink goes down fast. Second one slower.

Conversation starts the way it always does. Safe ground. Work. Hank nearly setting the shop on fire last week. A guy who came in convinced his bike is haunted. Fletcher’s new custom frame that Wayne pretends he isn’t proud of but absolutely is.

The tension doesn’t leave, though. But by the time the third round lands, shoulders are looser, voices a touch warmer. The edges have softened enough for the truth to start knocking.

Wayne stares into his glass as if it might confess something if he looks hard enough.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says suddenly.

Fletcher’s head turns. “Why not?”

“Because this is a bad idea.”

I take a slow sip. “You don’t do bad ideas, Wayne. You do inevitable ones you pretend you didn’t see coming.”

He shoots me a look. “You always this smug?”

“Only when I’m right.”

Wayne exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a surrender. He sets his glass down. “I’m attracted to June.”

Fletcher doesn’t react right away. Just nods once—clearly he’s been expecting it.