Page 57 of Where I Should’ve Been

“By the way,” she says and surprises me by reaching up and literally booping me on the nose like you would a cute dog. “We do have something important we need to discuss. Something very serious, actually.”

I laugh, but it’s a little nervous. “Okay…”

“We need code names.”

I blink. “Code names?”

She grins up at me, and her face is all teasing sparkle again. “You know, for risky situations like when you have to call me on the phone and I’m in public. That way, I can be, like, ‘Oh hey, Tom, so glad you called,’ and all the Red Bridge busybodies will be none the wiser.”

“Tom?” I laugh. “That’s my code name?”

“I figured you’d like it better than Farm Daddy.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Plus, you pull off being a Tom. Reliable. Steady. Probably owns too many flannels.”

“I’m not so sure I’d peg me as reliable, but if I’m Tom, who are you?”

“Hmmm.” She tilts her head to the side and taps her chin. “Has to be something close to Breezy. Belinda?”

“Feels too church choir.”

“Bianca?”

“Too fancy. I don’t think Bianca would want anything to do with reliable Tom.”

“Oh, I know.” Her grin widens. “Betsy. Short and sweet and kind of perfect, if you ask me.”

“Betsy,” I repeat, liking the way it slides off the tongue. “Okay, Betsy. How do you feel about a round two with Tom?”

“A round two?” She giggles, and I catch the sound with my mouth as I kiss the corner of her smile.

“Oh, come on, Betsy. You know Tom’s dependable,” I murmur against her lips. “You can always count on him.”

That makes her laugh, full and unguarded, before she pulls me in and kisses me deep.

And I let myself get lost in it. In her. In the way she looks at me like I’m not broken Tad, but steady, dependable Tom.

Which, yeah, is a dangerous fucking thing for a man like me to do.

22

Breezy

Friday, February 19th

The past month and a half that I’ve been flitting aimlessly about this small town, I seem to end more nights in Tad Hanson’s bed than anywhere else. But tonight, I’m spending the evening at The Country Club.

And when I say seem to, that’s clearly me lying to myself because let’s be real, my primary hobby has been being a freak in his sheets.

Sex with Tad Hanson is out-of-this-world addictive.

Apparently, so are midnight pancakes with Tad. And dinner with Tad. And TV with Tad…

What can I say? The man’s stupidly charming, dangerously easy to be around, and I’m a woman who’s overdue for some fun.

Tonight, the bar’s still packed, but instead of karaoke and beer-soaked dancing, it’s poker night.

The lights aren’t as dim as they usually are, and green felt-top tables are filling every nook and cranny of the bar. The hum of conversation blends with the clink of glasses and the shuffle of cards.

Poker night in Red Bridge is as close as you get to high society around here, and it’s all for a good cause. Betty Bagley, self-appointed queen of small-town fundraising, announced earlier that tonight’s buy-ins and side pots are going to “Operation Playground.” Red Bridge Elementary’s swings are evidently so rusted they look like tetanus on chains, and the town decided poker might be the fastest way to get the kids something safe to climb on.