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The mere thought of being confronted after going psycho on Wes and pulling a knife on the guy—Jesus, what was I thinking?
I had let the old King out to play—something I didn't like to do anymore. It was survival of the toughest back then, but I didn't have to be that girl here.
For the past three days, one thought kept replaying in my mind: Why was Wes looking for me? It even overshadowed the imminent arrival of the last person I wanted around. I tried calling Rae again. Her text had completely thrown me off. How did she know about him? And why were they together? But as expected, she didn't pick up.
Wes knew my name and place of work. If he wanted to press charges for reckless endangerment, he could send a cop to the bar. But instead, Wes had become a regular, as Grizz reported back.
Tonight is Wednesday, my scheduled night off, but Mags's time of the month came crashing in like a red tidal wave, and she is curled up on the couch. Initially, I refused. A few Advil and she would be as good as new (I would go to Friendship Hell for that), but when Leigh also called in that she couldn't close up today, I had no choice.
I waited as long as possible, but finally, I put on my big-girl panties and got dressed. Getting to the bar only took seven minutes, if all three traffic lights were red, which left me more than enough time.
Parkingthe Jeep in my usual spot, I wipe my sweaty hands on my black skinny jeans.
You can do this. Pretend he's not there.
Inside, I stop in the doorway to Grizz's office and knock on the frame. He glances up from behind the multitude of monitors on his desk. "Hey."
My boss is a man of not-so-many words, which is how I prefer it.
"Hi."
We stare at each other for several—in my case, accelerated—heartbeats as I wait for him to tell me what I already know.
"He's camping out at the corner high top. Again."
I nod in acknowledgment and turn to leave.
"King?"
I glance over my shoulder.
"Say the word, and he's out."
Warmth grows in my chest. Besides Kiwi and my mom, I've never had anyone look out for me. Now, I have several people who have my back if I need them.
"Thank you." I give him a narrow smile, not wanting him to see how much his words affect me.
The lump in my throat has cleared by the time I enter the main room and is replaced by my stomach reeling like the one (and only) time I got on a roller coaster. Let's hope I won't puke my guts out after thisride.
I avoid scanning the crowd as I make my way behind the bar.
Pretend you have blinders on your eyes.
I'm working the left side, Mags's usual spot, while Dean has the right. I greet him and then get busy mixing the drink orders.
At one point, Aiden, one of my regulars, appears in my line of vision, and I jump.
"King, baby!"
When I realize who it is, my body sags. Aiden leans over the counter to hug me, and it's like the room is suddenly charged with crackling electricity—not the good kind.
Keeping my head down, using my hair as a shield, I chance a glimpse toward the back corner for a fraction of a second. It's long enough for me to see that Wes is strangling his beer, glowering at Aiden's back. I avert my gaze before he catches me, but, oh my God, is he—? My breath catches. No, it can't be. There is no way Weston Sheats would be…jealous? That's ridiculous. I fucking threatened him with a knife. Yet, the still-present nausea is replaced by hundreds of butterflies, and hope fills my chest, just to be squashed by reality hitting me over the head with a baseball bat.
Nothing can happen. Wes is a good guy. He would never accept who I am and what I've done.
Aiden pulls back, and I force myself to smile at him in greeting. "Hey, A."
"I didn't know you were working tonight." He grins as if I had offered for him to take shots from between my tits. I can sense Wes's eyes on us and fight the urge to check on the corner table.
