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“Where are you going?” A hint of desperation bleeds into his voice.
“Far away from you.” I need to think, and I can’t do that with him smiling at me and talking about sex.
“But what about the shop?”
“Ehh. It’s a cute gesture, but maybe I want to explore my options beyond Lake Wisteria.”
Who am I kidding? Him buying the whole building to save the shop I want is something straight out of a Dreamland fairy tale.
He takes a step forward. “Where?”
I smile at Cal for the first time in weeks. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Don’t make me go buy up all the properties you’re interested in.”
“You’d go bankrupt.”
“Not even close, but it would put a nice dent in my bank account.” His eyes draw me in like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”
“No, Lana, I’m in love. There’s a big difference.”
“What’s he doing here?” Violet’s head snaps toward the front door of Last Call.
Delilah and I follow her gaze. I lock eyes on Cal, who hasn’t noticed us sitting in our usual spot by the back.
The pit in my stomach becomes a canyon as Cal waves down one of the bartenders and orders his usual vodka tonic. He takes a seat by himself on the other side of the bar, giving everyone his back. I can’t make out if he is drinking yet or not, but my stomach rolls all the same.
“He shouldn’t be here.” My fingers press into the leather booth, leaving indentations behind.
“I’m sure he has a good explanation.” Delilah stares at her drink.
I stare at her like she grew a second head. “A good explanation?”
She doesn’t answer.
Violet scoffs. “What happened to getting sober?”
“He promised me he was.” I reach for the chip I keep on me at all times.
So much for that.
“Just hear me out—” Delilah tries to get my attention, but I’m too far gone.
My frustration boils over, and before I have a chance to stop myself, I charge over to his table.
“Alana!” Delilah calls after me, but I can’t hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears.
Cal looks up at the sound of my name, and his eyes widen as he catches me stomping over to his table. A few people turn to look over at us, the unwanted eyes making my cheeks heat.
“Here, asshole. You can have this back now.” I throw his sobriety chip on the table. It spins a few times before landing beside his drink.
The muscles of his back turn rigid underneath his shirt. “I gave it to you.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Why?”
