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Jolene was a grade above me, but every day after school, we went out hunting frogs and snakes. We pretended we were knights while traipsing through patches of forest, dueling with branches, and balancing on fallen logs. A bit immature for ten and eleven, maybe. Neither of us cared. With Jolene, everything wasfun.
“You’ll never breach my castle walls!” I yelled one afternoon, brandishing my branch with flair.
She roared in my face and bared her teeth. “My dragon just incinerated your head.”
I clawed at my cheeks, moaning and groaning until I tripped over my feet and landed nose-first in a pile of leaves. Jo was on me in seconds, shoving leaves down my shirt and in my face. I smashed a handful into her hair. We were choking from laughing so hard, barely able to breathe.
When we were done, starfished on the ground, exhausted and smiling, she rolled her head toward me. “I’m really glad you moved here. Other kids don’t know how to have fun.”
I don’t think I knew what fun was until I met Jolene. Or what it meant to want to avenge a person’s honor.
My plan to give Lane Ternent a taste of his own medicine hadn’t abated. Two weeks after the book-kicking incident—patience was key when avenging—I put cement glue on his bicycle seat. The front schoolyard was busy, but I was discreet in the application. I met up with Jolene as Lane came outside, ensuring we stopped to talk before he swung his leg over his bike.
The second he sat down, he frowned and tried to stand back up. His shorts didn’t move with him. They were yanked down, and he mooned half the school.
People pointed and gasped. Jolene laughed so hard she tipped into me and cackled on my shoulder. It was a fantastic day.
As I park my truck outside Jo’s bar, I feel decidedly less fantastic. I rub my chest, hating the tightness behind my ribs and my inability to quit thinking about Jo. Soon, everything will be easier. Once she’s back together with Jake, she’ll be too busy to worry about reconnecting with me. I’ll maintain the necessary distance from her to keep my emotions in check.
Tired of stalling, I leave my truck and head into the Barrel House. It’s not overly busy. One of the two pool tables at the back is being used, and a quarter of the booths and wooden tables are full with townsfolk enjoying drinks and greasy snacks. The dance floor is empty, but country tunes have people bopping their heads and tapping their heels.
I spot Jo right away, everything in me zinging at the sight of her. Flirty hair. Soft mouth. Tight tank top.Puckered brow?She’s behind the bar, rushing around, and she looks stressed. The intense kind of stressed that makes Jo’s brown eyes go hard.
I immediately tense. Debate going over and finding out what’s wrong, but we’re not friends like that any longer.
Blowing out a rough breath, I tear my gaze away and find the guys crowded around a table. The second I’m in speaking distance, Lennon nods at me. “Last one here buys drinks.”
“I’m buying the drinks,” Javier says, pulling out his credit card. “Payment for helping me move, and”—he looks at me with a full-teeth grin—“for helping me remodel the outdated bathroom in my new house? Any chance you’re free to give me a hand?”
Chuckling, I mentally review my jam-packed days. Try to think of when I can fit him in. “Maybe in a few months. Not sure I can swing it right now.”
“I’ll take what I can get. We’ll add nachos as a down payment.”
He starts to stand, but Lennon puts his hand on Javier’s shoulder. “You may be paying, but the last one here does the ordering.” He flutters his fingers at me in a goodbye motion, knowing Jolene is at the bar.
“Move your ass,” E says brightly. “And say hi to Jo for us.”
Goddamn my brothers.
Refusing to admit they’re getting to me, I pluck the card from Javier’s hand. “No problem. Nachos, a regular pitcher of beer for the table, and something shitty and obscure for the hipster.”
The guys laugh. Lennon glowers.
I march toward the bar, hoping Jo is busy with another customer. Luck, however, is not on my side. Aside from one man nursing his beer at the end of the bar, it’s just her and me and my ever-present guilt.
When she spots me, she doesn’t smile or wave or look less stressed. She flinches and flattens her lips.
Something compresses in my chest, like a wrecking ball has landed on my ribs. I should slap the card on the counter and order our drinks. Pull out my phone and pretend to read an important text while I wait, but I find myself leaning my elbows on the bar, closing the distance between us. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she says coldly. “What can I get you?”
A new chest, for starters. Maybe better self-preservation instincts. “You’re not fine, Jo. What’s up?”
Her glare verges on hostile. “Like you care.”
I rear back. “Of course I care.”
Her expression shifts to incredulous with a side offuck off. “You don’t pick up my calls or return them. You avoid me around town. You were my best friend for a decade, and now you want nothing to do with me. So, yeah, all evidence points to younot caring.” She breathes hard, her face flushed with anger.
