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This is more information than I managed to get out of Thomas. That’s what happens when you become estranged from your family… or maybe he just never cared to know me in the ways that counted.
I won’t deny my gratitude toward Thomas for stepping up. But it’s been a frustrating few months.
ButJacob Rhodesknows my drink preference.
“White wine at home, pinot grigio usually. You like the sweet stuff, and never red. Mixed drinks when you’re out. Being social.” His gaze roves over my face. “You’re missing the red lipstick, though. That was your signature look.”
“Red lipstick,” I repeat, soaking up this knowledge.
I don’t even realize I’ve swiveled to give him my full attention until his knees press on either side of my thighs. His legs bracket mine, and he props his elbow on the bar.
“Yeah. Messy hair, red lipstick. The glasses are different.”
I shrug. “I didn’t have them on me when I was…”Found.
Can’t quite say that out loud.
“Who were you to me?” I ask instead.
It’s funny. I analyzed his photo. Zoomed in and stared until I thought I had my fill. But now that he’s in front of me again, I can’t stop looking. Maybe it’s because he’s handsome, in a roguish, dangerous kind of way. Or just that he’s looking back at me with just as much… curiosity?
He’s silent for a moment. He might be debating how much to tell me. I want to reach out and shake him, to demand he answer me, but I don’t have that much control. My position is tenuous, at best. He could walk out the door and refuse to tell me anything else. He could disappear.
And then where would I be?
“I was just a friend,” he eventually says.
He grabs my phone from the bar and swipes it open, frowning at my lack of a password. Or, well, I don’t know. I guess I’m assuming that’s what makes him frown. It could be my lock screen—a picture of Thomas’s neighbor’s dog—or the generic flowers on my home screen.
He messes with it, then hands it back.
“It’s late,” he says. “Are you staying out?”
I shake my head. “Thomas will probably be worried if I don’t come home at a reasonable time.”
“You’ve got my number now. Let me know if you have any more questions.”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth. I have amillionquestions, and not a single one comes to the forefront of my mind.
He nods to himself and rises, tossing some money on the bar. “Put her drinks on my bill,” he calls to the bartender. “See you around, Melody.”
I mull over what he’s said, and I take another sip of the margarita. My last sip, otherwise I won’t be sober enough to get home. Well. I don’t know what sort of lightweight I am, although I kind of assume that I am one. The wine has made my head a little fuzzy, and the tequila threatens to tip me into another category.
Riding the rail at night, drunk, seems a bit too radical. Especially for me.
Margaritas aregood. Maybe he’s right about the wine and the lipstick, too.
Which begs the question even more—who was he to me?
4
JACOB
Melody
Hey
It’s been two days since I saw her. But she found my number and made the first move… which is what I had hoped for her to do after dangling the carrot of answers in front of her face.
