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Texting in secret would be all there could ever be between us. Hell, we had never even had a conversation in public, so I couldn’t imagine the collective gasp and jaw dropping that would happen if we ever went on an actual date.
It seemed childish yet so inevitable all at once.
Stumpy is the worst.
Daryl Hall
You couldn’t have come to the auction and made a bid? Way to leave a girl hanging.
My mouth went dry. Had Sylviewantedme to bid on dates with her? What the fuck... in our months of texting, Sylvie tended to be playful—that was likely all it was.
The auction is more Lee’s thing.
I banged my head against the wall. It wasn’t a lie. Iwasglad that I hadn’t been set up on the date auction becausefuck that.It didn’t escape my notice that the thought of being set up with Sylvie, in some alternate universe where that wouldn’t cause World War III, was the only appealing part of Outtatowner’s archaic date auction. I hadn’t been on a date in forever. A random townie hookup held little appeal these days.
Especially when I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about a certain forbidden blonde with mysterious caramel eyes.
Sylvie and I would never be anything more than friends—that much I knew for certain. Hell, we couldn’t really even befriends. Tension between the Kings and Sullivans were at an all-time high. Someone was poking around, asking questions about mineral rights and land ownership, and I had a pretty good idea of who that was.
I didn’t fucking like it.
Daryl Hall
I figured as much . . . I’m sorry. Did I make this weird?
No. You should have fun and celebrate.
The lies were stacking one on top of the other as they wedged themselves in my chest, burrowed deep, and made a home there. I prayed it was only a matter of time before Sylvie also saw Charles for the weasel I suspected him to be.
Daryl Hall
Thanks. I’ll just be glad when all of this date auction bullshit is over.
I let out a breath, but it was more like a sigh of relief. The hot ball of tension in my chest unfurled at the realization that she wasn’t all that happy about the dates she was going on either. I let myself cling to the sliver of hope she wasn’t joking about wishing we could have been set up.
Daryl Hall
I gotta run, but talk to you later?
You bet.
I scrolled back to the picture Sylvie had sent and stared at it for a few heavy moments. A part of me wished I didn’t have to hide out in my house, wary that if I went into town, I might accidentally run into her and smile before I could catch myself.
It pissed me off, but it was the way that it had to be. Like everything else in my life, what I wanted didn’t matter. I was a Sullivan, bound by duty. Dad, the farm, holding my family together, even the feud. There was no getting past it.
I hated knowing that tonight we would be breathing the same stale bar air and that I couldn’t stand close enough to see her head tip back in a laugh and finally hear what it sounded like.
Good morningtexts and the occasional flirty banter were all that it would ever be.
And I fucking hated it.
Inside the Grudge Holder,an invisible divide separated the Sullivans and the Kings. Tourists had no clue, but Kings stuck to the east end of the bar, while Sullivans took up space on the west. While the owner may have named his bar after the infamous feud, he had a zero-tolerance policy about starting shit in his bar. It was an unspoken rule we all stood by.
Usually.
The band was already a few songs into their set, Lee was on the dance floor politely turning down a dance with some woman I didn’t recognize, and Wyatt was getting our first round.
I scanned the bar again. I hadn’t seen Sylvie, and irritation rolled across my back.
