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“Let’s start this night off right,” I suggest, summoning some enthusiasm and smacking the tabletop with my palms. For the second time since I left Jeff’s office, I can feel the tension leaving my shoulders.
I ask for two Fireball shots when the waitress arrives and a vodka tonic.
“I knew I liked you.” Chelsea winks after placing her drink order.
Even though we’ve known each other in passing for years, this is the first time she and I have hung out alone like this. Everything between us has been surface level up until now. But somethingabout that comforts me as well. Chelsea knows nothing about my work drama or my relationship with Dr. Cooper. I can be invisible here and really leave it all behind tonight. I can let loose without judgment and prying eyes following my every move.
After the waitress drops off our drinks, our glasses meet in the middle, clinking together as we toast.
“To a great night!” Chelsea declares.
“And to new beginnings,” I add.
The alcohol travels down my throat in a trail of fire, but I empty the shot glass in one swallow. Then, I chase the bitter taste with the sweet flavor of tonic water, combined with Tito’s.
We order a plate of loaded fries and sliders to split instead of meals. And as the Fireball starts to warm my belly, the night begins to hum with possibility.
“Damn …” Chelsea murmurs, drawing the word out dramatically.
“What?” I ask, swiveling my head to follow her eyes.
I track her gaze to the back of the room, where three guys are playing pool. My eyes immediately land on a man standing against the wall with a cue stick loosely gripped in his hand. He has dark brown hair peeking out from beneath an olive-green beanie. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His foot is propped against the wall in a casual lean, and he’s laughing. I admire the way it lights up his handsome face. And with a quick glance around the room, I realize I’m not the only woman noticing him.
I stare at him for a moment too long and get caught when I don’t pull away fast enough. Our eyes connect and hold. His laughter dies, and his smile falls, but not completely. His lips land ina sexy smirk. I can feel his curiosity and interest—I hope it’s interest—from across the room.
One of his buddies smacks his shoulder, and our connection is severed. I reluctantly turn around, envious that Chelsea has the better view.
“You want to meet them?” Chelsea asks eagerly.
“Do you know them?” I ask, attempting nonchalance and likely failing miserably when I see Chelsea’s knowing grin.
She nods slowly. “I’ve hung out with Wyatt and Zane once or twice before. I can’t remember the other guy’s name …”
“Are they just visiting, like us?” I ask.
“No, they’re locals. They give skiing and snowboarding lessons in the winter. To be honest, I don’t know what they do the rest of the time.”
I suddenly wish I hadn’t sequestered myself inside with my family all these years. Not if guys this hot have been here all along, coloring Sullivan’s Way with possibilities.
I leave my sweater on the back of my chair and the rest of our belongings in place as we take our mixed drinks and make our way across the broad-planked wood floors. There’s a swarm of butterflies in my stomach as we approach the strangers, but it’s an excited nervousness. It’s funny how even age doesn’t eliminate the exhilaration of meeting an attractive man who you don’t know for the first time. Even in my thirties, it’s equally terrifying and thrilling as we approach, just like when I was a teenager.
“Hey,” Chelsea says, walking right up to the pool table.
“Chelsea,” one of them drawls, “back in town?”
“Yep. Got here this weekend,” she replies.
I’m watching the exchange between Chelsea and this guy, but I can feel the gaze of his friend studying the side of my face. It’s the stranger who originally caught my eye. He hasn’t moved from his relaxed position against the wall.
“Who’s your friend?” the other guy asks Chelsea.
“This is Willow,” she introduces me.
“Hi.” I smile.
He leans forward with his hand extended, balancing on the pool cue as if it were a cane. “Wyatt.”
I slide my palm against his, and his fingers collapse around mine. He squeezes softly, his brown eyes shining with mischief and interest, all at once.
