texture on the inside. My mom said I can’t have pickles anymore because I just like the flavor so I suck on them and spit them out.”
The words had barely left my mouth before my face started burning. Had I really just told him I liked to suck on pickles?
He’d tipped his head to the side, and without taking his eyes off of me, walked up, until we were toe to toe, the pickle jar between us. The fridge door had swung shut behind him, plunging us in to darkness. The only light came from the moon streaming in the window.
“She doesn’t have to know,” he’d said, holding out the jar.
And for one long moment, I’d pictured grabbing a pickle, and…but I’d chickened out.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I said. I was so convinced I’d imagined it. “I woke up in the morning and thought maybe I’d dreamt it.”
He laughed. “Matt and I had gone to a party that night and came home buzzed. He was passed out in bed. I woke up and realized I’d basically told my buddy’s little sister to suck on a pickle in front of me.”
I laughed, my cheeks heating. “It sounds a little more twisted when you say it out loud.”
“I still kinda wish you’d done it.”
I punch him in the arm. “I almost did.”
His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly.
“I had such a crush on you. I was a half second from dipping my finger into that pickle jar, and then you laughed.”
“Damn,” he said. “I’ve always said I had no regrets, but that one…”
“Shut up,” I said, grinning.
He rested an elbow on the bar, leaning in closer, until his lips were against my ear. “I can’t regret it when I’ve seen you suck on the real thing.”
A bolt of heat spiraled through me, straight to my core, and suddenly I wanted it to just be us in that bar, so that I could show him once more exactly what that looked like in real life. My heart thundered to life in my chest, and I tried to remember whether the bathroom door had a lock on it.
Before I could come up with an answer, the door swung open, casting a swath of light across the floor.
I glanced over my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to groan at the site of the man walking through the door. It was the mill worker from the funeral, the one who had spoken up defending Landon’s father. The guy walked past us, oblivious to our presence as he headed to the other end of the bar.
“Should we head out?” I asked, turning to Landon so he’d be forced to meet my eyes, putting the man out of his peripheral vision. “Go to your place?”
“I thought we could work out way through the taps,” he said, gesturing. “We have three more to go. My PA can give us a ride home.”
“Why don’t we stop at the store and grab drinks for the house instead?” I asked. Over Landon’s shoulder, the guy had finally noticed us. He was staring us down, his eyes burning with words unspoken.
Shit.
Too late.
Chapter 2
“Hey,” the man called out.
Landon was facing me, and ignored him, unaware the man was talking to him. I put a hand on his arm, hoping to pull him out before the guy said another word, but I was too slow.
“Hey, Son,” the guy said. Son sounded like an insult, like he thought of Landon as a kid.
Landon twisted around, glancing over his shoulder.
The moment he met the guy’s eyes, it was all over. He stiffened, his muscles going taut.
And then it got worse. Behind us, the door swung open again, and three more people walked in, finding seats with the millworker.
Landon didn’t move, his back to me as he stared down the men across the bar. So long had passed that I thought he may have forgotten that the man had spoken to him.
But then he finally replied. “What?”
“That was a real shitty thing you did,” the guy said.
“Excuse me?”
This man may not have known it, but Landon’s tone was dangerous. Taut and ready to snap. To explode, with the stranger as his target.
“Ruining your father’s good name like that? Talking shit once he’s dead and can’t defend himself? Real cowardly thing to do.”
Landon stood so fast his stool clattered to the ground, and then he was blocking my view of the men across the room. “The only reason my father had a good name was