608 Alpha Ave - Adriana Locke Page 0,27

party back there is sucking down cosmos left and right.”

“Got it.”

Corbin disappears into the back.

I survey the crowd. The girls are dancing to a nineties hit, and a table full of regulars are sitting by the door. A couple of guys who came to town from Syn City to get a tattoo at Cherry Bomb Tattoo Parlor sits at the end of the bar with their Jack and Cokes. Everyone else has gone home for the night.

My heart sinks as I look at the clock and realize that Grayson isn’t coming.

I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. I don’t know if I expected to or not, but I wanted to.

I hoped I would.

Our conversation as we descended the trail was light and fun. The smile he tossed my way as I pulled out of the parking lot was hopeful. Kaylee’s insight into things last night made it seem like it was a given.

Yet, all day, I held my phone and hoped it would ring. I scanned the streets for him on my walk. I had lunch at Virgin Street Diner because I know he likes their pot roast on Fridays.

It’s like Grayson Blake is a ghost or a figment of my imagination. I might actually believe that if my body wasn’t still sore.

I grin at the memory.

“Excuse me,” one of the men at the end says. “Can we get another?”

“Sure thing.”

I get to work fixing their drink while pondering what happened with Grayson. Surely, he isn’t mad at me. What could he possibly be upset with me about?

“Nothing,” I mutter. “You did nothing wrong.”

There’s a chance he’s busy, or maybe he’s as confused as I am about what this shift in our relationship might mean. If anything.

Please be something.

I reach over to get the whiskey and stop with my hand floating in the air.

Grayson’s steely eyes snatch mine up and hold them in place.

My mouth goes dry as I take him in. His black hair is wild, spiking up in every direction. There are lines at the corners of his eyes like he had a crappy night’s sleep.

His navy-blue shirt with his name embroidered in silver thread on the left pocket is wrinkled and stained from the day’s work.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Hi.”

The air crackles between us, drowning out the Shania Twain song about boots playing overhead.

“You’re late,” I say and then clear my throat. “Long day?”

It’s a dumb thing to comment on and an even dumber question. I never ask him things like that. I typically make a crack about him looking grumpy or just slide him a beer.

Why am I a dork now that I’ve slept with him?

“Yeah.” He laces his hands together and sets them on the bar. His knuckles are cracked. One of them is bright red like it’s been bleeding. “Can I get a beer?”

I clear my throat again. “Yeah. Sure.”

My brain scrambles as I reach inside the cooler. A knot burns in the middle of my chest.

“Here you go,” I say, handing him his drink.

He nods as if he was going to say something but thought better of it.

“Grayson,” I say, shifting my weight. “I don’t, um, I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

If this were a normal day, I’d roll my eyes and go on. But it’s not just another day.

Today, I know what it feels like to have his hands on me. I know the taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue in places I can’t name in polite conversation.

I’ve felt the warmth of his gaze when his guard is down and the way my body fills with a happiness when he says something sweet.

I know that side of him today. It makes it hard to walk away with an uncaring shrug.

“Hey, sweetheart. How about that Jack and Coke?” a voice from behind me asks.

My eyes stay glued on Grayson. “Yeah. It’s coming.” I pause, giving him the opportunity to say something.

He doesn’t.

I finish making the drinks and avoid looking back up at him. His gaze is hot and is directed at me, but I’m not going to push. I’ve opened the door. Now he needs to make an effort.

“Here you go,” I say, carrying the drinks to the men who ordered them. “I gave you an extra splash for having to wait.”

“Well, thank ya,” the one with the blond hair says. “You work here a lot?”

Grayson coughs.

“Every day,” I say, ignoring Grayson. “Well, nearly every day.”

“We might have to