608 Alpha Ave - Adriana Locke Page 0,6

him for a drink. I wave him off. I can’t possibly sit in there and knock back a cold one knowing that his employment is in my hands.

Fuck.

Guilt washes over me as Tristan disappears inside Fireside—and I don’t guilt easily. But he’s such a good guy—the best, really. The idea of having to let him go because we, as a Blake Brother cooperative, can’t figure out how to keep him around really eats at me.

“Then don’t let it come to that.”

Garret’s words ring through my brain, amplifying the tightness in my chest.

I take my hand off the gear shift. I look at Haley’s car and then back to the front door of the bar. As much as I want to go back inside—or, better yet, because of it—I don’t.

I hit the gas and speed out of the parking lot.

Three

Haley

“I can’t believe you got me to do this,” Kaylee Richards says, huffing and puffing beside me. Her face is beet red from the slight incline of Bride Street. “I don’t do physical activity.”

“It’s good for you,” I tell her, squinting into the morning sun. “It helps release stress and creates … some good vibes in your brain.” I laugh. “I’m a bartender and romance writer, not a doctor.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure my doctor told me to get some fresh air at my last appointment, anyway.”

Kaylee’s face falls. If we weren’t walking at a decent tempo, I’d pull her into a hug.

Lord knows she needs it.

“You’re better off without him, you know,” I say quietly.

She nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Any man who would leave their wife—especially you—and their child on a whim—”

“Let’s be real,” she says, her face now dangerously crimson. “Derrick left me—us—for a younger woman. Let’s call it what it is.”

I cringe and drop my gaze to my sneakers. I’m not that friend—the one who knows what helps soothes these sorts of wounds. But I do know that Derrick was a total asswipe to do what he did to Kaylee. She’s one of the kindest people I know, and the fact that she’s hurting slices my heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not good at knowing what to say in situations like these. I try to be helpful, but …”

Kaylee’s shoulder bumps mine. When I look up, her face is a more normal color, and she’s smiling. At least a little.

“You, my friend, have nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “You weren’t the vile hussy screwing my husband in the back of his Corolla.”

“Because I have standards. I’d at least choose a Mercedes.”

Or a big, black Chevrolet.

My feet falter as said truck roars toward us. I think in order to make that sound, the driver has to hit the gas hard or something. I don’t know how it works. I just know that when Kaylee and I reach the apex of the hill, and the Chevy comes into view, the engine makes a deep, throttle-y sound that zips right through my blood.

It might’ve been from the sound.

And it might’ve been because I know who’s driving.

A large palm flips up into a subtle wave over the steering wheel as the truck zooms by. I wave, too, before darting my eyes back in front of me, lest I turn around and actually watch him from behind.

Good grief, Haley. It’s his truck, not his ass.

Kaylee laughs.

“What?” I ask, looking up at her.

“Come on, Haley.”

“Come on, what?” I twist my lips so I can’t smile. “Do you want to go to Bela’s for a cupcake?”

She laughs again. “While I do love your affection for cupcakes and find it amusing that you pressured me for a walk today and now offer cupcakes as a distraction, I’ll pass on the dessert … and focus on the reason you’re trying to distract me.”

My gaze drops back to my shoes again.

I spent all of last night trying to distract myself.

I mulled it over—and over and over—trying to decide how I felt about my impromptu proposal at Fireside. Should I be embarrassed? Humiliated? Proud of myself for thinking on my feet?

Despite hours playing that game, while also playing Mahjong, I came up with nothing.

I don’t know how to feel.

It was initiated by desperation. That much is clear. I sat with my manuscript open while I played a game on my phone because I was unable to determine how Casper Jenkins sounded. In my head, he speaks almost lyrically. But when I put my fingers on the keyboard, he comes out gruff. Moody. Difficult.

He sounds a whole heck