SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,13
chest and rocked back on his heels, ready to wait with stoic acceptance.
A person two places in front of him glanced back, then turned. “Hey, Mad,” said Sam-the-Runner. If he had a last name, Mad had forgotten it, and everybody in town identified the lean man as “Sam-the-Runner,” a common sight on every local sidewalk and country road.
“Good to see you, Sam.” Mad nodded, noting the other man wore running shorts and a nylon shirt advertising a marathon from 2018.
“What did you think about Harper?” the other man asked.
“Uh, who?” Shit.
“Heard she’s back in town. You guys had a thing, right? High school and after?”
“She was eighteen when we got together.” He’d been twenty-one.
“And then there was an epic breakup after, what? Five years.”
“Three.” Note, he didn’t correct the “epic breakup” because he didn’t want to talk about it any more than necessary.
“Okay, but—”
“You need to move, Sam.” Mad waved his hand forward, indicating the line had shifted. And move on to another subject, Sam. Who would have guessed the guy was tuned into the rumor mill? But maybe he had to fill his head with something to obsess about during those ten-mile training runs.
A touch to his back had him looking over his shoulder. Then down. A teeny brunette with waves of black hair and a teeny purse in the crook of her elbow stood behind him. She was anywhere between sixteen and God-knows.
“You’ve got to be used to everybody talking about it,” she said to him. “You and Harper, I mean. Didn’t it come up during poker night?”
He stared. “How do you know about poker night?” How do you know me?
“Hello?” She touched her chest. “Alma’s daughter? My mom had me help make the tamales for you.”
“Oh. Right. They were great. Give her my compliments.”
Teeny leaned forward. “So what did the guys think about the Harper Homecoming?”
“It didn’t come up.”
She rolled her eyes with such extravagance that he thought her irises might get lost. When they finally returned to the forward position, she slapped his forearm. “Men are bigger gossips than women.”
Mad was a cop. Call him staid, a stick-in-the-mud, a rule-follower, but he considered his role made him a kind of role model. Lying didn’t come easy.
Except now, it was pretty damn easy.
“Like I said. It didn’t come up.”
In truth, his six oldest friends hadn’t been able to resist beating the subject of Harper Hill to death. There was the rehash of the romance, the dramatic recounting of the traumatic goodbye, his pathetic six months of moping after she’d gone.
They’d thought it was only six months of moping. Sweet.
Service speeded up after that and soon enough he had his large coffee in hand without further uncomfortable conversation. Sophie had been too busy to give him more than a cursory greeting. Luck, on his side.
He walked his beverage over to the counter to add a little half-and-half and grab a napkin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he whirled the wooden stirrer. Stealing a glance in the direction of the entrance, his gaze caught on the newcomer as she took a second step into Harry’s.
One look, and he was a horny young guy again, the girl in the ripped jeans and a faded tee barging into his world for the first time. The poker crew had been invited to Sophie’s high school graduation party, and even though every Daggett event guaranteed people at some point would be forced into dancing to the piña colada song, they’d attended for the free beer and food. Sophie’s other gal pals had attended in summery dresses and strappy sandals. But not Harper Hill.
Explaining she’d come straight from picking strawberries, Harper had breezed in, a sun-flush across her cheeks and nose and a pair of clean but ragged sneakers on her feet.
She’d taken time to change her shoes she’d explained to the crowd with a grin, but held out her berry-stained fingers. “Sorry!”
He hadn’t been sorry in the least. Right there and then he’d gone down for the count.
Now he jolted back to awareness. Lost in those old memories, he’d lost his opportunity to avoid her.
Already she had her own coffee in hand and then she turned about, seeking the sugar he assumed she still used to doctor her favorite beverage. When she spotted him, he couldn’t decipher the expression that crossed her face, but he couldn’t miss that her shoulders squared and she walked toward him without hesitation.