been in that bar looking for a hookup. All I’d wanted was a fucking beer.
That’s what I was telling myself, at least.
And it was partially true. I had stopped for a beer, not to find an easy lay.
But she hadn’t needed to work very hard to talk me into it, either.
Like I’d told myself in the bar, it had been a long time. And after that shitshow, I wasn’t doing it again any time soon. It meant going without sex, which sucked. I loved sex as much as the next guy. But getting any on the regular either meant dating—not an option—or random hookups like tonight, which had their own set of risks. Fucking a married woman was only one of them.
The truth was, I didn’t particularly like banging some girl I didn’t know just for the sake of getting off. There was a time when I wouldn’t have even considered it. I wasn’t like my brother Logan, happy to enjoy his flavors of the month—or week, or night—free of any strings or attachments.
But there was also a time when I’d been naïve enough to believe in the fantasy of love. That had blown up in my face. I was definitely not doing that again.
The girl tonight wasn’t my problem. I didn’t know who she was—and I didn’t want to—and I’d avoid that bar for a while. There wasn’t anything I could do about the twinge of guilt I felt for her husband. Poor bastard was in prison and his wife was cheating on him. It was too bad he hadn’t married someone like Grace. She’d waited seven years for Asher, and they weren’t even married yet. Now that was loyalty.
But Grace was a unicorn. There wasn’t another woman in the world who would have done what she did. Asher was a very lucky man. To his credit, he knew it. And even though I hated weddings, I was glad he was finally going to marry her.
As for me, I needed to be content with what I had: my own business doing work I loved, a house on acreage with no neighbors, a loyal dog, a family I didn’t hate. I’d been burned by people I’d thought I could trust—burned badly—so I had no interest in trying again. I’d leave that to Asher, and maybe my younger brothers. Me? No thanks. Tonight I’d been stupid enough to give in, but it had just been a reminder that I’d always be better off alone.
2
Evan
Five months later
“Sasquatch, you’ve got nothing.”
My ninety-pound German shepherd sat on the other side of the coffee table, his big ears sticking straight up. I’d brushed him earlier, so his tan and black coat was smooth and shiny, and the way he cocked his head when I spoke made it seem like he was trying to figure out what I was saying.
“Sorry, big guy, your cards are shit.” I put down my hand. “I win again.”
He lowered his chin onto the table.
“Tell you what, I’ll slip you an extra card and let you have this one.”
I pulled a queen out of the deck and set it in front of him.
Yeah, I was spending my Friday playing poker with my fucking dog. So what? He was better company than most people.
My phone had buzzed a few times, but I was ignoring it. Usually Friday-night texts were from my brothers, and I wasn’t in the mood. They were on the very short list of people I could actually stand, but only in small doses.
I took a sip of whiskey, feeling the bite as it slid down my throat, warming me from the inside. I was an edgy mix of tired and restless. It had been a long week. Productive, but long. I wanted to relax, but my mind kept snapping back to Eleanor out in my garage.
Eleanor wasn’t a girl. I was done with women. I was going to die a grumpy old bachelor, probably alone out here in the woods, and that was fine with me. Eleanor was a car.
Not just a car. She was the car. A 1967 Mustang GT500.
I’d been dying to get my hands on one of those since I’d started my shop. She was in rough shape, but that was the only reason I’d been able to afford her. It was a dream build for a guy like me, still working to make a name for myself. And if I pulled it off, Eleanor had the potential to change everything.