Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“It’s fine. It is what it is for now.”
“Sorry, man.” He hands me the beer. “Maybe a night out with your best friend can cure it.”
I clink my glass against his and grin. “Here’s to the hops and friendship.” The golden liquid is cold and too easy to drink, and I find myself refilling half the glass I just emptied before I set it down again.
The bar groans over a play I missed on the large screen hanging over the bar. It’s not a game I care about, so I look around to see which one I want to watch instead.
Baylor points at a screen facing us, fifteen feet or so away. “I got here early to get a good view. Yankees are playing the Diamondbacks.”
“Move over.” I slide the chair to the same side where he’s sitting and lean against the wall behind us. A basket of mozzarella sticks and some wings are dropped off without a word from the server. The place is packed, and she’s running, so no offense is taken.
I grab a wing and catch up on the second inning of the game. When a commercial comes on, Baylor asks, “What’s it like back there?”
“Where?” The game is back on, so we return our eyes to the screen.
The conversation doesn’t miss a beat. “Back home.”
I was kind of hoping to avoid the topic of my trip. No such luck. Guilt rattles me, so I take another long pull of beer before replying, “Same old.”
He looks at me. “That place never changes.” His tone tips toward disappointment, which I don’t get.
“You haven’t been back in years.”
“Neither had you. And you found out firsthand.” He drinks, then sets the beer down and grabs a mozzarella stick. “It’s like time stands still out there.”
I don’t know why this raises my defenses, but it does. “It’s changed.” Your sister has changed . . . “Maybe there aren’t trendy restaurants or food delivery—”
“No rideshare, and nothing is open past nine.”
“Whiskey’s is.”
He laughs, glancing over at me. “God. I haven’t thought about that place in years. But it’s exactly the same.”
“I can vouch for that. Even the same regulars are parked at the bar, just older, a little drunker maybe.”
He’s on his feet and clapping. “Good play. Good play.” He’s focused on the game, which I don’t mind. Maybe he’ll forget what we were even talking about. But then he says, “Can’t believe you went to that dive.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” I shrug. “They’ve expanded. There was live music, and the crowd was good.”
Baylor looks at me, really looks at me like he’s seeing someone he doesn’t recognize. “Okay. If I go back, I’ll go to Whiskey’s.”
“Why do you say if?”
Shaking his head, he looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“You said if you go back. You never going home again? Not checking in on the ranch, or your dad, or your sister who’s holding it all together while you pocket the quarterly checks?”
Lowering the glass that he was about to drink from, he furrows his forehead as he stares at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He attempts a smile to soften the blow, but I can tell he’s annoyed under it. “Doesn’t seem like most of that is any of your business.” He scoffs, turning his attention back to the game. “Anyway, it took you, what, five years to go back, and now you’re lecturing me?” He takes another swig, and then says, “I was there for my mom’s funeral. Excuse me if I’m not in a rush to go relive that memory.”
Now I feel like shit. “Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Did my sister put you up to guilting me to come back?” This is what happens when you mess with a hornet’s nest. They bite back.
I turn my attention to the screen, keeping my eyes on the game. “No, she didn’t say anything. It was me, just curious.” I shove a mozzarella stick in my mouth to keep from saying more.
“You saw my sister?” Shit. Guess he’s not ready to drop it. Figures.
I grab the last stick, ready to make it wait for me to eat it, but I don’t have to lie about everything. “I ran into her at Peach’s.”
He glances at me, then redirects his eyes to the wings. “Was Lauralee working?”
“She was there. Friendly like always. Beckett liked her biscuits.”
“Damn, I miss those,” he says as if he can taste the memory. “The cheddar ones are the best.”
“They’re your sister’s favorite, too.” Why can I not shut the fuck up? “She was devastated when Beck got the last one.”
“Ah. Yeah, I’d be devastated too.” His gaze volleys to the TV and then to me. “How’s Pristine? How’d she look?”
Five days ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to answer. Now I struggle to find words that aren’t she’s so fucking sexy that I couldn’t keep my hands off her. “Good. Healthy.”