He finds us a high-top table tucked in the back corner that’s half-shadowed and quieter. A little bubble just for us.
“Want anything to drink?” he asks, sliding into the chair across from me.
I nod, brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear. “Beer’s fine.”
“Beer it is. Be right back.”
I watch him move through the crowd, weaving between high-top tables and dancing boots. His shoulders are relaxed, easy, and for a second, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to let go of everything else and let a guy like Trey be enough.
But then I see where he’s headed.
Will’s behind the bar, pouring a drink, jaw tight, forearms flexing beneath rolled sleeves. I don’t think he’s seen me yet—or maybe he has, and he’s doing what he does best: pretending I’m not there.
Trey says something. Will doesn’t smile.
A minute later, Trey’s back, setting two beers and a short glass with something amber and mysterious between us.
“Here.” He nudges the glass toward me.
I arch a brow. “What’s this?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Will said it was for you to try.”
Ah.
So hedidsee me.
I lift the glass, swirl it once, then take a sip. It’s smoky, smooth, with a bite that burns just enough.
Across the bar, Will’s watching me.
His eyes lock on mine, unreadable but there’s something simmering there. Something sharp and knowing. I shake my head slowly, more amused than annoyed. His lips twitch. Not quite a smile. Not quite not.
Then Trey’s voice cuts through the moment.
“So, I heard you moved out of the ranch,” he says, drawing my attention back to the table. “How’s that going?”
I blink, setting the glass down carefully. “It’s going,” I say, trying to summon my usual humor. “I’m renting the apartment above Knot and Spur.” I snort. “At least it doesn’t reek of patchouli anymore every time I walk in.”
Trey chuckles. “Her cousin, right? I remember that guy. Total hippie.”
“Totally,” I agree with a smirk.
He laughs louder at that, and I join him, but the sound feels distant. Like my body’s here with Trey but part of me is still back at the bar, locked in a silent exchange with the man who poured me a drink like it was a message. And maybe it was.
But Will isn’t who I’m here with, no matter how much I wish he was. So, I dive all in with Trey, trying to make a connection with him.
Trey leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his beer bottle dangling from his fingers. His eyes flick over my face, lingering just a beat too long to be casual.
“You know,” he says, voice dipping, “you were always cute in high school, but now? Damn, Phern. You’re kind of blowing me away.”
I laugh lightly, even though part of me winces. Not because it’s not sweet. It is. Trey’s good-looking, good-natured, and clearly trying. But something about the compliment feels like it’s missing its mark. Like he’s aiming for my shoulder when the real bruise is somewhere deeper.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of the drink Will sent over. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”
Trey grins. “I know this is just catching up, but if it goes well tonight, I wouldn’t hate a second date.”
I blink, surprised by the sudden boldness, but before I can answer?—
