Harlyn laughs. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
“Have to get my kicks somewhere.”
Her lower lip pops out. “Aww. I want you to meet someone special.”
My chest tightens with her words. There’s only one guy I’ve ever imagined spending my life with. I grew up with stars in my eyes aimed at him. Loving Grady was instinct. The dislike part has been more of a slow burn. My lovesick heart is finally beginning to admit that he never saw me as more than a little kid chasing him around.
And here I am, about to take up permanent residence in hostile territory. Fingers effing crossed.
I mosey back to the table and fold the flaps of my final box. After adding it to the stack near the door, I dust off my hands. My dad and brother will be here tomorrow to do the heavy lifting. I turn around, surveying our shared space with a wobbly smile. The majority of our stuff is packed, but the couch and television remain.
“What should we do with our final night?” I ask Harlyn while still staring at the mostly bare living room. The wood floor shines from the unfiltered sunlight pouring through the windows. Not sure the place has sparkled so bright since we moved in two years ago.
Harlyn stands next to me, joining in the reflection of our apartment. “How about an epic Netflix binge? Then we can have dinner at The Tavern.”
My stomach rumbles at the suggestion. “I’ll miss their chicken stew and roasted potatoes. Oh, and the fresh baked bread.”
She licks her lips and nods. “It’s only a few hours to drive.”
“I know.” My acknowledgement comes out as a whisper. I glance away as my eyes get hot.
“It’s going to be amazing, Sutt. You’ll be so happy.” She dips her face to peek up at me.
I can’t hide my sniffle. “I’m just being overly emotional again. Don’t mind me.”
Harlyn grips my fidgeting fingers. “In a month, when you’re planting roots into a new apartment, this will seem like old news.”
“I suppose.”
“You’ll be surrounded by love and family. I’ll make sure Jace keeps an extra close eye on you.” Her grin is pure trouble. “Wouldn’t want a shred of weakness to ruin all these goals.”
That turns my mood in the opposite direction. “Urgh, please don’t. He does more than enough without being encouraged. I’m hoping some woman has caught his attention so he’ll leave me alone.”
“It’s more likely to catch a flying pig. He’s not settling down anytime soon.”
She’s right, of course. My brother has the tendency to jump ship before the girl can suggest a second date. His commitment issues rival—
I shake my head. Dammit. All this Grady talk has him cropping up in every direction. I need to shove him to the recesses of my mind where he belongs. That’s how I’ve kept my heart intact these last four years. The method will be my source for survival while battling our lack of physical proximity.
So much easier to say than do.
2
Grady
Happy something #67: Not having to look over my shoulder each second of every damn day.
Idrop my ass onto a stool and the shredded leather cushion groans in protest. The worn wooden legs can hardly hold my weight. Heaven forbid this dump springs for new chairs, or pay to update anything for that matter. A quick glance around Howlers is a flashback to an era before I was born.
A jukebox—the kind with vinyl records—rests near the entrance. Faded posters for movies that came out on VHS hang at crooked angles along the walls. There’s a cigarette machine between the bathrooms. Each time I walk inside is a taste of living in the past, which is weird as hell.
Smoking hasn’t been allowed inside this spot for decades, yet the stench still clings like the bad habit itself. The lights are low, hiding the poor decisions being made. But no one casts judgment. That’s what I appreciate about this outdated dive. Everyone who steps foot into this place is on the same level. I’ll fucking cheers to that all damn day.
As if hearing my thoughts, Decker slides a cold beer in front of me. I lift my chin in greeting. The bartender salutes and strides off to help another customer. The place has a few perks, shitty decor be damned. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long swig. The bitter hops hit my tongue, making me feel right at home. A bit of tension eases from my muscles. This is exactly what I needed.
A cloud of lung-seizing perfume assaults my nostrils. I cringe against the sickly-sweet burn. A moment later, sharp fingernails dig into the flesh of my shoulder.
“Hiya, Gray.” The scent is already suffocating me, and Trista’s nasally whine makes my ears bleed. I’m sure she means for the pitchy purr to be seductive. The breathy sound only succeeds at grating on my nerves. I pry her claws from the fierce grip she has on me.
