Baby: Is this a beer or shots kind of fucked up?
Baby: Or a shovel kind of fucked up?
I laugh despite myself. Baby has a dark sense of humor that I simply adore.
Willa: Shots. Definitely shots… no shovel.
Willa: Yet.
Josie: If shovels are needed, probably stop texting
Josie: Seriously, are you okay?
Willa: See you soon
I don’t answer Josie’s question. Can’t explain over text that I just made out with Beau McCrea in the arena, or that Jake showed up and I wanted him too, that I’ve apparently lost my damn mind and every ounce of professionalism I’ve spent years building.
Or all the work I’ve done to keep my Omega squished down real far. But at the thought of them, I feel that treacherous whine I’ve been holding in since I met them threaten to bubble out.
The drive to Baby’s bar passes in a blur. Everything in Muddy Creek is within ten minutes, and I could navigate this town with my eyes closed. By the time I pull into the lot behind The Salt Lick, my heart rate has almost returned to normal. Almost.
The bar sits at the edge of town like a beautiful disaster—the kind of place your mother warns you about, but you go anyway. The exterior is all weathered wood clapboard with a distinct Wild West vibe, but the massive neon sign out front screams biker bar.
The parking lot is exactly what you’d expect: a row of motorcycles lined up next to beat-up old trucks that have seen better decades.
It’s trashy and loud and completely, unapologetically Baby.
When I open the doors, I’m assaulted by a wall of sound and humid air—a distinct contrast to the icy bite of the November evening outside.
The mechanical bull in the corner is mercifully still, though in classic Baby contradiction, the bar is covered in Christmas decorations. Garlands, lights, at least three fake trees, and mistletoe in nearly every doorway.
For a tattooed hard-ass, she sure has a whimsical side.
I can hear someone racking balls at one of the six pool tables that line the far wall. The stage is dark tonight, but the jukebox is pumping out something with too much bass. The massive bar wraps around the center of the room like a horseshoe, and I can see at least three bartenders behind it, all moving with the efficient choreography of people who’ve worked together for years.
A wall of booze stretches up to the ceiling in the center of the bar, with little Santa hats on some of the bottles.
Baby waves me toward the bar instead of our usual corner booth. “Come on, sit. I’m not missing this story.”
She’s wearing her usual uniform—tight jeans with a tank top that shows off her tattooed arms and lithe athletic form. She’s short and petite, but her gentle, subtle blueberry pie scent is unmistakable. I love that incongruity about her. She’s this perfect mix of hard shell and soft inside.
I slide onto a barstool, and Baby’s already pulling down the good whiskey—the stuff she keeps on the top shelf, not the well liquor she serves to tourists. She pours a generous amount into a rocks glass and slides it across to me.
“Sit,” Baby commands. “Josie’s five minutes out. Start talking.”
I take a long swallow of whiskey that burns all the way down and hold back a stuttering cough.
“I—” I stare at her expectant face with my mouth open, then drop my head to my forearms with a groan. The pleasant warming of the whiskey takes root in my middle. “I did something… inappropriate,” I mumble into my folded arms.
Even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her lean down to my level. “What now?”
I raise my eyes to meet her stark green ones, and I feel tears start to well.
“Oh, sweets, what happened?” Her concern nearly ruins all of my composure.
“I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I don’t know who started it, but it happened, and Jake walked in, and I realized they’re a pack with Charlie, and—” I break off, taking another long swallow of whiskey. “I ran. I literally ran away like some scared?—”
Baby’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her hairline. “You did what now?” She holds up a hand, her expression shifting from amused to intensely focused. “Back up. You kissed who? And you realized what exactly? And where—or rather when—was the kissing? I thought you were at the arena today?”
