“You know what I mean,” she says with a shrug. She’s shouting from the kitchen now, banging cabinet doors looking for k-cups that are right next to the coffee machine. “You’ve got time. The bar opens at six on Saturdays if I remember correctly. You can catch‘H’before the crowd comes in. And Bash is with Andrew until Sunday night, right?”
I stare at her, my mind already working through the conversation I am going to have with him. If I get there early enough, it might not be too bad. I can apologize, explain the mix-up, and get the hell out.
I make my way down Main Street, realizing just how close Ruin's End is to my shop. Only two streets over. My jeans are comfortable, not too tight. My T-shirt is simple, but maybe a bit low cut. But again not tight, so really it’s not a big deal. This is my go-to mom ensemble. Sweet, harmless, and just convincing enough to fit the identity motherhood carved out for me.
Still a little jumpy, but significantly more hydrated, I’m inching back toward basic human functionality after last night’s mess. I’ll just apologize to this guy, clear the air, and get the hell out and back to my normal, safe existence where I don’t drink alcohol and try to hire hitmen or “handlers.”
The bar looks mostly closed, which makes sense, since it’s two hours before opening. But surely someone has to be here, right? People have to get a bar ready. How long does that take, I wonder?
I see a light on through the glass of the front window, so I step closer and knock on the door. I wait a beat, but there’s no answer.
Frowning, I peer through the window again. I can see movement in the back. They likely can’t hear. Maybe they’re getting ready. Without thinking, I decide to walk around the building to the alley. I’ll try the other door.
The alley sits quiet in the midday light, framed by the faded brick of the century-old establishment. I nearly turn on my heel, but then catch sight of a familiar door, the same one they escorted us out of last night. I knock again—this time harder—my knuckles rattling the warped wood as a pulse of impatience thrums through my fingertips.
The door creaks open.
A shirtless Hex.
Black sweats slung low on his hips, his hair damp and slightly curling at the ends. The scent of soap still clinging to the air around him. He looks surprised to see me, smoldering brown eyes widening as the afternoon light glints off their depth. Then his brow knits into that inscrutable crease.
I’m caught off guard by the sight of him looking… too good.
I realize I’m leaning into his space, and I immediately straighten.
“Can I help you?” he asks, voice rough, still carrying that commanding tone, but there’s something new in it, something that makes me freeze for a moment longer than I should.
I swallow, words suddenly lodged in my throat. It takes a second to gather myself, but I push through the moment.
“I—uh—I just wanted to check in. About last night. You know, just to clear the air.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me, his gaze more intense than it should be for a simple encounter.
“I didn’t think you’d be… here,” I say, trying to pull myself together. But it’s hard when he’s standing there, looking likethat. His warmth unexpectedly makes my senses go awry.
Hex leans a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me. A flicker of amusement crosses his eyes. “Then who were you looking for?”
I hesitate. My throat suddenly feels dry.
“H?”
I say it as if the letter’s a stranger to my mouth, a foreign sound I’m clumsily trying out for the first time.
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “That’s me. Hex.”
I blink. Stare. Process.
I need him to acknowledge the conversation. The messages—along with the wildly unfortunate implication that I drunkenly tried to hire a hitman—linger like a storm cloud over me.
I try to have the conversation with my eyes, willing him to give me something.
But he doesn’t.
He just stands there. Bare chested. Looking so fucking hot.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, cross my arms, uncross them, feel my palms get weirdly clammy. This is me—showcasing the subtle grace of someone trying not to piss themselves.
Finally, he nods toward the apartment. “You wanna come in?”
