Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
Because all the Storm women have labeled me public enemy number one, all over a misunderstanding. One that I still need to talk to Shelby about.
But this is neither the time nor the place for that.
I decide to call it a night.
It’s not even that late, but the promise I made to Ruby has me packing it in. I told her I’d come by the main house early to make pancakes with her and Momma before the day got rolling, and if I don’t leave now, there’s no chance in hell I’ll make it. Allen and Seth, on the other hand, look like they’re just getting warmed up.
They’re standing around one of the pool tables. There are a couple guys across from them—young, sharks—and they’re too stupid to realize those young bucks are about to take every dollar they have in their pockets. I shake my head. Great way to kiss away a week’s wages.
I flag Theo down, settle my tab, and shrug on my jacket. The cold slaps me the second I step outside, sharp and mean. My breath fogs as I cross the lot toward my truck, already running through the morning in my head.
I reach for the door handle and curse.
Allen’s keys are sitting right there on the seat, catching the glow from the streetlamp.
“Idiot,” I mutter, grabbing them and jogging back toward the bar.
That’s when the door flies open.
A fury with blonde waves barrels straight into my chest.
“Oof.”
She stumbles, hands slapping against me, and instinct takes over. I grab her waist, steadying her before she can face-plant on the concrete.
“Excuse me,” she gasps.
Wide blue eyes lift to mine.
Shelby.
“Whoa,” I say. “You okay?”
Her hands are still fisted in my jacket when recognition hits. Her expression shifts—surprise straight to irritation. “Of course it’s you. Why are you everywhere?”
I blink. “Nice to see you too, Stormy.”
She scoffs and pushes against my chest, but I don’t let go right away.
“I mean it. I haven’t seen you in years. Years, Waylon. And all of a sudden, all I see is your face every time I turn a corner. The barn. The café. This bar. Even my own fucking arena.” She gestures wildly. “You’re like a frustrating boil that won’t get off my ass.”
I bark out a laugh before I can help myself. “You done?”
She yanks herself free, arms crossing tight over her chest. “Yes.”
“First of all, a boil? Really? That hurts. And trust me, if I were anywhere near your ass, frustration wouldn’t be what you’d be feeling. It’d be more like satisfaction.”
She growls.
Actually growls.
It’s the most adorable damn thing I’ve ever heard.
“That’s not the way I remember it,” she spits, trying to stomp past me.
I sidestep and catch her wrist, tugging her back into my chest. “Whoa there. Wait a minute.”
