Kash spent a full day taking photographs and produced a portfolio of artistic shots Leah wished she could show Esther. Sam worked on plans for an open house and potential buyers began to trickle through the front door; Leah tried not to hate every one of them. Although there were no immediate offers, the initial feedback was positive.
Finding somewhere to live was proving both time-consuming and depressing. When Leah viewed the unfurnished room rental, it stank of weed and shared a bathroom with three other tenants. Despite knowing she should take it, she kept on looking instead.
She did her best to put Florence off when their planned night out came around; she couldn’t face it. Conversation, company, happy chatter—it was all beyond her. But when Florence resorted to threats and guilt trips, Leah gave in and resigned herself to being sociable.
To stop her from bailing, Florence played chauffeur and drove them to the Rusty Barrel, the best option for a fun and safe night out in Pine Springs. Within the space of the brief journey, she extracted the full, dismal story of Leah’s crash-and-burn breakup with Jackson and promised an evening of distraction. Her vow lasted as long as it took them to buy their first drinks.
Tequila shot in one hand, Peroni beer in the other, Leah’s perusal of the bar snagged on Jackson, Sam, and Kash at the pool table. She fumbled the bottle and almost dropped it. “Fuck!”
Florence followed her gaze. “Jeez-o-Pete—what are the chances?”
Jackson lifted his head mid-shot, his stupidly handsome face as severe as always. He straightened to rake her with furious eyes, as if she were crashing his night out instead of the other way around.
With each day that passed, Leah’s reflection in the bathroom mirror had grown more washed out. She was sapped and miserable but Jackson seemed unaffected. The lean planes of his face were guarded but fine, his jeans-and-black-tee combo classically simple. Scruffy hair and scowl notwithstanding, he looked effortlessly sexy and she wanted him so badly it hurt.
Sam and Kash followed his gaze and waved with apologetic smiles. When Jackson bent to take his shot, Sam peeled away to cross the bar. He greeted Florence and gave Leah a squeeze, taking care not to spill her drinks. “Hey, Sunshine. Didn’t know you’d be here. Sorry about that.”
Leah shrugged it off. “Don’t worry. We’ll stick to the other side of the bar. I’m glad you’re out together. He could use some friends.”
“We’ve tried to talk to him but he’d only come out tonight if we promised—”
“—not to mention my name?” Leah finished for him. “It’s OK. This isn’t your problem to solve. Tell Kash I said hey and we’ll catch up soon, yeah?”
Sam left them to it. The girls found an empty booth and sat down. Leah threw back the tequila shot immediately, shuddering as the alcohol hit her stomach. One look at Leah’s face and Florence assured her yet again that she was happy to schedule a cab home, then followed suit. This was not a night for solo drinking.
Leah chose to sit with her back to the pool table.
Florence peered around her. “He’s staring this way again. And he looks kind of murderous.”
“That’s his default expression.” Leah took a weary drag on her beer.
“Want me to get my brother to kick his ass?”
“It’s tempting. But, no, thanks.” Leah appreciated the offer. Roman Martinez, Florence’s brother, was the Pine Springs chief of police. “I’m an idiot for thinking we had something special. I always knew Jackson had trust issues. He told me so himself.”
“Seems like he also has ‘behaving like a dick’ issues.”
Staring into the mouth of her beer bottle, Leah thought of the time he’d told her his two defining characteristics were dyslexia and being a dick. And she’d told him he was wrong. “It’s my fault. I should have been more realistic. He’s way out of my league.”
Florence tossed her hair. “Honey, he might be a seriously hot son of a bitch but you can kick ass in any league you choose. You are a Super Bowl–standard, World Series–level slam dunk.”
“Dammit, Flo—way to strangle a sporting metaphor!” groused a blond guy, leaning on the side of their booth.
“No one asked you to eavesdrop.” Florence aimed a kick at his ankle.
“Who’s the slam dunk?” A second man dragged a seat from a neighboring table without waiting for an invitation and dropped astride it, elbows folded on the chairback. He turned a charming smile on Leah, who couldn’t help but return it.
“Leah, these two interlopers work with my brother.” Florence pointed a finger at the blond—“On duty, this is Deputy Dougie Taggart”—and then the guy sitting down—“and Officer Liam Morgan. Off duty, like now, they’re a liability.” The humor in Florence’s eyes took any sting out of her words. “How’s Summer, Dougie? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“She’s great, thanks. Girls’ night in tonight with Caitlyn and little Annie.” Dougie grinned, indulgently. He made a “scoot over”motion and slid onto the end of the bench seat. Leah shook the hands they stuck out.
“We didn’t say you could join us.” Florence raised an eyebrow.
“We’ll get the next round,” promised Dougie, and she caved with a shrug.
“You didn’t ask after my girlfriend.” Liam Morgan looked offended.
Florence’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
