“That’s your only question?” His brows shoot up, and he sits back in his chair.
I shrug. “Waiting tables isn’t my thing. Been there, done that. But I can mix drinks that’ll knock your socks off.”
With a snort, Ryker shakes his head then offers me his hand. “Bartending it is. Welcome to the team.”
Becoming Graham Tempelton was ridiculously simple. A couple of photos taken against a white wall, a set of fingerprints, and a whole lot of cash, and in less than a week, I started looking for an apartment with my new name and applying for bartending gigs.
How the hell did Quinton find me?
I only told him my first name, and there are a lot of Grahams in this city. I’m halfway through a less than civil reply when I remember the ice cream. And the credit card I used to purchase it. I don’t remember what I did with the receipt.
My second attempt at a message is a little less…intense. But I have to know if I compromised myself somehow. Or if Quinton—Q—is someone I should tell Ry and Wren about.
So, this is going to sound weird, but…how’d you find me?
Less than five minutes later, he replies.
You left the receipt in the bag. I Googled. Your website came right up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. You won’t hear from me again. - Q
Fuck.
Glancing around the warehouse, I check to make sure Ryker’s not standing over my shoulder about to pounce. I probably look guilty as fuck. But he’s on the phone, and I overhear him ask, “What do you need? West can run the drills—” And then a moment later, “Iknowit’s just morning sickness. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
I can’t wait to see him change a diaper.
Returning my focus to the screen, I try ten different replies before I settle on what I hope is the right one. I shouldn’t care. But Q looked so lost standing at his door last night, and the idea that I hurt him doesn’t sit well with me.
You said no one’s ever been that nice to you? If that’s the truth, you need better friends. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. I was just surprised you tracked me down, that’s all. Did you get your groceries replaced?
-Graham
It’s nothing. A quick, light message with an apology. Because whatever his deal is? I don’t want to make it worse.
I rush to close down the browser as Ry strides over to the corner of the warehouse Wren and Ripper helped us turn into a tech hub, complete with workstations for each of us, a massive rack of servers, and a dedicated high-speed internet connection faster than anyone but the United States government.
But as the window disappears, another reply shows up, and the preview rattles me for reasons I can’t take the time to unpack right now.
I gave up on friends a long time ago. And people in general. Thanks again for the ice cream. - Q
Chapter Seven
Quinton
A little after noon,my watch timer goes off, and I swat at it like it’s a mosquito about to bite me. Clementine opens one eye from the little cat bed I put next to my computer monitor.
“No, it’s not dinner time.”
With a big sigh, she goes back to sleep. I swear, this kitten is the most melodramatic creature on the planet. But she’s been my constant companion since I first rescued her, and when I freak out, she helps calm me down.
I need to get up. To move. No matter how much it hurts. When Connor saved me, I couldn’t manage more than a couple of steps at a time. Now, on my good days, I can do almost everything I used to—except run and balance on one foot.
Today’s not a good day, though, and I repeat one of the mantras that help keep me motivated when the pain’s at its worst.
You’re strong. You survived. Don’t let him win.
An electric shock zings down my left leg as I brace myself on the arms of the chair, forcing me to blow out a deep breath. My physical therapist would tell me to take a pain pill, but they make me feel loopy, and I can’t let my judgement be compromised in any way.
The last time I took one, I found myself onhisFacebook page. My intention? Make sure he was still living in Dallas. But I wasn’t being careful, and almost hit themessagebutton. I flushed all the pills down the toilet after that.
