He finds a seat toward the end of the bar. I stay focused on taking orders, but I’m aware of him the entire time. When I finally look over, I catch him watching me—like he’s trying to figure me out and is paying attention to more than he should.
It sends heat curling low in my stomach, a reaction I absolutely have no time for right now.
I’m still supposed to be upset with him, but the way his gaze lingers has warmth spreading through me, making it harder to hold on to it.
That’s dangerous.
Because he isn’t just some guy sitting at the bar. He’s a player on my father’s team.
Even thinking about it makes my chest tighten, the reminder hitting harder than I like. There are lines there—ones I’ve learned to keep in place after moving around my whole life. Don’t get too attached. Don’t let things go further than I can walk away from.
I wipe down the bar slower than necessary, trying to keep my focus there. It’s already clean, but I keep going anyway, as if the movement might keep me from overthinking.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the night before. The quiet of his room, the softness of his bed, and the way I fell asleep next to him without bracing for the sounds I’m used to hearing through the walls.
The way I felt safe.
And that’s the part I can’t seem to shake.
I don’t let myself think too hard about it, and I definitely don’t say anything to Cooper. Maybe it’s because I don’t want tosee something in him change. Or because putting it into words might make it real in a way I’m not ready for yet.
When I climbed into my car this morning, my mind went straight back to the alley. To the way he approached me like he’d been waiting for me. I tried to brush it off, telling myself he had to have mistaken me for someone else.
Something about it, though, doesn’t feel random.
And no matter how many times I try to connect it back to my father, it doesn’t make sense. My mom said he left before I was even born, and she hasn’t spoken to him since that day.
We moved so much that I doubt he would’ve kept tabs on us, if he ever had known about me. I already spent my life as a ghost, from one town to the next, so I wasn’t trying to force myself to be seen.
So whoever it is… it’s not him.
I glance toward Cooper again.
He’s leaning against the far wall now, arms crossed, jaw set. He isn’t drinking. He isn’t laughing with the guys around him. He doesn’t look bored or even distracted.
He just looks… focused, as though he’s waiting for me or for something to happen.
My pulse flutters, heat rushing my cheeks. I drop my gaze quickly. Whatever this is between us, it isn’t smart. He doesn’t deserve or need me dragging him into my problems either. And it definitely isn’t safe to let myself fall for someone temporary, so close to everything I’m supposed to avoid.
But the truth still presses in anyway, making it impossible to ignore.
He’s the only person I feel like I know well enough to trust. Until I figure out who’s behind what happened in the alley and I find another place to stay. Maybe he’s right.
Maybe staying in the apartment above his family’s barn wouldn’t be giving up control. Maybe it’s taking it back. Like I’mchoosing safety on my own terms and not running away when it’s what they want from me.
I swallow hard and focus on closing out tabs, stacking glasses, and wiping down the counter one last time as my shift winds down. My hands move on autopilot while my thoughts tangle tighter with every second.
Because wanting him and letting my guard down around him will complicate things. But pretending I don’t feel safer and more at ease when he’s near is the biggest lie of all.
I slide my apron off and hang it on my hook, where I store my purse during my shift, then call a quick good night to Sasha before I take off.
The back room is dim. I step inside, letting the door close behind me, as I punch in my employee number on the time clock.
I don’t even get a chance to turn around fully, and Cooper’s there.
Leaning against the wall across from me, he stands with his arms crossed once more, eyes on me as if he knew exactly where I’d go when my shift ended. The sight of him steals the air from my lungs.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
