or puts me in even more danger.
CHAPTER 7
Alexis
I step out of the shower and stare at my reflection in the mirror, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the sink.
You can do this, Lexy,I tell myself.
I’m healed. The fever is gone, my throat no longer feels like sandpaper, and today I’m going back to work. I start at noon, covering both the afternoon and night shift. A long day. A normal day.
Dex is already downstairs at the bar with Stephen, and just knowing that makes my stomach flutter with nerves.
I know I’m a good waitress. I know I work hard. But Dex’s constant presence, his watchful eyes, his sharp tone, and the way he seems to take up every inch of space around me makes me jittery in a way I can’t quite explain.
I dry my hair and braid it into two French braids, starting at the crown, practical and out of the way. Then a quick sweep of mascara, a touch of lip gloss. Nothing more. Just enough to look awake. Just enough to feel like myself again.
I pull on a light blue button-up, the only decent one I managed to grab before I ran, and my jeans. The fabric feels toofamiliar, like it still carries pieces of a life I didn’t get to leave properly. I smooth it down anyway, pressing my palms over it like I can force it to belong to this version of me instead. Dex told me this morning he ordered T-shirts with the Midnight Rodeo logo for me to work in, but for now, I need to make do with what I have.
The first paycheck will have to cover new clothes. And groceries. And gas. And hopefully, eventually, a down payment on a small, decent apartment of my own.
Three months, I remind myself. You can survive anything for three months.
My phone buzzes softly. 11:45.
Almost time.
“You can do this,” I murmur under my breath as I grab my bag. “Just ignore the grumpy biker.”
I take a steadying breath and head downstairs toward the bar.
The place smells like cleaner and old wood when I step inside, the quiet hum before the storm of customers later tonight. Stephen is restocking behind the bar. Dex stands a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw set as he scans inventory.
When his gaze lifts and lands on me, something in his posture shifts, his shoulders pulling tighter, his jaw ticking once.
I feel it like a physical thing.
His eyes flick to my braids, then down my shirt, then back up to my face. Whatever he sees there makes his arms tighten slightly against his chest.
He mutters something under his breath. Low. Rough. Like he’s biting it back.
I straighten instinctively.
“Clock in,” he says, voice clipped, already turning away. “You’re late.”
I glance at the clock behind the bar. 11:58.
“I’m early,” I say quietly.
He stops. Slowly turns back to me. His green eyes are sharp, assessing, like he’s looking for a reason to fire me again.
“Then don’t stand there,” he says. “Apron. Section three. And try not to get in the way.”
My jaw tightens, but I nod, forcing a small, tight smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yes, boss.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he hates that I didn’t argue.
I turn to grab an apron, but my gaze snags on him before I can look away.
