Shepherd Haynes.
The thought of him has me biting back a smile as I recall the way we met. And that smile turns into an outright laugh when I think about how Shepherd would’ve dealt with the three douche canoes at the back table had he been here to witness their behavior.
My knight in fancy football pants.
I can’t believe I’m actually missing him a little bit tonight. The idea of missing anyone is a hard pill to swallow. I like myindependence. I don’t answer to anyone but myself and that’s the way I’ve liked it ever since…
Well, ever since I walked away from what I know I didn’t deserve.
Cal catches my eye from across the bar, his eyebrows raised in silent question. I give a small shake of my head to let him know I don’t need rescuing, especially not from those shit-iots.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I shouldn’t check it during my shift, but I do anyway, needing the distraction.
Shepherd
How’s your night going?
Something warm flutters in my chest. I shouldn’t feel this way about a text—especially not from him—but I do. I stare at the screen for a moment too long thinking about our food truck tour a few nights ago. How he was nothing but a gentleman and actually took me by surprise on several occasions. But instead of replying, I slide my phone back into my pocket. The night’s too busy and those jerks are watching me. Besides, what would I even say?My day’s shit because while you’re off earning millions playing tag, I can’t afford rent and there are creepy guys at the bar?
No thanks.
Knowing Shepherd the way I think I do, he’d probably tell the team he’ll be back in Omaha by morning and then fly home on a private jet to make sure he can deal with the assholes in my bar and be here to walk me home. The jury is still out on whether I find his protective nature to be endearing or a little creepy.
Ten minutes later, the three guys get up to leave, and I feel my shoulders drop half an inch. But as they pass me, Middle Guy leans in close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“We know where you work now,” he says quietly. “Maybe we’ll see you around.”
I don’t react. I don’t even flinch. But a cold knot forms in my stomach anyway.
Closing time always sounds quieter than it should.
It’s not silent—the Alley Tap is never silent—but softer. Like the room exhales once the last customer leaves and the door clicks shut behind them. Dishes and booths settle and the refrigerator hums. Somewhere in the back, the ice machine groans like it’s personally offended by being alive. I wipe down the bar slowly, dragging the rag in lazy circles across wood that’s seen more confessions than most therapists.
“Don’t look now,” Cal says behind me, “but I think you just cleaned the same spot three times.”
“I’m thorough.”
“You’re obsessive.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
He snorts and stacks chairs onto tables with a practiced rhythm. We’ve done this together enough that neither of us needs to talk much, but he keeps glancing at me like he’s waiting for me to admit something.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
The bar had a good crowd tonight. Steady but not overwhelming—just enough customers to keep my hands busy mixing drinks and my mind from wandering places it shouldn’t go. Except there he was again, slipping into my thoughts between orders.
Shepherd Haynes.
His name appears in my head like an uninvited guest.
Not an unwelcomed one though.
“Sutton.” Cal’s voice breaks through. “Hello?”
I blink. “What?”
“Lost in space again?”
