I shake those thoughts from my head and notice some of the college guys are staring my way, whispering amongst themselves. I wonder how many people in this town watchedBuying LAand how many of them followed the tabloid gossip? I hated the way the show portrayed me, almost as if I was dumb and naive because I grew up in a small town.
“Do the wandering eyes feel like you never left the paparazzi?” Rachel asks, and I startle, nearly forgetting she was sitting beside me.
“You have no idea.” I glance back at the guys still looking my way. “Although, they feel less invasive. No cameras being shoved in my face.”
Rachel chuckles. “Oh, just wait. Have you heard about The Bay Buzz?” I shake my head as she shifts toward me. “It’s a Facebook group where everyone talks shit, spreads gossip, and bitches about anything they don’t like in town. You being home has been the talk of the page, everyone wanting to add to the newest Wren sighting.”
I mutter a curse. The last thing I need is more attention.
“I’ll send you an invite later.”
“Thanks, I can’t wait to see what’s being said about me now.”
Rachel places a gentle hand on mine. “You know the type of woman you’re trying to be, Wren, and it doesn’t matter what anyone in this town has to say. Believe me.”
She lifts her glass of water to her lips and takes a long sip. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what she means bybelieve me. I don’t know much about her story after high school or who her son’s father is. All I know is that her and Nate’s relationship wasn’t easy at the start.
Russ sets another whiskey sour in front of me without asking. “On the house.”
“Dangerous game,” I murmur, fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
He only shrugs, lip twitching. “You always liked to live on the edge.”
My retort dies on my tongue as my phone buzzes against the bar. The name flashing across the screen freezes me in place.
Elias.
I shouldn’t look. God, I shouldn’t. I’ve done well ignoring him so far.
Maybe it’s the security of my hometown bar, but I do it.
Elias
Where the hell are you, Wren?
The words burn. My lungs seize.
I slam the phone face down, forcing the whiskey sour past my lips, and the bite of bourbon dulls the edges of my nerves.
Russ’s voice breaks through the haze. “You good?”
I glance up, finding his eyes sharper than I want them to be. Concern layered beneath gruffness. “Peachy,” I lie, voice brittle.
“Sure,” he mutters, then turns to the next customer, but I know he doesn’t buy it.
I flinch as someone slides onto the stool next to me. Rachel and I both turn our heads to see who’s joined us.
“Damn,” the voice cuts in, leaning too close. “Glad I wore my best flannel tonight.”
I turn slightly, my stomach sinking at how close he is. He’s wearing a too-young, cocky grin and a flannel that smells like his cologne bottle exploded on him.
“Oh yeah?” I arch an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
He smirks. “It’s made of boyfriend material.”
I huff a laugh. It’s louder than I intended and Rachel snort-laughs. “Please tell me that’s not the best you’ve got.”
He only grins wider, moving closer. He’s the kind of guy who hears “no” as a challenge, and unfortunately, I’m too familiar with his type.
