Page 68 of Backlash

“I was actually on my way to meet someone.”

“I’ll come with,” he says, calling my bluff.

“You win.” We could do this two-step all day, but I’m not wearing my dancing shoes. I start walking forward, away from the Barrelhouse. At least I can lure him away from Jack and Luca. “How about coffee?”

“That works.” He glances to the Barrelhouse sign swinging on its post. “Maybe we should invite the guys.”

“Does this concern them?” We might as well get to the bottom of this now.

“Not really.” He frowns as if delivering bad news.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” I say.

“It’s okay. I just have to remind myself that patience is a virtue. I’ll find a reason to catch up with Luca and Jack later.”

I hope that’s not the case.

“It was ballsy,” he continues. “Coming here—all three of you.”

“Feeling left out?” I ask.

“A little,” he says as we begin to walk.

I lead us a block over and shoot off a quick warning text to Luca. Noah claims he’s not here for either of them, but they need to know he made contact. He wouldn’t risk our leaving unless it somehow served his purpose. I might as well get as much information as I can.

“Tell them I said hello,” Noah says before I can slide my phone into my pocket. He pauses in front of a coffee shop and points to it. “This okay?”

I don’t care where we go as long as we get it over with soon, so I nod. We take a seat at a high-backed booth in the back and a waitress with purple hair skips over, laminated menus in hand. She plops them in front of us. “What can I get you?”

“Two coffees,” I say before Noah can answer her.

“You want to grab a bite?” he asks me. The waitress hesitates, waiting for a response.

“Two coffees,” I say again firmly. I’m giving Noah exactly as long as it takes me to get to the bottom of this cup before I’m back out the door.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” He settles against the red vinyl booth, dropping his massive arms along the top of it as he assesses me for a moment. “You’ve changed.”

“And you haven’t?” I ask, as the waitress reappears with two mugs.

“Don’t take it so badly,” he says. “You look good. Successful.”

“Let me guess, you’d like to know what I’ve been up to recently.”

“Nope.” He blows steam off the top of his mug. “I already know what you’ve been up to lately.”

An alarm rings inside my head, but I ignore it. “Buying a house. Investing in a media conglomerate. Boring stuff, really.”

“In my experience, Sterling Ford and boring don’t go in the same sentence.”

“And yet. All I’m doing here is walking my dog and catching up with old friends.” I drain half the coffee in one gulp, ignoring the way it sears the back of my throat. I may not want to give anything away, but I’m not going to sit around here all day making small talk, either.

“Among other things.” Noah abandons his mug, along with the other pretenses of our conversation. “Look, I don’t know why I am telling you this.”

I narrow my eyes. Noah has tried to play me before. The difference between those times and now is the concerning level of sincerity in his voice. “Telling me what?”

“You deserve to be in jail,” he says with a terse shake of his head.

“I didn’t need you to tell me that,” I say dryly. It’s a fact I’m well aware of.