Page 129 of The Right Kind of Wrong

It had been the same the other night that they’d gone out together. Between Holland’s looks and something Blake could only describe as raw magnetism, there had been no shortage of men interrupting them that night, too.

But she could use that to her advantage right now.

She squeezed Monroe’s thigh. “Holland can take us home if you’re not having a good time.”

“I’m fine,” Monroe said quickly, the epitome of someone who was decidedly not fine. Her tone was all wrong, like it pained her to say the words.

Blake was racking her brain, trying to figure out what was going on in Monroe’s head. “Is this about Holland? I thought you two got along. Did something happen?”

She and Monroe had seen one another almost every day this week, and Monroe hadn’t mentioned anything to her. Neither had Holland, for that matter.

Monroe picked up her coaster and started playing with it. There was the fidgeting again. Finally, she blew out a long breath. “I just wish that you would have told me if you didn’t want to come out with me.”

Blake squinted her eyes and tilted her head to the side. What was Monroe even talking about? “I do want to be out with you. We’re literally out right now, together.”

Blake pointed in between the two of them, illustrating her point.

The whine that Monroe let out had no business being as cute as it was. “You know what I mean.”

Except Blake didn’t.

Monroe was sitting there, looking unfairly gorgeous in high-waisted black jeans, cowboy boots, and a dark gray T-shirt that accentuated her incredible breasts. More than once already, Blake had had to stop herself from looking down at them.

She rubbed her hand along Monroe’s thigh, feeling that same spark that always came from touching her. “I really don’t,” she said cautiously but left it at that.

Blake was feeling a little desperate to be able to crawl inside Monroe’s mind and figure out exactly what was bothering her so much, but she already knew that Monroe had to share her feelings in her own time.

That much had become apparent in the couple of months they’d been back in one another’s lives.

Monroe’s phone, which was facedown on the table, vibrated, and Monroe snatched it up like she was waiting for the most important call of her life.

Denny’s name flashed across the screen.

“I’m going to take this outside,” she said quickly, jumping down from the stool and heading toward the front door.

It made sense, given how loud it was in the bar or coffee shop or whatever it was, but that still didn’t ease Blake’s growing suspicion that Monroe had wanted to get away from her.

Thirty seconds later, Holland returned to the table with three drinks and deposited them in front of where each person was sitting.

Or should be sitting in Monroe’s case.

Because really . . . What in the hell was going on?

It was easier for Blake to be frustrated at Monroe’s one-word answers than to let the gnawing, clawing feeling settle in her stomach. It made her feel grumpier than she had any business feeling.

“Trouble in paradise?” Holland asked, gracefully hopping back onto her own stool as she eyed Blake.

She could only make an “I have no fucking clue” face in response. Blake ran her hands through her hair, which she’d already had fantasies about Monroe running her hands through later.

Sure, the night was young, but she didn’t expect Monroe to come back and be the belle of the ball.

She decided something then.

“I’ll be back,” she told Holland, already pushing her way through the throngs of people standing in between the tables.

Blake shoved open Slider’s double doors and immediately scanned the parking lot for Monroe. She didn’t see her.

But Blake wasn’t giving up. Unless Monroe had decided to stupidly try and walk home, she was here somewhere, and Blake was going to find her.