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Chapter 7

“I’m pretty sure we should go home,” Alessandra said.

They’d started the day early, a Sunday Funday for the books. Only three of them remained, the Hardcore Hellions, they’d named themselves. But they had taken a break, eaten dinner and drunk enough water to warrant more trips to the bathroom than Toni cared to contemplate.

“I’m pretty sure we should stay out,” she sang out.

She didn’t want to be alone just yet. Besides, she wasn’t all that tired—she hadn’t had much to drink after the incident with Lawrence and Tyler.

“In that case,” Charlotte said. “We stay out.”

“I’ve always liked you,” Toni said.

“But not when we first met,” Charlotte said as they walked aimlessly up the darkening Main Street.

“Not true,” she protested, knowing full well it was a lie.

In truth, she’d thought the South Carolina native a tad on the snobby side the first time Alessandra had brought her to Murphy’s. She’d been dressed to the nines, despite the fact that they were in an Irish pub, and she hadn’t talked much. It wasn’t that Charlotte was quiet. At least, not once you got to know her. But she also wasn’t the most vocal in the crowd, preferring to watch and listen. Those quiet types always made her nervous, and so at first, she’d not warmed up to Alessandra’s friend.

But that had not lasted long.

The girl was a walking contradiction. She had an angelic smile, complete with dimples, but anyone who crossed one of her friends would bear the marks of her sharp claws. The vitriol she’d aimed at Tyler since last night was marvelous to behold.

“Luckily, I don’t hold a grudge,” Charlotte said sweetly.

They all burst out laughing.

“Tatiana Lee is singing at Amendment 18,” Charlotte suggested. “I just adore French gypsy jazz—”

“Uh, no.”

Alessandra got the words out before Toni could. “Lawrence,” she reminded Charlotte in an undertone that probably wasn’t as quiet as she’d intended.

“Oh.”

“Besides, what the hell is French Gypsy jazz?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I have no idea. I just saw it on a flyer in The Witch’s Brew.”

“You know . . . ,” Alessandra said in a way that immediately put Toni on the defensive.

“Absolutely not.” And yet, she found herself trailing after them as they walked toward the very place she’d claimed she didn’t want to go.

“Why?” Charlotte was a fan of getting straight to the point. “The man did defend your honor.”

And he had. When Tyler had acted like an utter ass, insinuating all sorts of bad things about her character as he jumped to the assumption that she’d moved on already, with Lawrence, her ex found himself up against a building so quickly Toni feared the others may grow suspicious. She’d seen Kenton and Lawrence, and now Alessandra, move like that before, but typically it was in private. But no one seemed to think anything amiss, other than the threats Lawrence made, which no one took as idle chatter. Though part of her had been scared at the sheer power he displayed, she’d be a complete liar not to admit it had been a bit of a turn-on as well.

No one would mess with Lawrence Derrickson, certainly not Tyler freakin’ Hayes.

Why don’t I want to see him? Because I can’t handle my feelings for Lawrence right now. Because I’m worried I’ll jump over the bar and tackle him. Because . . .

“Because . . . I don’t like craft cocktails.” She ignored the girls’ smiles. “I don’t! Give me a plain old glass of red any day.”

“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.” When Alessandra turned off Main Street, they followed. “He’s stuck behind the bar.”

“Mhmmm. Says the girl who has been trying to hook me up with him since day one.”

“I haven’t!” Alessandra protested, only to break into laughter the next moment. “At least, not the whole time. I gave up on that scheme long ago.”