King of Rhythm (Short Kings #7)

CHAPTER ONE

AVERY

brYCE: Can we meet?

I have no clue how long I’ve been staring at those three words.

My mouth dry and my body wound tight like I’m facing a big exam.

A sharp elbow digs abruptly into my side, bringing the real world rushing back.

And with it comes the mingled sour stench of spilled booze, perfumes, and sadly, overripe BO.

Just like that, I’m no longer lost in giddy fantasies about Bryce pulling me into his strong arms and declaring his undying love.

Instead, I’m back in an uncomfortable and sticky booth at Jamison’s, a local pub around the corner from work, shoved together with six of my coworkers.

Even worse, the place is oddly packed for a Tuesday night, so there’s no hope of getting a bigger table.

It’s this cramped booth or stand around the already crowded bar.

Lifting my head, I frown over at Sarah, whose extremely pointy and painful elbow is pressing into me for a second time.

I shuffle over half a buttcheek, all the room I have before I’m plastered against Kevin’s bulky side.

At five foot ten I’m used to being shoehorned into places; that doesn’t mean I enjoy it though. “What?”

“That’s what I want to know,” she hisses back.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been staring at your phone for five minutes now with the weirdest expression on your face.

” She makes a grab for my phone, and I accidentally ram my elbow into poor Kevin as I pull it out of Sarah’s reach.

This sets off an unfortunate chain reaction as Kevin jerks his beer and the golden liquid tumbles over the rim of his mug, splashing onto his ample belly and the table.

“Avery! What the hell?” Kevin snaps, grabbing a bunch of cocktail napkins and blotting his wet shirt while Mary, on his other side, sops up the mess on the table.

I shrink back against the hard wood of the bench seat wishing I wouldn’t have come as Kevin shoots me a glare. “You owe me half a beer,” he says.

Sarah leans across me and tosses a five at Kevin. “It was my fault. Sorry.”

I can’t help the surge of jealousy that hits me when his surly frown immediately morphs into a genial grin as Sarah’s magical personality wins him over and he slides the bill back toward her.

Or at least he tries to. It sticks stubbornly to a puddle of condensation on the table’s tacky surface. At least I hope that’s what it is, as I pry it up and hand it back to Sarah.

She takes advantage of my momentary distraction and snatches my phone.

Her smile grows as she looks down at Bryce's text. Her brown eyes flash merrily from behind her oversized round glasses when she looks up. “Been holding out on me,” she teases.

Honestly, Sarah’s the closest thing I have to a best friend. When I started work at Anderson and Davis Insurance two years ago, the older woman took me under her wing and has become so much more than a coworker. She’s like a favorite aunt, older sister, and friend all rolled into one.

But I have been holding out on her and I plan to continue doing so.

My lips remain sealed. I hold out my left hand with the five pinched between my thumb and pointer finger and my empty right hand for the phone.

She plucks the five from me and flicks it to the center pile where we’re steadily putting our change for the tip at the end of the night. “No way, girlfriend,” she says, waving my phone. “Spill first. Like why you haven’t responded back to this man yet.”

I squirm. I’m mostly an introvert and being out here with my coworkers is the most in person social interaction I normally have in a week.

My job consists of online work and the occasional phone call, which suits me perfectly.

I’m not a people person, which is fine by me.

Most people don’t understand that. Including Sarah, who has enough exuberance to cover my lack of.

Sarah would have immediately messaged Bryce back. Actually, scratch that, she would have been the one asking him to meet. Probably the moment things started getting personal.

Unlike me, who’s been waiting for this moment for two months now and yet I still can’t summon up the courage to type yes.

This is exactly what I want. What I’ve been hoping and fervently wishing for.

And I don’t trust it.

I don’t get what I want. I never have.

And I can’t remember the last time I’ve wanted something as much as I do Bryce. Which means I won’t get him.

That warm, pleasantly buzzed feeling that comes after a few beers invades me every time I think about him.

I’m on my first vodka cranberry, still that familiar warmth blankets me again and my mind summons up the picture of him that I have on my phone that I’ve stared at even longer than I have this text.

He's gorgeous with his warm brown eyes, dark hair, and charming grin. Completely out of my league.

The odds of me connecting with someone like him are ones that no bookie would take. A few times I’ve wondered if I’m being catfished or set-up somehow as part of an elaborate joke being played on me by a mean-spirted jerk.

That makes far more sense than this perfect man asking to meet me.

And that fear is what is holding me back.

Because if I don’t respond, if I don’t meet him, then I can hold on to this happiness for a while longer. This moment where Avery Kingsley, the too-tall, plain wallflower, gets the super-hot guy. Instead of finding out that I’m the butt of yet another joke.

But I can’t explain that to Sarah. She’d never understand.

“I’m not sure that I want to meet him,” I lie, keeping my eyes stubbornly on the grimy table.

“Well, he seems pretty eager to meet you. He already responded.”

My gaze flies up, my eyes whipping from her devious grin to the phone’s screen that is turned to me.

Horror and relief war within me that she took the matter out of my hands. I make a desperate grab for my drink and slurp the tart liquid through the straw, finishing it in several gulps. Only then do I take the phone from her and quickly read over her message to him and his reply.

AVERY: Can’t wait!!!!

brYCE: Then, why wait? Tonight?

I would never use that amount of exclamation points is my first thought. Followed closely by Oh My… he wants to meet me. Tonight!

My vision swims and I feel faint. I want to blame the alcohol. Though it’s not that.

Sarah’s hand squeezes my arm and when I blink, her concerned face slowly comes back into focus. “Hey, are you okay? He’s not a dick, is he? I can come along with you, or we can just block him.”

“No!” I clutch the phone protectively to my chest and know I’m acting like an idiot, yet I can’t seem to regulate my emotions. “He’s the furthest thing from a dick.”

Swallowing hard, I grope for my drink and suck on the straw. When my panicky slurps bring up nothing, I pull it away from my face and stare in confusion at the mostly empty glass. Shoving the straw to the side, I tilt the glass and let a few ice cubes slide into my mouth and suck on those.

Sarah’s eyes grow even wider behind her glasses, and she takes the empty drink from my trembling hand. “Oh my. You have it bad.” She gives a little wiggle, her grin growing. “This should be good.”