Epilogue
Wren
“So that’s your Hey World, Eat shit dress, is it?
” Peyton gives me a nod of approval. My best friend is awesome.
So freaking awesome. And I’m so awesomely happy for her and Wendell that I throw my arms around her and give her a big hug, congratulating her for the seventy-third time tonight.
Then, I drag her onto the dancefloor of The Dark Horse, but not before slinging back one more shot.
“Yup!” I rub my hands down the sides of my hot pink bodycon dress. “Do you love it?”
She’s laughing as I pull her into a crazy dance. “It’s incredible. Just wait until Hay—”
A whistle cuts through Peyton’s compliment.
“Looking hot, Wren.” As he approaches us, Pax winks at me.
Since Peyton and Wendell have hooked up, for realsies now, I’ve met a bunch of the Renegades.
Pax and I have this ridiculous flirty-but-totally-platonic thing going on.
Being the ultimate charmer disqualifies him from being my hook up, never mind a boyfriend contender.
“This kind of day calls for an amplified amount of hotness.” Peyton gives my waist a side hug.
“You’re the best, Peyton. Now go find your man.” Playfully, I shove her away from me.
“Having a bad day?” Pax puts a hand on my hip to dance casually with me, which—to be honest—makes my day a thousand times better.
Having a hot hockey player, even one I’m not interested in, flirt with me diminishes my current life crisis of no home and no job.
Not that the seasonal tour guide for the historical town was my dream job, but it was fun.
It sure beat the hostel assistant jobs I’ve had.
And being on the community theatre crew.
Also didn’t love the perfume making. Or the candle making.
But in every job I learned something to take forward, so they’ve all been worth it.
I just thought I had a bit more time as the tour guide, and then—WHAP—let go because demand was down.
“Not the best one this week, that’s for sure.” My lips curl up into a coy smile to match his. “But things are looking up.”
“Glad to help. I could always…”
His words drone on but I don’t hear them because I find Hayes—grumpiest grump to ever grumpify grump land—glaring at me from his spot off the dance floor.
That guy couldn’t be a bigger, sturdier, thicker stick in the mud.
I mean, that combination of quad and gluteus maximus muscle plus perma-frowny surliness ain’t coming down for no one.
The dude isn’t even leaning. Like against a wall, like a casual guy would do in a place like this.
It’s night. Drinks are flowing. Girls are dancing.
I mean, c’mon, Grumpy Pants. Could you be any stiffer?
So what do I do? I stick my tongue out at him.
Yes, like a five year old. Ask me if I care.
“Wren?” Amused, Pax calls my name for what must be more than the second time. If I were to guess, maybe even more than a fourth time. But to be honest, my guessing skills have probably gone down the tube. What tube? I don’t know.
“Yes?” I draw out the word in as cute a fashion as I can.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Not enough!” I shout with a smile, only to feel his booming laugh near my jaw.
And it’s almost like his laugh acts as a buoy.
I can feel my spirits rising with the tide.
Everything is going to work out. I just need a night to indulge.
Then I’ll get back on my feet. That laugh was exactly what I needed.
What I do not need, however, is to glance up and find Grumpy Grumperson still glowering at me. Whatever, dude. Find a hobby.
Pax leans in. “Should I be watching out for you tonight?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
His face splits into a grin and we keep dancing. All is well. For now.
But for a split second, my gaze wanders and I can’t help noticing The Grump Himself has left the building.
That should just leave more goodness for the taking in the air. It should have. It really should have. So why the tiny hole in my chest?
Uh. Oh ya. No job. No home. That would do it. It has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of attention from a giant, brooding ogre.
***