Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
WILDER
Heights Hotties
Ronnie
Sup gents
Wyatt
the fuck is this
Weston
why is there a group chat
Me
aww, you didn’t
Ronnie
I’m getting the dudes together
Duh
I feel so special
Wyatt
Jesus Christ
Weston
not sure how I feel about this
Wyatt Grady has left the chat
Ronnie Kovar has added Wyatt Grady to the chat
Ronnie
Nice try
Weston
I don’t think you’re getting out of this one, bro
Do I smell?
Wyatt
yes
Weston
you also nearly killed our mom
in my defense, it was an accident
Wyatt
why is he in here
Ronnie
You crack me up, Grady
I gotta hear this story!
Tonight, after the soft opening
See you at Suds, hotties
Not sure how it’s taken me this long to check out the one and only bar in town—maybe I’ve been a little preoccupied with the other food and drink establishment of the Heights— but Smoky Suds is packed after the soft opening of downtown this afternoon.
Barnwood interior, it’s rustic with an authentic, broken-in vibe. Something a pub in the city would pay good money to replicate, but theirs would be sophisticated, with smooth, sanded walls and a color palette they paid tens of thousands for from a prestigious interior designer.
This place would probably bite back if you brushed up against a wall, and the neon signs are far from classy, but it works here.
Square bar in the center, surrounded by a gruff crowd at the countertops, mismatched tables strewn throughout the rest of the open room, with some pool tables and dart boards in the back, it’s nothing special, but it feels like a welcome place to end a long day like today.
Am I becoming a local? Lexi would be so proud of me.
A path clears for us as we make our way to the bar, my height and stature doing a lot of the work for us. The tattoos I got in and out of prison probably don’t hurt either.
All the other times I’ve seen Weston he’s had a cocky smile on his face, but tonight he’s got a little of his brother’s sour on his face, and I’m guessing it’s me.
“Let me clear the air,” I start off, leaning one arm against the sticky bar surface as we wait for the lone bartender who looks like he couldn’t give a single fuck to make his way over to us.
Four begrudging dark green eyes look up at me, while Ronnie’s eager blue ones wait to hear what I have to say.
“The whole killing your mom thing. I’m sorry about that, guys. Honest mixup. If it helps, I hit on her first.”
“You what?” Wyatt grits out.
Ronnie’s peals of laughter almost mask those words entirely, but I’m good at understanding angry and dangerous men after the life I grew up in.
“Yeah, ask your brother. I’ve got a soft spot for her. I’d never put her in an anaphylactic reaction on purpose. That’s not my kink. An older woman, yeah. Choking on my dick, sure. Choking on my food? Not really my thing.”
Weston stares at me, Wyatt rubs his straining jaw, and I think I hear teeth cracking, but honestly that could’ve been the cue ball breaking a round behind us. Who’s to say for sure.
Ronnie wraps an arm around my shoulders—well, as close as he can get to them—and the other around Wyatt’s. “See, Grady? Honest mistake.”
How those two are best bros, I’ll never know. A single meeting was enough to show me they make zero sense, but hey, sometimes opposite attract, amirite? Just look at Weston and Amelia.
“I’m not really in the business of killing my clients these days,” I toss out, but no one pays me any attention.
“He hit on my mother?” Wyatt’s nostrils are flaring dangerously.
“Mine, too, man,” Weston adds.
“She shot me down,” I say, hands in the air.
It was just old habit, not actual interest, anyway. Only one woman I like focusing my attention on these days.
“It won’t happen again. Besides, I like ’em a little more fiery. Thicker.” My brows nudge up, asking for agreement, but the Grady brothers both look away, like they have no clue how to respond to that.
Ronnie, though, he offers me a fist bump and I accept it graciously. He knows what’s up.
I lucked out running into him on my day off at the salon downtown. His wife is a stylist (maybe the only stylist there, actually), and she gave me a trim while he was hanging out there, and he and I got to talking. We swapped numbers, and, well, here we are.
Plus, all their women are across the street at the new wine bar that opened today, Smoky Sips.
The soft opening today signaled that every single business downtown is now open. Apparently it’s been years in the making, and these people are making a pretty big deal out of it. Had some press there and everything.
The café closed early after the big rush, and the whole team got the night off to celebrate. Me, with this crowd, and Lexi with her sister, Weston’s girl, and Ronnie’s wife.
“Speaking of,” I growl, leaning forward. I’m getting a little backed up when it comes to Lexi, and even the thought of her is apparently enough to get me a little too excited. No need to scare them off with my unruly soldier on the first guys’ night. “What should I know about Lexi?”
Weston laughs, whole and free, almost as loud as Ronnie, and even Wyatt snorts.
“You’ve got your hands full there,” Wyatt snickers.
Ronnie’s eyes sparkle with silent laughter. “My wife’s been her best friend since middle school. What do you wanna know?”
The bartender—black hair that’s shorter on the sides and slicked back longer on top, eyes just as dark—makes his way over and gestures with his chin instead of using his words like a big boy. His message is clear, anyway. What can I get ya?
“It’s on me, boys,” I say. “For the whole mom thing.” Not sure if that needed to be clarified, but just in case.
“Can you just never mention it again and we’ll call it even?” Weston asks.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Definitely what we want,” Wyatt mutters.
“Bourbon or beer?” the bartender interrupts, clearly not waiting for our little bonding moment to pass.
Wyatt takes one look at the three of us flanking him before he and Weston speak in unison. “Bourbon.”
“Thanks, Dallas!” Ronnie calls out after the retreating form of the guy I’d think was from Williamsburg if we were back in the Big Apple. Here, I think he’d just be called quiet and dark.
No connections in the life, from the looks of him, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he did time too.
There’s something darkly kindred in him, but I think he hides it well.
He manages to pull off understated in a way a lot of guys try real hard to rock.
Throw on a curling mustache and some suspenders and he could’ve passed for a hipster not too long ago.
Four rocks glasses drop down on the bar top in front of us, and a top-shelf bottle of Foxx Bourbon spills into each cup, a good finger in each.
I’d be up for more, but apparently the guys are all being designated drivers for their women tonight so the ladies can go as hard as they want at the wine bar and this is our one-drink limit for the night.
A joke about them being whipped wanted to crack from my lips when they mentioned it on the way in, but it doesn’t sound like either of the Gradys had an easy go of it getting their women in the first place.
I’m nothing if not a modern man and commend their efforts to keep earning their women day in and day out.
Once we’ve been served, Wyatt leads us to one of the last open tables, a high top over by the dart boards and pool tables. Ronnie grabs a fourth chair from a nearby group who isn’t using it and we all settle onto the bar stools with our glasses.
“So really, what kind of advice can you give me when it comes to Lexi?” I lean in toward the group, ready to be a good student.
“Alexis?” Wyatt tilts his head, brows up, puffing a huge breath out, scruffy cheeks full of air. “Use protection. And I don’t mean condoms. She’s not afraid to whip out her claws. She’s a swipe first, think about the damage later kinda gal.”
Weston nods thoughtfully, sipping his bourbon.
“Don’t get on her shit list,” Ronnie adds, swirling the caramel liquid in his glass.
“Mmm,” I say around a mouthful of my drink, savoring the taste before I swallow. “Couldn’t have told me that the day I rolled into town? What about once you’ve put your foot in your mouth?”
Weston chuckles, and Ronnie’s eyes gleam with mirth.
“You might be screwed,” Ronnie cackles.
“Or definitely not screwed any time soon,” Weston corrects.
I bite back my smirk at the knowledge that her icy exterior has already melted for me more than once. But I’m not one to eat and tell. Guess I’m more of a Lexi expert than they are if I’m wearing her down when they don’t think it’s possible.
“Listen,” Wyatt says, his glass clinking to the high-top as he sets it down. “She stayed behind when her family blew up. It probably scarred her in ways none of us realize.”
Ronnie nods, adding, “The way she shows up for her people is next level. Lexi has a bigger heart than almost anyone in this town, but she’ll defend it with every tooth and nail in her body.”
“She’s tough, but she’s had to be,” Weston piles on.
“You know their dad ran the town diner until he cheated on their mom and left?” Ronnie asks.
I shake my head. “She hasn’t shared that with me.”
Wyatt huffs. “I’m not surprised. The girls haven’t spoken to him since he left fifteen years ago.
They were really close with their mom, but she passed from the big C a few years ago now.
Their dad…he did some damage when he left.
” His green eyes darken to almost black, jaw clenching, and that’s a look I’ve seen in a lot of my dad’s associates before things turned sour, so I change the subject.
“So the café means something to her.”
“Think so,” Weston says, tilting his head in thought. “She doesn’t open up too often, but she seems passionate about the place.”
The dots are connecting in my head. Her resistance to the updates to the menu. Why my additions have been so unwelcome.