Chapter 4
four
RYAN
When I walk into the Tin Shed Pub, I’m already in a shitty mood.
I couldn’t sleep last night after running into Wren at The Last Kiss production offices.
Something about the way she looked at me before she left.
Like I was already a disappointment. Like she’d written me off before I even opened my mouth.
I hate that she gets under my skin. That she looks at me like I’m exactly what she expected… nothing special. I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does.
It’s easier to tell myself she’s just Jay’s annoying little sister. That she’s always been there, wide-eyed and irritating, full of herself, stuck-up as hell, and annoying as all fuck.
It’s easier to remember her that way. Easier to justify keeping her at arm’s length. The truth is, if I let myself think of her as anything but a pest, I’ll lose every bit of control I’ve got left.
It’s been a long day, and the bitter topper on my cake? Finding out I have to work with Wren.
I don’t want to work with her. Hell, I don’t even want to talk to her.
Working with her means seeing her. Really seeing her. And being seen in return. That’s the part that makes my skin crawl. She sees things I don’t want anyone to see.
She’s younger, bratty, and worst of all, way too used to getting her own way.
But she’s not a kid anymore, is she? And that’s the problem.
She walks in with those big eyes and sharp tongue, and I feel…
unsteady. I don’t like that. I have zero interest in being talked down to by someone who used to follow me around like a puppy and now thinks she’s the shit because she grew up and learned how to use eyeliner.
But The Last Kiss is paying me three hundred thousand dollars to be their bachelor this season.
That kind of money means safety. It means never having to tell Ellie there’s no dinner.
I haven’t had to do that for years, but it doesn’t matter.
I still wake up racked with guilt, fresh from a nightmare that nothing ever changed.
It means I can breathe at least for a little while. And that kind of money? I don’t say no to it.
I’ve saved every penny I’ve ever earned from hockey and endorsements. You don’t grow up the way I did and shake it off just because you signed a couple endorsement deals. You grow up hoarding paychecks and checking account balances like your life depends on it. Because once, mine did.
I refuse to go broke again. Ever. That kind of fear sticks with you.
Trying to keep the teachers at your sister’s school in the dark about your parents vanishing.
Being a kid and watching the lights get cut off, seeing your little sister cry when there’s no food in the fridge.
It rewires your brain. Makes you hold on tight to anything that smells like security.
I scan the pub and spot my friends at a large round table near the front.
I walk over, clap Bennett on the back, and drop into the empty seat beside him. Jay and Gabe are already here, beers in hand. At the bar, I spot Reese in black jeans and a leather jacket, completely ignoring some guy trying to talk to her. That tracks.
Jay shifts so he’s sitting right next to me. He gives me a once-over, then frowns. “What happened to you? You look terrible.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m fine.”
A waitress drops off several pitchers of beer, and I take a long pull from my pint glass.
Bennett smirks. “Thirsty?”
I set the glass down and push it away. “Just needed a drink. It’s been that kind of day.”
The front door swings open again, the bell clanging above it.
Jay’s wife, Calla, steps inside. Her jet-black hair is damp from the rain, and she shakes off a few drops as she enters. Behind her is her sister, Cora, who looks like a slightly sharper, more intimidating version of Calla. Same hair, same golden-tan skin, same smile.
They’re laughing about something as they walk in, and Jay instantly stands. His entire face changes when he sees Calla. He looks at her like she hung the damn moon. Like she’s some kind of myth made into flesh.
She heads straight for him, arms open.
He wraps her up and kisses her like he hasn’t seen her in weeks. “I missed you,” he growls against her mouth.
I roll my eyes.
It’s not that I begrudge him the relationship. Calla’s great for him. She’s warm and funny and grounded. It’s just… a lot sometimes.
The bell rings again, and I notice Cora has paused, waiting for someone.
Then I see a flash of copper-red hair and know exactly who it is.
Wren.
Of course, it’s Wren.
She’s still wearing that ridiculous dark trench coat. Her makeup is heavy. Cat-eye liner, bright red lipstick. It’s all the more infuriating because it works on her. Like… really works. Damn.
I have the same thought I had earlier this afternoon: I didn’t know Wren got dressed up.
But apparently, she does.
And worse, she looks good.
Her face is all soft curves and sharp contrasts. A heart-shaped face framed by long copper waves, an upturned nose, pouty mouth, and those wide, expressive eyes.
She does the same little shake Calla did, brushing off rain, and then she looks right at me.
Her mouth parts slightly, and she bites her lower lip.
God help me.
Cora pulls her forward, guiding her to the table. Jay is rearranging chairs, and when all is said and done, there’s one open seat left.
The one right next to mine.
Wren circles around Calla and Cora, then drops into the seat beside me.
Of course, she does.
I give Wren a once-over, then turn to Bennett. He’s the owner of the establishment we’re sitting in.
“How’s the bar business these days?” I ask.
He nods and sips his beer. “It’s good. Things are booming, actually. I’m gonna have to hire more staff now. Wren was my go-to for part-time help around here, but I guess all good things must come to an end.”
I resist the urge to glance at her. “Yeah, I guess so. But I’m sure you’ll find somebody great.”
Bennett jerks his chin toward Reese, who’s weaving her way between tables toward us.
“I think Reese has a friend who’s going to interview for the position,” he says.
I look over at Reese as she slides into the seat across from me. Reese and I dated briefly. It was five and a half years ago, but I’m still a little sensitive about the topic.
She once told me I was hot but brainless, right after I got into my fifth bar fight that month. That was about ten minutes before she dumped me and told me we should just be friends.
She made the right call. That doesn’t mean I’m not still a little touchy about it.
I push the memory aside and tell Bennett, “I think you’ll find someone solid. Most of your employees have been here for years. Odds are definitely in your favor.”
Gabe launches into a conversation with Bennett about a board game they both play. My brain checks out immediately. Board games are not my thing.
I’m all action, always ready to move. Make me sit still and strategize? I dry out like a dead battery.
The waitress brings over a bunch of appetizers: French fries, chicken wings, quesadillas. I grab a whole quesadilla and a pile of fries, stacking them on a plate.
Wren leans over me to grab a fry straight from the basket. She smirks.
I glance down at my plate, trying to figure out what, exactly, she finds so amusing.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask.
She shrugs a shoulder, casual and careless, then tilts her head to look at me. “You don’t have to guard your food, you know.”
I glance down and realize I’ve got my hands bracketing the plate like I’m about to fight someone off. Defensive much? I roll my eyes.
“You don’t have to be such a nerd,” I shoot back, “but here we are.”
She sucks her teeth, clearly amused. “You know, just because you get by on being hot and dumb doesn’t mean the rest of us can. Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
I smirk. “Still pretending sarcasm is a personality, I see.”
I stuff a few fries in my mouth and chew, letting the burn sit for a second.
I know she’s got a degree in classics from Agnes Glenn College. Cute little liberal arts school just up the road.
But I’ve got a poli-sci degree from Emory, which is, let’s be honest, far better known.
“At least people have heard of where I went to school,” I retort.
She narrows her eyes. “Agnes Glenn is a women’s college. Emory’s a giant university. The two don’t exactly compete in the same arenas. But if it helps, you still look like every frat boy who peaked senior year.”
I arch a brow. “And you look like someone playing dress-up in their mom’s coats.”
Wren rolls her eyes and stands, fingers slipping into the belt of her trench coat. Then she opens it.
My eyes widen.
She’s wearing a dress. No, she’s wearing a pink crop top and a fitted black leather skirt. The thing barely covers her ass.
She’s paired that with white tights. Black heels. And this dainty little black choker around her neck. It’s like she wants people to stare at her.
She’s still Wren. Same stubborn jaw. Same impossible eyes. But the way she walks now… it’s like she’s finally realized everyone’s watching. And she doesn’t hate it.
Wren tosses her copper hair over her shoulder in a fiery wave and shoots me a glare.
“I’m going to the bar,” she declares.
I watch her walk away, my jaw tightening. What’s going on? Wren’s always so meek and shy. With everybody except me, she’s a quiet type with her nose forever in a book.
One guy lets his eyes follow her ass as she passes. Another nudges his buddy and grins, both of them leering at her. Actually, scratch that. Every single guy in the pub is staring at her, and she’s doing absolutely nothing to stop them.
I glance at Jay. He hasn’t even noticed she left the table. He’s listening to Calla tell a story, completely absorbed, stroking her arm like the lovesick puppy he is.
I was hoping he’d notice. That he’d step in, say something, tell her to throw a jacket back on. But nope.
Looks like I’ll have to take control of the situation.
I usually don’t follow Wren to the bar.