Chapter 13 #2
We empty a few magazines, and I surprise myself by not completely sucking. Hex lingers behind me, his hands staying on my hips, but I don’t complain. He’s patient, offering just enough praise when I land a shot and smirking in that way that makes me want to try harder when I miss.
Eventually, I graduate to the bigger gun. My aim sharpens. My confidence builds. And when I finally hit dead center, I don’t miss the way he looks at me. It’s as if he’s seeing something he wasn’t expecting. Something he likes.
When we wrap up, he turns to me, tilting his head. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” I exhale, only just realizing I’ve been running on the sad remains of an old yogurt I grabbed in a rush this morning. “Starving, actually.”
Hex nods and leads me outside. When we get back on the bike, I expect him to head for a diner or some tucked-away breakfast joint.
Instead, we pull up to a place that seems to have sprung from a child’s sugar-fueled fever dream with bright colors, a ridiculous sign that reads Pancake Panic, and cartoonishly oversized stacks of waffles and bacon decorating the windows.
I blink. “This is the place?”
“Best damn breakfast around,” he says, completely serious. “Besides, they’ve got a pancake challenge, and I wanna see you try and hang.”
The inside is no less ridiculous. There are booths shaped like eggs, a neon sign that shouts Let’s Get Stacked, and a menu built by someone who worships butter and laughs in the face of cholesterol.
We slide into a booth, and just as I’m settling in, a waitress swings by with two mugs, filling them with steaming coffee before either of us even has the chance to ask.
Hex nods his thanks, lifting his cup to take a relaxed sip.
I take a moment to breathe in the rich, roasted smell mixed with the delicious scent of syrup and fried dough.
It’s oddly… homey. Comfortable.
Then I notice Hex watching me over the rim of his mug, as if he’s waiting for something.
“What?” I ask, raising a brow.
He nods toward my phone I placed on the table. “Make sure you snap a picture of us and post it. Tag the bar.”
I squint at him. “Why?”
That fucking smirk. “Because it’s the only social media I have, and I got a feeling our blonde friend might be watching.”
“Oh, you are diabolical.” I grin, unlocking my phone. “Alright, but we need a picture together first.”
I slide off of my bench and ease in beside him, phone in hand, angling for the perfect shot. Hex doesn’t miss a beat. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in until I’m pressed against the heat of him.
On instinct, I tip my head toward him, and the screen captures us perfectly.
Hex with his no-nonsense smug look, a knowing glint in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline sharp against the buttery glow of the restaurant lights.
And me, slightly flushed, smiling just enough to show I’m enjoying this, even if I won’t admit to myself that this might just work.
He might just work.
I snap another, and Hex tilts his head just enough so his mouth is near my temple, the warmth of his breath teasing my skin like he’s about to say something mischievous. It’s the kind of photo that looks intimate, even if it isn’t.
I scooch back over to my side, scrolling through the shots before finally choosing one. “What’s the caption?”
He barely hesitates. “Bangin’ in the morning, stackin’ for lunch.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Hex!”
“What?” He leans back in the booth, all easy confidence, as he makes pistols with his fingers. “It’s the truth.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile and type it out, tagging the bar as instructed.
The post goes up, and not even a minute later, my phone buzzes with a notification.
Right on time.
The username makes my stomach twist. @MuffinsMommy.
Of course. The damn terriers.
Then I see the comment.
[@MuffinsMommy]: Didn’t take you long to spread your legs for someone new, huh?
My fingers tighten around the phone.
Like six months isn’t long enough? Wait. What am I talking about? I haven’t even spread my legs… yet.
The comments aren’t even subtle anymore. She’s dropping all pretense, going straight for the kill. My stomach knots with equal parts irritation and unease. She wants me to react. She wants me to feel watched.
Before I can react, Hex reaches across the table, his large, calloused hand covering mine. His fingers are steady as they ground me. “I got you,” he says, low and certain.
Then, with the kind of unbothered confidence I wish I possessed, he pulls out his own phone. A few taps later, another notification pops up.
[@RuinsEnd]: I’ll take care of Sable’s legs. You can deal with the fact even Muffin fakes excitement when you come home. And maybe unpack whatever unresolved trauma told you this post needed your opinion.
My jaw drops.
That’s when the floodgates open.
Notifications explode as the patrons of Ruin’s End—at least, that’s what their usernames tell me—come out swinging, each comment funnier and more ruthless than the last.
[@IPAinMyVeins]: @MuffinsMommy just got served harder than the tequila shots on half-price Wednesdays.
[@GinAndChronic]: A moment of silence for @MuffinsMommy’s dignity. Thoughts and prayers.
I slap a hand over my mouth but not before a snort giggle escapes.
[@TequilaMockingbird]: She really thought she could slide in here and not get roasted? Ma’am, you don’t mess around with Ruin's End.
[@MargaritaVillain]: Nothing pairs better with a vicious clapback than a cold beer and @MuffinsMommy’s shattered ego.
[@NeatOrOnTheRocks]: Bartender, get this girl a drink. She’s gonna need something stronger than delusion to recover from that one.
[@HennyThingIsPossible]: Plot twist: @MuffinsMommy is actually just Muffin logging into her account to ask for help. *Bark* Help me. *Bark* My mommy is crazy!
My shoulders start shaking with suppressed laughter.
[@OldFashionedRevenge]: You come for one of ours, you get the whole bar. Hope you brought back up, @MuffinsMommy.
[@DrunkInLoveAndPetty]: Oh, we roast AND serve at Ruin's End. Welcome to the party, sweetheart.
[@CraftBeerComebacks]: @MuffinsMommy really said, "let me embarrass myself publicly" and we said bet.
Full-bodied, belly-clenching laughter bursts out of me, drawing looks from people at nearby tables.
My stomach hurts from laughing at the absolute onslaught happening in real-time.
Hex reclines against the booth’s cushion, unfazed, sipping his coffee, as though he didn’t just end a woman’s entire online existence with a single comment. He glances at me, amused. “Problem handled.”
I wipe at my eyes, still breathless from laughing. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“Oh, Sable. You’re already on my favorite side.”
In a blink, my face is burning with what I can assume is a bright red blush.
This might be the best first date I’ve ever been on.