Chapter 26 Smooth Wood
SMOOTH WOOD
Ember
“There is a certain someone over there giving you eyeballs right now,” Ivy said as we grabbed our drinks.
Damien chuckled. “She isn’t wrong.”
I rolled my eyes at the bartender. Damien was a good guy—tall, dark skinned, pretty eyes, and a smile that spelled out trouble for any girl he looked at too long. From what I’d heard from Aspen and Ivy though, there was only one girl he looked at too long, and she wasn’t here just yet.
“Oh fuck,” Damien grumbled. “Uh, how about another shot? On the house ladies,” he added quickly.
Ivy looked over before I did, her mouth dropped open, and that was when I saw it.
It felt like a scene from a horror movie, and not a good one, where you jumped and spilled popcorn on your date, and you both laughed about it as your eyes met over the spilled mess—no.
The horror movies that left you sick to your stomach, shaking all over, and sometimes, like now, angry to your very core.
The little blond skank had plastered herself onto his lap, her cackle filling the bar as if she belonged there.
It was high school all over again. The photos in my email, my locker, and on the internet all flooded my mind.
Her plastering the photos with little smiley faces on my nipples at seventeen as if that made any of it okay. She’d laughed and said it was a joke.
But then I found out she’d been fucking my boyfriend, and that was what made the photos leak.
I’d sent them to the idiot, thinking I could “fix” our relationship as he pulled away.
Told myself I was spicing things up. I was a fucking idiot teenager, sure.
But she was a back-stabbing best friend who used everything I’d confided in her about, against me.
I’d been crazy then too. Taking out all my rage on her, but I was better now. More together. Responsible. Reasonable even.
Turning back around, I looked over the bar, my eyes scanning for anything that would help my brain be calm and centered.
Vodka. Tequila. Bourbon. Gin. Scotch.
The works were there, but none of them were what caught my attention. Oh no.
I was behind the bar before Damien could say anything or ask a single question.
My hand wrapped around the smooth wood, and I swear the devil on my shoulder purred.
Walking out the front door, my heels feeling somewhat unsteady in the gravel parking lot, but I didn’t care.
I thought about kicking the shoes off, but I didn’t want to waste time or give anyone an opportunity to stop me.
I didn’t care about anything right now except my one and only intention.
I knew exactly what I was looking for—the matte blue bike sat there next to the twin one in black. I knew the black was Rowan’s, which meant the blue? That belonged to his twin brother.
It was comical really, because I’d seen this very bike drive past my bakery again and again. Did he know then too? Or was it by chance?
Had he been fucking her this entire time?
My arms were in the air, hands wrapped around the grip, and I swung as hard as I could.
Was I the problem?
Smash.
What the fuck did Mia have that I didn’t?
Crack.
Why was I even thinking that way? It shouldn’t have been a competition—right?
Slam.
We weren’t even exclusive, right?
Crunch.
It didn’t matter, none of it. I wasn’t stopping now.
Again. Again. And again.
Chest heaving, sweat dripping down my chest into my dress, my throat on fire because apparently I was screaming while I swung with all my might.
I heard gravel crunching and movement around me, but I kept swinging.
Nothing could stop me now.