Chapter Six
Nick
Her laughter tilts her head back, her eyes sparkling under the neon beer sign as she takes another swig of beer.
It’s nice to know she doesn’t go for the fruity stuff.
Maybe it was the chicken sweater, but I figured her for a mixed drink kind of girl.
The kind of girl who can’t have a real conversation because she’s holding something with tiny umbrellas and little twists of sugared fruit in it
She’s not what I expected, and that’s messing with my head.
The small-town bar here is crawling with all kinds of folks.
A few tourists, probably here to take in the mountain at Christmas time, a few truckers driving through, a few lonely people that look like they’re two too many drinks in, and a shit ton of locals.
You can tell who they are by the way they dress.
Flannels, worn Carhartt jackets, boots that have seen a few solid years of work.
They nod at each other like it’s muscle memory, like they all know who’s sleeping with who and who’s still pissed about it.
I’m not sure if this was the right place to get to know Evie or not. She’s been stopped a few dozen times by folks with updates on their life and questions about who she’s with. Trouble is, she doesn’t even know who she’s with.
Her brother’s file is saved on my phone. His mugshot, charges, and a list of places he’s been and people he’s hurt. I’ve chased guys like him, but none of them had sisters like Evie.
I take a sip of my drink, eyes scanning the bar out of habit. Two exits. One drunk guy near the jukebox. A couple of locals playing pool. The girl of my dreams on her third beer of the night.
“So, what do you really doing here, Santa? You’re not delivering presents, you haven’t mentioned family in town, so what’s your deal?
I’ve got to know so we don’t sound like idiots at the wedding tomorrow.
My mom can pick up on a lie like a dog sniffing bacon,” she says, her elbows pushed into the table, chin resting in her hand, eyes sharp and curious.
She’s buzzed, but not sloppy, and she’s looking at me like she wants the truth.
That’s a problem… because the truth would blow this whole thing wide open. The truth would make me the villain, and for the first time I don’t want to play that role.
I lean back in the chair and let my arm stretch across the back of it, close enough to brush her shoulder. “What makes you think I’ve got a deal?”
She shrugs, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “You’ve got that look like you’ve seen some things. Like you’re always waiting for the next punch.”
I huff out a low and dry laugh. “Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.” She takes another sip of her beer, then sets it down slowly. “You don’t talk like you’re from here, and you sure as hell don’t move like a guy who sells insurance. So, what’s your deal?”
I don’t answer. I just hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch between us as I contemplate what the hell to say.
I should lie. I should give her something easy, something forgettable.
The truth is, I’m only in town for a few days, anyway.
After I get Cole in custody, I head back to Wyoming, back to the life I’ve built, back to where the world makes sense.
“I’m here for work.” I swallow down the lump in my throat as I talk. “It’s temporary. Just passing through.”
She tilts her head. “I figured that part out already. Now you’re telling me where you’re from and what you do there.”
A band steps on stage at the back of the bar and strums out a few chords to test the speakers. I feel it in my boots before it hits my ears. I take a slow sip of beer before settling the bottle down again and say, “Small town in Wyoming. Cold as hell.”
The band kicks into a slow, holiday song I don’t immediately recognize and a few people from the opposite side of the bar get up to dance. “I work in recovery,” I say, voice low. “People who don’t want to be found. I find them.”
Her brows lift. “Like a bounty hunter?”
I nod once, my chest tight. “Exactly like that.”
She whistles, low and impressed. “Well, that explains the broody thing and the arms.”
I laugh… because it’s accurate.
She leans closer, her voice is barely audible over the music as she says, “So what happens when someone doesn’t want to be found? Do you chase them down, pin them up against the wall, and play Chuck Norris?”
“I’m surprised you know who that is. You’re so young.”
She takes another sip of beer and narrows her eyes playfully. “I’m not that young. Besides, my grandma was big on Chuck. She watched the reruns of Walker, Texas Ranger nonstop. Chuck Norris, the news, and then Wheel of Fortune. It was a ritual.”
“Did you get the orange candy slices too?”
“No.” She takes another sip of beer. “My gram was a strawberry candy lady. You know the ones with the creamy center?”
I nod my head back. “Hey, I still love those.”
She grins and leans in, whispering low, “Is that a secret too or just the jam making?”
I try not to smile, though for the first time in a long while, I actually want to. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I am,” she announces playfully and takes another swig of beer. “So, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re not married. Kids, though?”
“None.” I shrug as the band in the backdrop keeps playing. “It wasn’t in the cards.”
“Why not?”
I meet her gaze, and it’s like the rest of the bar fades away. “Never thought I wanted to be held down.”
“That’s good.” She grins and takes another sip of beer. “Really good. My mom and my sister are going to eat that up.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Right. That’s even better. A big, hot loner, never attached to anyone seriously, who kicks ass for a living,” she leans in and whispers, “and you make jam! All of that means you’re probably connected to your emotions somehow, and I don’t know, but I’m thinking you have all the makings to be a real-life book boyfriend. ”
“Book boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” She nods like I’m stupid for not knowing the reference. “The male main character in a book that the reader pretends is real and falls in love with.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence.”
“I don’t think so. Real men are annoying as hell. They don’t listen, they disappear when it matters, and they always think they’re right. You know what my book boyfriend does?”
“Nothing… because he’s not real?”
“Ha Ha. Ha.” She bites back a smile. “No. My book boyfriend says all the right things, and he’s always listening to me.”
“Oh yeah? Something tells me he’s a man of few words.” I take a sip of beer watching her try not to laugh.
“You’re a jerk.” She cups her hands around her mouth as though she’s trying to amplify her voice as she calls out, “A jerk who makes jam.”
I throw up my hands, playfulness in my tone as I say, “Great. There goes my reputation. I’m not sure I can forgive you for that.”
“I bet my book boyfriend would forgive me.” She bites back a grin and tips the last of her beer back before setting it onto the counter with a clink.
“Yeah, but would he buy you dinner?”
She laughs, but it’s softer now. “Ya know, he’s never bought me dinner. Not once.” She tilts her head to the side and scans me over as though she’s sizing me up. “I’m not sure that proves anything, though. I still think you’re all in my head.”
I raise a brow. “The cupboards full of strawberry jam beg to differ.”
“Think about it. You show up out of nowhere, all big, brooding, mysterious. confident, intense, emotionally unavailable, and yet you make jam. Honestly, you’re suspiciously well written.”
“So, you manifested me?”
She shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.”
Biting back a laugh, I help her to her feet, thinking it’s time we soak up some of this alcohol with dinner. Upon standing, she stumbles just slightly, landing closer than she meant to. Her body presses into mine for a beat too long, and neither of us moves away.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, wide, warm, and just a little glassy from the beer. “You feel real.”
I lean in, my voice low as I say, “I am.”
She doesn’t say anything, just lets me guide her toward the back booth, past the crowd and the band and the noise.
We slide into the booth, our knees brushing, her hand still in mine. She doesn’t pull away.
“You know,” she says, settling in, “if you’re imaginary, I’m gonna be really pissed when the delusion is over.”
I smirk. “Then maybe I should prove I’m not a delusion.”
Her breath catches, and her gaze drops to my mouth. “How would you do that?”
I lean in, slow and deliberate, as though I don’t have a fucking care in the world. “I could kiss you.”
She doesn’t blink. She just stares at me.
“Then do it,” she whispers.
So, I do. I lean into her soft lips, tasting the faint beer and the cinnamon ChapStick she wears. It’s been so damn long since I’ve been with a woman, but touching Evie is natural. My hand moves up her frame and into her silky hair with ease as though it belongs there.
She lets out the tiniest moan and my chest tightens. I’m not sure what it is at first. I figure it’s the thrill of the moment or maybe nerves. It’s been a while since I’ve touched a woman like this.
Then, all at once, I realize it’s guilt.
She’s younger than me, bright-eyed, open-hearted.
She’s laughing, she’s happy, and she trusts me.
And while I’ve been honest to a point, I haven’t been forthcoming about a very important detail.
I haven’t told her that I’ve got her brother’s file on my phone.
I haven’t told her that I’m the one who’s going to blow her family apart.
I pull back, just enough to breathe, just enough to look at her and potentially change my mind.
Her brows knit. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, my jaw tight. “You’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re sweet, and I like you, a lot, but you’re young, Evie, and I’m not exactly the guy you think I am.”
She studies me, eyes steady. “I’m not asking for forever, Nick. We’re just having fun. Plus, we’ve got a fake wedding tomorrow, remember? Chemistry will help sell it.”
Maybe I’ve had too many beers. Maybe I’m a sick old man. Maybe I’m desperate to latch onto a reason to keep going. It’s tough to say, but my hand doesn’t wait for a response. It slides beneath the table, and my fingers brush her inner thigh, slow and deliberate.
She sighs softly, the warmth of her breath landing against my neck.
Fuck. I should stop. I really need to fucking stop.
I squeeze her leg once more, then attempt to lift it away, but she holds me there.
“You said you’d prove you’re real, remember?” Her tone is soft and sweet, and the look in her eye is that of an innocence I can’t reconcile with the fire we’re fueling.
And right then, I know, I’m in trouble.