12. Clay
Chapter 12
Clay
Fiona fusses with her hair, pulling it out of her bun and running her fingers through the silky strands. Her feminine scent floods my senses and I almost miss the exit. I swerve, and she looks askance at me before she continues with her ministrations in the visor mirror. My hands twitch to reach out and touch, but I remind myself for the nine millionth time that she’s the enemy. I called a truce, but only so she’d open up to me. Dylan wasn’t happy with my plan, but ulterior motives aside, I could tell she needed a break.
She digs around in her purse and pulls out a tube of lipstick, painting on a deep red, and I worry I may have made a mistake in bringing her to The Lone Boot. She’s wearing a tight skirt with a flowy blue blouse tucked into the high waist. It’s sexier than what she usually wears and an enormous distraction. But the smile on her face and the brightness in her eyes makes my worry disappear. She’s happy, and I made that happen. At the moment, I don’t care how good it makes me feel. Maybe I need to cut loose, too.
She keeps pace next to me as we head towards the entrance. “Am I too dressed up for a country bar?”
“No more than I am.” Without thinking, I take her hand and keep walking. She’s stiff at first, but she melts and wraps her fingers around mine.
“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m nervous.”
I chuckle and glance at her. “Why?”
“The last time I went out wasn’t great.”
“That’s because you weren’t with me.” She chews on her inner lip and averts her gaze. In a crowded area it’s hard for me to pinpoint whose patterns belong to whom, but I could find hers with my eyes closed. The delicate flower shapes dance around our joined hands and she radiates calm. It’s a stark difference from the chaos in the elevator earlier.
I squeeze her hand and skip past the line. Fiona tries to pull me towards the end of the queue, but I don’t stop until we reach the bouncer. He stares at me, and I realize it’s been a very long time since I’ve been here.
“I’m a friend of Jackson’s,” I say.
“Name?”
He pulls out a tablet with the Reilly Tech logo on the back, and I give him my name. He frowns. “You’re not on the list. Back of the line.”
I’m about to protest when I catch sight of a familiar face. “Hey, Brando,” I call.
Brando pauses, then a huge smile splits his face. “Fox?”
He pulls me in for a hug, clapping my back. “What’s it been? Two years?”
Brando and Jackson have no idea about my direct involvement with their best friend, Luke. They only know me as Luke’s onetime bodyguard. The last they heard of me, I was on vacation when Luke and Liv went into hiding. As far as they’re concerned, I’ve been working for Maddox back in New York ever since. While they’re aware that bad people are after Luke, we’ve kept them oblivious to the details, so Infinitum has no interest in the two former marines.
“Just about. Think you can help me out here?”
Brando nods at the bouncer, and he opens the rope for us. We enter the building and find an open area at the bar.
“Who’s your gorgeous friend?” Brando says, eyeing Fiona with appreciation. Her cheeks redden at his attention and my grip tightens on her hand.
“This is my…” I trail off, uncertain what to call her. Frenemy? No, that opens us up to too many questions.
“We’re colleagues. I’m Fiona,” she says, letting go of my hand to shake his.
“Colleagues who hold hands?” he asks, and she glances at me, her lips pressed together. Our tenuous truce no doubt holds back whatever sassy remark she wants to make. I shouldn’t be so disappointed about that.
“We’re really good colleagues,” I say, earning me a frown from Fiona and a laugh from Brando.
“Well, who do we have here?” a familiar voice says. I turn to face Jackson, who hasn’t changed at all. He wraps me up in a big bear hug like I’m his long-lost relative and I can’t help but return the embrace. The dude gives great hugs. Sue me .
“And who is this lovely creature?” he asks, taking Fiona’s hand and kissing the back of it. She struggles to hold back her grin and I swear I see my brain when I roll my eyes.
“I’m Fiona. I’m not with Clay.”
His grin widens as he reads my face and I offer her a flat look, which she ignores.
“I see.” He motions to a bartender and soon drinks are in our hands.
A live band performs on the small stage flanking the dance floor. “You switched to live music?”
“It’s open mic night. One of Kristy’s greatest hits,” he says, motioning to the pretty blonde wrapped up in the arms of her husband, Forrest, as they watch the band from the crowd.
“What brings you to town?” he asks.
“I’m on assignment with Emilia,” I say.
The golden retriever energy melts away in an instant, and his stare turns hard. “Is she in danger?”
That’s a loaded answer, but I don’t want to alarm him. “It’s just a precaution.”
He relaxes a fraction and sips at his drink, lost in thought.
“You know Emilia?” Fiona asks and I bite back a curse.
His easy grin returns, and he nods. “We go way back. I’m besties with her cousin.”
Her eyes widen. “You know Luke Reilly, too? Were you in the Marines together?”
“Nailed it.”
“Thanks for your service.”
He nods. “Thanks for yours.”
She furrows her brows, but he holds out his hand. “For dancing with me, I mean.”
She laughs and takes his hand, ignoring my existence. “I won’t be able to move much in this skirt,” she says as they walk away together.
“I’ve got you, little lady,” he says in his Texas drawl and little hearts float from her eyes. Well, not technically, but her patterns shift into something I’ve only witnessed a few precious times. The flowers quiver and twirl in a lazy figure eight. Lust .
“This was a terrible idea,” I say, gulping the rest of my beer.
Brando laughs. “He’s getting her away so you can tell me what’s going on.” He glances at them and shrugs. “And she’s hot.”
Don’t I know it?
I heave a sigh and settle on the bar stool. “Luke asked us to keep an eye on Emilia while we investigate an embezzlement speculation at Reilly Tech.”
His eyes widen. “Damn. Dylan up there too?”
I nod.
“Do you know where Luke and the others are hiding?”
I answer by not answering.
“Yeah, I guess you couldn’t tell me if you did. Fuck, man. I can’t believe this is still going on.”
I huff a humorless laugh. Understatement of the century. “If things go in our favor, this will be the end.”
“Vera and Garrett? Are they…” he trails off, and the struggle is written all over his face. Poor dude.
“They’re doing great. They got engaged.”
He tries to smile, and though there’s relief in his features, I can see the pain he hides. I’m also an expert at it.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “She’s happy.”
He takes the shot that’s been waiting for him and forces a smile. “What more can an idiot ask for, right?”
I heave a sigh and watch as Jackson flirts with Fiona. “Right.”
“So who is she, really?” Brando asks, following my line of sight.
“A royal pain in my ass.”
He chuckles. “So you’re more than just really good colleagues?”
I shrug.
“You want to be?”
I scrunch my nose.
“Then you just want to fuck her.”
I glare at him and he smirks, shaking his head. “You’re worse than Luke.”
“I forgot. The two fuck boys know everything about women and relationships.”
He shrugs. “We know our friends and their tendency to lie to themselves when they can’t admit their feelings.”
I open my mouth but close it. He’s right. Only it’s more complicated than that. Admitting my feelings could doom all of humanity. I drag a hand down my face and he chuckles. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“She might be the one who’s been helping to embezzle.”
“Might be?”
“I’m trying to get proof. That’s why I brought her here.”
He sucks in air through his teeth. “That will not end well.”
Jackson and Fiona join us and I’m surprised when she grabs onto my arm. “Do a song.”
I glance at the stage where the band still plays. “What?”
“It’s open mic night and you can sing and play guitar,” she says like it’s plain as day.
“Just because you can ride a bike doesn’t mean you should take it down a mountain.”
“Jackson said you’re talented. I want to hear it.”
I glare at Jackson, who only grins at me. He and I are both quiet about our musical talents. We play for ourselves. When I saw his collection of instruments the last time we were together, though, I insisted on a jam session with him. He knows his stuff, and if I heard him play nowadays, I bet the patterns would be gorgeous.
“I don’t play in public.” I say, dismissing her ludicrous idea.
Her gaze narrows. “So you’re too scared?”
“I never said that.”
“But you implied it.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Chicken.”
“Stop, Flowers. I mean it.”
“It won’t kill you.”
“I said no.”
She tucks her hands in her armpits and makes chicken clucking noises, causing Jackson and Brando to erupt in laughter. Traitors .
The last time I performed live, my mom and dad were there. I vowed I’d never take the stage again until I avenged their deaths. I scrutinize her face, noting the reduced puffiness around her eyes. She's sporting a huge smile I’ve never seen before, and it’s making my heart do a weird squeeze thing. Fuck . I’m not doing this for nothing, though.
“Two conditions.”
She perks up.
“You tell me what happened with Edgar. And I’m only doing one song.”
She deflates, looking to the side as she chews her inner lip. She studies me for a moment, then extends her hand. “Deal.”
We shake and Jackson takes me by the shoulder, guiding me to the stage where the band is finishing up. “You’re an asshole,” I grumble, but he only laughs.
“She’s gonna throw her panties at you. You’re welcome. What guitar do you want?”
“Acoustic.” He nods and heads over to the side of the stage.
I shrug out of my jacket and roll up my sleeves, as I tackle my nerves and shove away the painful memories. They bring me a stool and before I know it, I’ve got a guitar strapped around my neck and a microphone in front of my face .
This was not part of the plan.
I strum a few chords and swallow hard. Fiona appears in front of me, vibrating with excitement, and the perfect song jumps into my head.
Jackson speaks into the MC’s ear and then I’m introduced. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a last-minute entry. Please welcome Clayton Fox.” Scattered applause fills the room, joined by loud whistles and cheers from Brando and Jackson.
I clear my throat and lock eyes with Fiona, who looks extra smug. She thinks she’s won because I’m nervous. We’ll see about that.
“This is Wicked Game,” I say and strum the first chord, letting my fingers play from muscle memory. It was one of my dad’s favorites and the first song I ever performed live.
The sound waves dance around the room. When the vibrations from my voice hit her, the smug expression melts. Her face relaxes, her lips parting slightly. The energy snaps between us, and it’s like there’s nobody else in the room.
I perform for her, the song appropriate for our relationship, if that’s what you want to call it. I pour it all into the strum of my fingers, the notes of my voice. The pattern changes and she gasps. Then something strange happens. Her energy wraps around me like a cozy blanket, and my anxiety disappears. I should be worried that she can affect me, but for the first time since I can remember, I’m content. Just her and me and the music. We stay in that moment together for what seems like an eternity.
The last note fades, and the room erupts into cheers and whistles, snapping us from the trance. Her energy recoils back into her and she drops her gaze. The anxiety that I wear like a favorite old jacket returns, but I chuckle when I find Jackson clapping like a proud dad.
I return the guitar to the band member, and he shakes my hand. The DJ starts the music again and the dancefloor fills with couples.
I meet Fiona at the bar, and she forces a smile. “Not bad.”
My grin drops as she takes Jackson’s hand. “Dance with me, cowboy.”