by Emma Hart
MTgirl: Are you asking me out?
Josh_395: Depends. Are you free tomorrow night at around 7.30?
MTgirl: Depends. White Peak or Dartree?
Josh_395: Dartree works. Do you like Fleming’s Steakhouse?
MTgirl: A man after my heart. I’m free. I’ll meet you there at 7.30.
Josh_395: I’ll call for a table and let you know if there’s a different time.
MTgirl: ;) can’t wait.
And just like that, I had a date for tomorrow night.
***
Jessica Harper was wonderful.
She was tall, standing only two inches shorter than me without heels. She had long, blonde hair that curled over her shoulders and halfway down her back, and eyes so blue you’d think she was wearing contact lenses.
She was also absolutely beautiful, great company, and had a great sense of humor.
So why wasn’t I planning on asking her out again?
Because I’d fucked up.
That was all I had.
I knew realistically that I didn’t really want to go out with anyone. All I had to do now was get through the last twenty minutes of this date, drive home, and collapse into my bed.
This was what happened when I engaged my mouth—or my fingers—before my brain.
“Do you ski?”
I blinked and refocused on Jess. “I’m more of a snowboarder. You?”
“I love skiing. My dad owns the lodge on Harvest Mountain.” She beamed. “We could go soon.”
Great. Her dad was rich as hell. “Isn’t it a bit early in the season for it?”
“Hmm, you’re right. Sorry. I got ahead of myself.” Her smile stayed firmly in place. “Do you want to get dessert?”
I glanced at my watch. “You know, it’s getting late, and I have to drive back to White Peak. Do you mind if we call it a night?”
“No, not at all. I understand.”
I motioned for the check and, as soon as it was brought over, fought off her insistence to pay her share. I finally won the battle, noted the tip, signed the receipt, and slipped my card into the wallet.
It took only a minute for our server to return with my card. After that, I helped Jessica into her jacket and guided her to the parking lot where I walked her to her car.
A slick BMW. Of course.
I’d love to see her drive that up a mountain track.
“I had a great time.” She beamed up at me, showing her pearly-white teeth. “Thank you.”
I forced a smile and hoped she didn’t see how fake it was. Not that I’d had a bad night—I hadn’t. With any luck, she’d write it off as me simply being tired.
“Me too,” I replied. “Thanks for a great evening.”
She tucked some of her long hair behind her ear. “Talk soon?”
I smiled and nodded. After I’d seen her safely into her car, I waited until she’d reached the edge of the parking lot before I got into my truck and followed her out to the main road. We took different turns at the next intersection, and I left tonight’s date behind me.
Figuratively and literally.
The knowledge that I wasn’t in a place to date right now was a punch to the gut. Tonight with Jessica was supposed to jolt me into action, to remind me that there were a million great women out there, but all it had done was reminded me that while I’m sure there were great women out there…
None of them were Kinsley.
And that really, really fucking sucked.
With my grand plan up shit creek without a paddle, I had no option other than to ride this out and hope she found a guy to go out with soon. If she was off the market, maybe it’d help me get back in it.
The rest of the drive home was painless, except for a random traffic jam just outside White Peak. Most of the cars had been heading up toward the other side of town where it was easy access to all the trails, and there were a bunch of cabins out there where the tourists loved to stay.
Bad for traffic, great for local businesses.
It was a catch twenty-two.
I pulled into my driveway and got out. I hadn’t checked my mail today, so I did a quick about turn to get to the mailbox and grabbed the mail in there.
It was all junk.
I let myself into the house and tossed it in the trash, then headed down to the basement. The man cave was everything you’d expect with a pool table in the middle, a makeshift bar and stools in the corner, and a dart board on the wall at the far end. A huge TV covered another wall, and I grabbed the remote to power it on as I passed.
I went behind the bar and grabbed a glass. It wasn’t Bronco’s, but I had enough liquor here to kill a grown man.
Or at least knock him out for a few hours—and that was something I needed.
I poured a double gin and tonic and sat on one of the bar stools. I’d recently replaced the huge barrels that had served as stools when I’d moved in, and while the comfy stools didn’t have the same cool effect, they were just that.
Comfortable.
Besides, I hadn’t gotten rid of them. They were now side tables for the sofa I planned to buy.
One day.
I sipped the gin and tonic and flicked through channels on the TV. There was nothing I wanted to watch at all, so I turned it off and pulled out my phone instead.
I was twenty-nine, sitting on my own in my basement, drinking gin and tonic, and trying to decide if I wanted to play Candy Crush or not.
How fucking exciting.
I was saved from the decision by a text from Kinsley popping up at the top of my screen.
KINSLEY: How was your date?
How the hell did she know?
ME: How did you know?
KINSLEY: Colt came in to get a book on ducks and told me.
ME: Ducks? What the fuck does he need ducks for?
KINSLEY: Grandpa.
Ah, right. The new additions.
KINSLEY: Well? How did it go?
ME: She was nice.
KINSLEY: Ouch.
ME: What?
KINSLEY: Nice? That’s a polite way of saying it was a bad date.
ME: Nah. It wasn’t a bad date. She was great and I had a good time, but I don’t see another date.
KINSLEY: Why not? If she’s nice, what’s the harm?
ME: Just didn’t feel a spark. Can we let it go?
KINSLEY: I was only asking. Pull your pants out your ass.
ME: Sorry. I’m tired.
KINSLEY: Then go to bed and stop being a grumpy little shit.
I chuckled under my breath. It wasn’t a half bad idea, but it was too early still. If I went to bed now, I’d be up at four a.m. and that wouldn’t achieve anything.
ME: Too early. Want me to find you another date?
KINSLEY: Meh. I’ve been chatting to that other guy and I don’t really like him.
ME: What’s wrong with him?
KINSLEY: He tried schooling me on Harry Potter.
ME: Whoops.
KINSLEY: I might have gone full bookworm on him.
ME: So do you not like him, or did you scare him off?
KINSLEY: Look, Cupid, if someone can’t take me going full bookworm, they don’t deserve me anyway.
I was inclined to agree with her.
That said, my job was rapidly becoming a trek up Mount Everest. Maybe it was time for me to resign.
ME: I can’t keep getting you dates just for you to scare them off.
KINSLEY: He said the movies were better than the books, Joshua. I can’t let that go. That’s blasphemy. If I were Queen, he’d be hung for treason for saying that.
ME: Well thank God you aren’t Queen.
KINSLEY: I don’t know. I think I’d be a good Queen.
ME: So you can make Harry Potter required reading?
KINSLEY: Do I detect a hint of disapproval there, peasant?
ME: No, Your Majesty.
KINSLEY: That’s better.
ME: So in other words, I have to do a full vetting of a future date�
�s HP preferences.
KINSLEY: No, but just tell them not to argue with me.
ME: If men in general accepted that arguing with a woman was a terrible idea, we’d all be much happier.
KINSLEY: Keep saying that stuff, and I might just date you.
I spat my drink all over my bar.
ME: What???
KINSLEY: Don’t sound so scared. I was joking.
Yeah. And didn’t that fucking suck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – KINSLEY
rule eleven: it doesn’t matter if the book is always better. everyone is entitled to their opinion. even if you think they’re wrong.
“Tell me again why you didn’t tell Josh you’re going out with this new guy he found?” Saylor blinked at me from across the table full of books.
I sighed. I knew she’d judge me for this, and the truth was, maybe I’d wanted her to. I really didn’t know how to broach the subject of my last physical conversation with Josh and the subsequent text messages where things had gotten awkward, but this gave me an opening.
“Our last conversation was… weird.” I sliced open a box with a letter opener and set the tool down. “After my date the other night with Jamie, he came over, and it was… weird.”
“Yeah, weird, I get it.” She rolled her eyes as she started a stack of James Patterson’s new release. “But why?”
“That white dress? He seemed to have a thing about it, and I thought it was because I looked bad, but then he finally admitted that he was glad I didn’t wear it because it made me look beautiful.”
“That… goes against the point of his matchmaking,” she said, reaching up and tying her blonde hair into a loose knot. “What the hell?”
“Exactly. And then, before he left, he said he was sorry my date went badly. I asked him if he really meant it, and he said no.”
“So he was happy your date was shit?”
“Basically. I pushed it the next day when we were texting, and he didn’t reply. I confronted him again and he admitted that when I sent him a picture of me in the dress it, um.” I blushed. “Turned him on.”
Saylor’s eyebrows shot up so quickly, NASA was going to call her. “He what? He got a boner over a picture of you in a dress?”
My cheeks burned even hotter. “That’s what he said. Why would he lie about that?”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“Well, I wouldn’t leave it alone.”
“Naturally. I expect nothing less from you.” She flattened her hands on the table and leaned forward. “None of this makes any sense. I just—” She stopped.
I blinked at her, freezing myself. “What?”
“You don’t think…”
“Think what?”
She met my eyes. “You don’t think he has feelings for you, do you?”
I balked. “No. No way. That’s impossible.”
“I know, but it doesn’t make sense otherwise. I mean, sure. It could be that he’s protective over you because you’re his best friend’s sister, but the whole erection thing blows that out of the water.”
No kidding.
I dropped into the nearest chair. Why hadn’t that thought ever crossed my mind? It was the most logical answer, but it didn’t make sense.
It was Josh.
Josh.
There was no way he could have feelings for me, was there?
“Okay, but why would he offer to find me dates if he had feelings for me?” I asked after a few moments of silence. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ll give you that.” She waved a mass-market paperback in my direction before she set it on its stack. “None of this does, but there’s something going on.” She peered over at me. “Do you have feelings for him?”
“What? No!”
“Are you sure?”
I paused. Yes, I was sure I didn’t have any concrete feelings for Josh. Absolutely so. But that didn’t change the fact I’d felt… things. Like those butterflies in my stomach when he got too close or smiled at me just right.
But those weren’t feelings.
Were they?
“Well, that answers that.”
“No!” I protested, grabbing a stack of books from one of our most popular self-published authors and following Saylor to the new release table. “I don’t have feelings for him.”
“But there’s something.”
“Fine. Maybe there’s some highly inappropriate butterflies at inopportune times that don’t make any sense.”
“That’s how all good romance novels start, my friend.”
“I’m going to shove a romance novel up your ass,” I muttered, arranging the books I was carrying on the new release table.
Saylor laughed as she set a book stand on top of the stack of Patterson novels and put one on it so it was standing up. “I’m just saying, Kins. Either way, we need to figure out what’s going on.”
“We? We?”
“Yes, we. I bet there’s a way me and Holley can figure out how he feels about you without it being obvious.”
“You? Not obvious? Try again.”
“No, I’m being serious. Where are you going with this guy tonight?”
I straightened the books. “Bronco’s.”
“Really?”
“The fancy place didn’t work so well, so I thought I’d try a little more casual,” I admitted. I was already regretting that particular decision, because I knew exactly what she was going to say next.
“Okay, so what if me, Holley, Josh, and Colton come to Bronco’s tonight? I’ll watch Josh and see how he reacts to you dating literally right in front of him.”
“There’s a problem with that.”
“What?”
“The entire sentence, Saylor.” I turned back to the big tables to grab another stack of new releases to adjust. “Absolutely no way. My brother being there? That’s a recipe for disaster.”
She nodded slowly. “Maybe so, but it’s not like me and Holley can take Josh for a drink. Then he’ll know something is up. If I tell Colt I want to spy on you and tell Josh it’s an ideal time to spy on you, nobody will suspect anything.”
“Why? Because you’re a nosy bitch?”
“Exactly that.” She grinned, putting the new release sign on the table. “And I’m not even sorry.”
Even I had to laugh at that. I did love the fact that Saylor was unapologetically who she was.
“Fine,” I said after a few minutes. “You do that, but none of you are to come near us, do you hear? And you sit on the other side of the bar and arrive after we get there.”
She rolled her eyes, but ultimately agreed.
By the time I turned my back on her, I was already regretting this like hell.
***
Mondays at Bronco’s were, thankfully, not insanely busy.
Usually.
Tonight was an exception.
There was some big hiking convention or something going on in White Peak this week, so it was busier than usual. Whatever it was, it was a new thing that didn’t happen on a yearly basis.
Thankfully, Elliott had booked our table in advance, and since Holley and Ivy’s parents owned the bar, Holley and everyone else had no problems getting a table either.
Awesome.
I wasn’t going to lie, I’d had a moment of hope when I’d seen how packed this place was.
Elliott and I placed our food orders and handed the menus over to Rachel. She took them and flounced away just as the jukebox rolled over to Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.
That was Saylor’s song.
If she was using the jukebox to get near us, I was going to string her up from the town square clock by her ankles while she was naked.
“So you own the bookstore in town?” Elliott asked, genuinely looking interested. “What kind of books do you sell?”
I gave him a brief recap of how we came to own the store. “We sell just about everything. Fiction, non-fiction, kids books, local guide books. And, apparently, books on raising d
ucks.”
He fought a smile. “Do I want to know?”
“No. Probably not,” I said honestly. “It’s a long and slightly alarming story.”
He laughed, and I had to admit, it was a nice laugh.
You know. If you measured laughs.
Was there a laughter scale? If not, why not? Surely there had to be parameters for what made a good laugh, a good laugh.
“You work for the Montana Bears?” I asked after a moment of awkward silence. “As a physical therapist?”
“That’s right. I actually used to play baseball, but I was in a car crash when I was fourteen and suffered some pretty bad injuries that put an end to my dreams of going pro.”
“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I grew close to my own therapist, and through him, grew to love and respect what he did and decided to follow a similar path. I’m lucky I get to work with my boyhood team.” His smile said he meant it. “There’s a lot of travel involved, but I don’t mind it.”
“Do you travel a lot?”
“A fair amount, but not as much as some of the others on the team. I’m mostly based here and deal with players who’ve had an injury and are rehabbing at home.”
“Cool. Anyone I might know?”
“Depends. Do you follow baseball?”
“Not at all.” I laughed.
He bit back a laugh of his own. “Our pitcher just injured his shoulder, so I’m working out a recovery plan for him right now. Sebastian is getting surgery next week, and he’ll probably be out for all of next season unless he has a miraculous recovery.”
I paused. “Did you say Sebastian?”
“Yeah. Sebastian Stone. I bet you’ve heard of him.”
