Am I craving some sort of camaraderie on top of everything else racing through my brain? Maybe. Being a loner is a box I folded myself into. I can blame my father or Grant or any number of people who played a role, but the choice has always been mine. Alone. Much like this sudden shift in my demeanor. Apparently, all I had been missing was the perfect motivational cocktail to kick my ass into public. Fingers fucking crossed this outing doesn’t fail as epically as the last one.
Without further delay, I wrench open the heavy wooden door. The aroma of stale beer and burned pizza welcomes me as I cross over the threshold. There are only a few people littered around the dimly lit space. A lungful of hot air I didn’t realize was trapped rushes out of me. Erik Rhodes waves at me from behind the bar. I haven’t seen him since spring, but that’s because he hasn’t been by my shop. His bike requires little maintenance, and there’s no other reason for him to visit Iron Throttle.
“Well, well, well. Crawford fucking Doxe. I’d be likely to believe this is a hallucination if I wasn’t stone-cold sober.”
“You fantasize about me often, Rhodes? Maybe I was wrong about this place.”
He rubs his nose with a middle finger. “Fuck you for calling me out. Take a load off and let me add to my spank bank.”
An empty stool near the wall is calling my name. Everyone else seems to be congregating on the other end. Perfect. I settle onto the ripped leather cushion and the seat groans under my weight. “Thanks for the five-star greeting.”
He pastes on a fake-ass grin that I’m sure grants him extra tips. “We aim to impress around here. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
I take a glance at the array of outdated decor, peeling paint, and stained tile. A renovation is decades overdue, but probably won’t happen for another ten years. “Why do you think I chose Howlers above all else?”
“Because the options are slim. Doesn’t hurt that this place is a dive and no one will bother you.”
I point at him. “Exactly.”
“It’s my loyal bartender duty to know these things. Speaking of, pick your poison.” Erik gestures to the rows of liquor behind him.
“Whiskey. Make it a double.”
He grabs a bottle of Windsor and fills a short tumbler to the rim. “Ice?”
I wave him off. “Nah, this is great.”
Erik leans against the counter while I take a hearty gulp. “You look like shit, bro.”
Smoky heat flares along my tongue. The booze burns a trail of fire down my throat. “Fuck you very much.”
He strokes his chin. “Lady trouble?”
“Why does everyone keep assuming that?” I swallow another mouthful of whiskey. A telltale blaze is already coating my stomach.
“Because it’s fairly obvious.” He motions to my face.
I swirl the remaining liquor in my glass, using the waves to change directions. “Decker and Delaney stopped by a few weeks ago. They gave me some shit to think about.”
Erik snorts. “Yeah, they’re good at that. I hear them waxing poetic to customers at every turn. Not to mention inducing nausea with their sickly-sweet performances.”
“Something like that.”
He shrugs. “They mean well, at least. Whether or not those efforts make others puke is another story.”
“Love, right?”
“Apparently,” he drawls.
“Good for them.” I blink the spots of green from my vision.
A smirk curls his lips. “Jealous?”
An image of Keegan materializes in the forefront of my fogging thoughts. Go fucking figure. The picture of emerald depths and golden curls twists my gut into an unrecognizable mass of knots. I glance down, focusing on a large gouge in the wood. “Nope. That’s not for me.”
His snort screams of bullshit. “Ah, that’s what they all say.”
“But I mean it.” Why does my voice sound scratchy?
“For now,” he retorts.
“I’m beginning to remember why this isn’t my scene,” I mutter.
Erik chuckles. “Don’t be so sensitive. We grew up together. That means I get to give you shit.”
“Wasn’t aware that’s part of your job description.”
“Show up more often and you’ll get used to it.”
Those words prod at me, a tingle spreading through my limbs. I narrow my eyes at him. “Why didn’t we ever become friends?”
“Damn, dude.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “Is that a serious question?”
“I wouldn’t bother asking if it wasn’t.”
Erik averts his eyes. “Well, you’re not the easiest guy to get along with. I know shit really went south when your parents split and Grant left. You also never seemed interested in hanging out.”
I drain the rest of my drink. “I’m an insufferable asshole. You can tell me the truth.”
His laugh is a sharp bark. “I wouldn’t go to that extreme, but you definitely stick to yourself. What’s up with putting me on the spot?”
“Just curious. I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.” Heat spreads through my veins, a kiss from the inebriating liquid.
He spins his finger in a circle. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Are you getting hitched? Did you knock someone up? Do you need bail money?”
“Fuck all of that. I’ve just been thinking about the future. Contemplating my goals. Being insightful and shit. The whiskey is helping.”
“Shit, that’s deep. Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”
“Because I’m not, or didn’t used to be.” I tap the bar next to my empty glass. “Another.”
“Think this occasion calls for the bottle.”
“You’ll never hear me disagree.”
He grabs the Windsor and gets pouring. “You should talk to Grady.” Erik nods toward a table in the front corner. “He went through some mind-melting shit when Sutton came home from college. That’s your best bet.”
Grady Bowen is sitting with his wife, only inches separating them. She’s preparing to straddle him and he thrusts at the air with a laugh. They’re wearing matching smiles, the kind screaming of secrets and dirty promises. Erik is right. That’s not the guy I grew up with. But I already knew that. “He looks plenty happy.”
“With her, yeah. That’s
