Jack’s wiping down the counter. It’s near close, but he hasn’t said a thing to his guests from Valmont.
“They’re going to drink all your booze if you’re not careful,” I warn him. “Moderation is one lesson they’ll never learn.”
“It’s worth it,” he says, leaning onto his elbows so no one can hear us. “I’ve been serving the Wests someone else’s whiskey all night. It’s the little things.”
“I think we might finally get a moment alone with that one.” I tip my head toward Oliver, who’s broken off from the group again to talk to one of Kai’s loitering fans. I’ve been watching him all night, looking to see if he’s up to his old tricks. It seems like he no longer relies on pharmaceutical aids to get women. Someone must’ve clued him in that money would be enough. That doesn’t change what he did years ago. He might not have confessed to being the one who drugged Adair that night. He might not have known she was the target.
He’s still on my list.
“I’m on it,” Jack says. “You take care of the others?”
“My pleasure.”
Considering I don’t drink, it’s been a long time since I closed down a bar. And closing down a bar in Nashville is a bit of a feat. They stay open well past most cities, even if the hours don’t follow the law to the letter. But this is a city built on rebels and whiskey, bootleggers and booze. The party doesn’t stop until someone says it does.
Poppy is the first to throw in the towel.
“I need to go home,” she announces, peeling off her shoes to rub the balls of her feet. Kai stands behind her massaging her shoulders.
I wave Jack over to let him know he can finally send his staff home. He takes a seat at our hightop while we wait for cars to arrive.
“Thanks for staying open.” Kai slaps him on the shoulders and I swear Jack Archer looks like a school girl.
“Where’s Cyrus?” I ask Poppy, realizing he never came in.
“Don’t you think a better man has replaced him?” Kai asks with a grin.
“He’s in New York on business,” Poppy says. “Kai is standing in.”
“Thought I’d stay in town for a while. We just wrapped my latest record,” Kai explains. “I needed a break from it all.”
That I get. “I’ve been to LA before. I completely understand.”
“I don’t know why you record out there,” Poppy says. “There are plenty of studios here.”
“Los Angeles is a bit more progressive than here,” he says.
“Jack has a record label,” Adair blurts out.
“You do?” Kai asks him.
Jack shrugs it off, instantly looking uncomfortable. “It’s just a little thing.”
“We should talk,” Kai says.
“Sure.” Jack remains calm. No doubt, he doesn’t expect Kai to remember this when he’s sobered up. He might be surprised. Kai isn’t like the rest of them. He doesn’t come from money. He knows what it’s like to climb the ladder.
“Take me home,” Poppy begs her friends.
“Your Uber is on the way,” Kai tells her, checking his phone.
“You’re not really going home,” Adair whines, pulling on my sleeve. “Everyone is leaving.”
Darcy and Ava left hours ago in search of better options when Adair staked her claim on me, Money in tow. No one noticed when Oliver left and no one seems to care now. That’s good since Jack orchestrated his exit. I’d be having a chat with him soon.
“I don’t want to go home,” Adair declares after Poppy and Kai hug everyone goodbye. It’s a mark of how intoxicated she is that she enthusiastically returns their embraces.
“You can stay here as long as you want, honey,” Jack tells her, “but not much is happening and the kitchen is closed.”
“Oh my God.” Adair’s eyes widen and I immediately sense her drunken brain is hatching a plan. “Hennie’s!”
She knows the path to my heart is paved with Hennie’s hellfire chicken. “You want to eat at this hour?”
“Did you see how much I drank? Maybe you don’t have to take me.” She pauses and turns a flirtatious gaze on Jack. “Maybe Jack wants to.”
“I don’t think so, Lucky.” I haul her over my shoulder before she can protest. She laughs all the way back to my car. I tuck her into the passenger seat, saying a prayer for the leather upholstery that she manages to keep the bourbon in her belly. Adair is all smiles as we drive toward the closest 24-hour Hennie’s Hot Chicken. Her feet are up on my dash and she’s drumming her thumbs on her stomach to the song on the stereo.
“Remember the first time we came here?” she asks with a happy sigh. “Some days are diamonds…”
I nod, gluing my eyes to the road so that my mind doesn’t wander too far back. My brain’s been trying to take a permanent trip down memory lane all night.
“When was the last time you had hot chicken?”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Still can’t hack it?”
“Yesterday,” I tell her
“Bullshit!”
“Why do you think I finally returned to Nashville?” I dare a glance at her and wish I hadn’t. She’s silhouetted against the window, city lights painting her hair with glowing neon. She’s the answer to my own question.
Adair leans over the console between us, her palm dropping between my legs. Her chin rests on my shoulder. “I thought you came back for me.”
“I thought we were going to pretend.” I pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. I lift her hand from my lap, hoping it doesn’t turn her sweet mood sour. “We’re here.”
Owing to the alcohol content in her bloodstream and the neon skillet blinking orange flames on the sign, she’s too distracted to be offended. She’s the one always drawing boundary lines, but it didn’t take much to blur them. I’d known that much bourbon would, but there’s no glory in
