Page 1 of The Moment You Know

Prologue

Groundhog Day

Thirteen years ago

“We’re going in,” Jules announced, grabbing Paige’s arm and dragging her toward Brews Brothers. It was a popular bar just off campus that they’d frequented many times since turning twenty-one almost a year ago.

“It’s Tuesday night,” Paige pointed out.

“So? Brews Brothers sells alcohol every night of the week, or haven’t you heard? And we need some.”

“We?”

“Well,Ineed some. Which means by proxy, so do you.”

“You’re such an alcoholic. And I have a paper to finish. Which means by proxy, so do you.”

“Good one,” Jules said with a grin, then killed it a second later and replaced it with a look so full of steel it would’ve beaten Vlad Putin in a stare-off. “Your paper’s not due until next week. So, take that excuse and stuff it up yourbutt.We’re going in.”

“Fine,” Paige relented. “But don’t think you’re getting me trashed, because you’re not. I’ve barely recovered from the last time … which was just a few days ago.”

Jules pulled Paige into the bar, which was decorated in a mix of sports and pop culture memorabilia from the previous fifty years. Football and basketball jerseys from numerous college and professional teams were hung on the walls, mixed in with framed movie posters and pictures of Marilyn Monroe, Martin Luther King, and Mickey Mouse. From the ceiling, random sports equipment hung suspended by heavy-gauge wire—hockey skates, lacrosse sticks, baseball bats, several pairs of skis, snowboards, and even a giant, yellow surf board.

High-top tables of varying sizes with mismatched chairs were scattered throughout the bar. Each one was dedicated to a different musical group or artist, with a selection of their vinyl albums and album covers arranged and preserved under a thick layer of epoxy. The line-up was an eclectic mix of Michael Jackson, Johnny Cash, Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, AC/DC, Elvis, Fleetwood Mac, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Prince, and even Britney Spears.

On the weekends, the bar was usually at full capacity, but tonight the bar was sparsely populated because … Tuesday night.

“Jesus. It’s pretty dead in here,” Jules observed with disappointment.

Paige rolled her eyes before giving Jules a hearty slap on the shoulder. “You have fun without me, all right? I’m just going to go and—”

“Wrong. The only place you’re going to go is over to one of those tables with me,” Jules told her in a tone that said the debate was over. Then without looking back, she headed into the main part of the bar, leaving Paige to follow.

They had barely sat down at the table featuring the Beatles, when a waitress appeared to take their order. She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a plain white shirt with ‘BREWS BROTHERS’ silk-screened across her chest in black letters. Overflowing beer mugs had been substituted for each ‘E’ which, clearly by design, appeared to perfectly align with each waitress’s nipples.

While Jules ordered them both gin and tonics, Paige absently glanced around. Only a handful of tables were occupied and she let her eyes drift around the room until a boisterous round of male laughter off to her left drew her attention.

Looking over, Paige saw four guys at one of the larger round tables, three of whom were raising shot glasses in an apparent toast. They all qualified as eye candy, but it was the guy not holding up his shot glass that had her doing what felt like a cartoonish double take. He had wavy, dark ash-brown hair worn slightly long on top and swept back, a defined jawline with a hint of stubble, and a straight, aquiline nose.

As Paige studied him, his wide mouth stretched into a grin at something the guy next to him said. He nodded and said something back, then raised his shot glass as the other three guys looked at him with exaggerated expectation. It seemed clear that they were waiting for him to speak and after a prolonged, thoughtful moment, he said something Paige couldn’t hear. Her curiosity was instantly fueled when two of the guys practically howled with laughter in response to whatever he’d said and the third guy adopted a comically lovelorn expression before saying, “Pussy!”

It was said loud enough to be heard over the two guys laughing and a few people at other tables turned to look. Instead of being embarrassed, the guy who’d just been called a pussy shrugged off the insult and responded by simply putting his shot glass to his mouth and throwing it back like a pro. The other three guys followed suit, then they all simultaneously planted the empty shot glasses upside down on the table.

Paige watched as the guy twirled his shot glass a few times with long fingers before she let her eyes trail up the length of his arm. He was wearing a fitted, short-sleeved shirt, making it possible for her to thoroughly admire his nicely defined biceps. Her eyes then leisurely moved up over a broad shoulder overlaid with a pleasingly rounded deltoid and up to his face again—only to freeze when she saw that he was staringrightback at her.

Utterly shocked at being caught blatantly checking him out, she panicked. Instead of handling the situation in an even remotely cool manner (Jules would’ve probably winked at the guy), Paige abruptly looked away from him, only to find herself even more abruptly locking gazes with Jules.

“What’s wrong?” Jules asked.

“Nothing,” Paige quickly denied, feeling her face heat up. “I thought you, um … did you say something?”

Jules frowned. “No. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’re going to shit yourself.”

“Thanks. I’m not going to shit myself.”

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