Page 53 of The Second Dance

I give her a lopsided grin that’s only skin deep. “Define ‘okay’.”

“Things might look pretty grim right now, but she’ll come around.”

My gaze snaps up to her face. She knows?

Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know?

Tia pats my hand and walks away.

I turn, glancing over my shoulder. The bar is fairly empty for a Thursday night, but I’m sure word of Bo Thomas drinking alone will spread like wildfire.

I can understand the appeal of living in a big city. The stupid bet between douche bags might never have touched either of us.

It’s the shared history that ties us all together, deep roots that bind and sometimes strangle.

The door opens and Whitney Miller walks in, scanning the bar.

I look away.

Please don’t come here.

Please don’t come here.

“Hey, Bo.” Whitney’s voice drips with false concern. “How are you holding up?”

I study my beer, hoping she’ll go away.

She slides onto the stool beside me instead.

Her hand brushes my shoulder. “Have you heard from her?”

I sit up, pulling away from her. She wears a corduroy skirt and a black turtleneck. It’s a cheap parody of an exact outfit Andy wore. It’s like this girl can’t decide if she wants to destroy Andy or be her.

Tia comes by, taking her order. Diet and rum.

“I can’t believe she’d leave like that.” Whitney shakes her head. “Packed up and everything. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“Could you blame her?” I ask.

Our gazes connect. Defiance and guilt must reflect in both of our eyes.

I get the feeling she really does care about Andy, but she keeps hurting her anyway.

I guess we’re a lot alike in that way.

“When you told her about the bet, did you tell her how you were the one who inspired it?”

She recoils. “I didn’t tell Tyson and Ben to do that.”

“You told us plenty, Whitney. And you know it.”

She shrugs, jaw tightening. “I didn’t tell you anything that wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t any of our business. It wasn’t any of your business, either.”

She glares at me. “So, this is all my fault?”

I shrug. “If the shoe fits.” I glance back. “Why don’t you cut that poor girl loose?”

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