Page 2 of Uxpectedly Ever After

Kasen waves at my bestie and then waits until Navy's out the door before sliding onto a barstool. "I need whiskey. The really good stuff."

Now my gut is officially twisting into knots. Kasen owns Timber, the brewery two blocks over. The guy's such a craft beer fanatic he practically breaks out in hives if someone even mentions Bud Light in his presence.

"Spill it, dude." I pour a generous two fingers of Macallan neat and slide it across the sticky countertop to him. I frown at it. I need to remember to wipe it down before I take off. "Whatever it is can't be as bad as that time you tried to brew that weird raspberry beer in your bathtub and flooded the entire floor."

He downs half the scotch in one gulp, then makes a face like he just swallowed battery acid. He’ssonot a liquor guy and I laugh at the face he makes until his next words sober me right up. "I need a favor."

“Okay...” I draw out the word, shifting my weight onto one hip, my feet still throbbing.

“A friend of mine needs a place to crash for a couple of months.”

"A couplemonths?" My eyebrows shoot up.

He avoids my gaze, fiddling with the edge of his beanie. "Three, tops."

The knot in my stomach actually loosens a little, and a laugh bubbles up. "That's it? Seriously? I was expecting you to tell me you accidentally stole someone’s baby or something. I can ask around at the bar—"

"No, I mean with you. At your place."

I blink, feeling like I've suddenly missed a crucial plot point. "My shoebox apartment? The one where I can stand in the middle and almost touch both walls?Thatplace?"

"It's bigger than those glorified closets they call studios," he argues, finally meeting my eyes, a hint of desperation there. "And you're never even there anyway, between this place, your classes, and that library you practically live in."

"Who is it?" A truly horrifying thought worms its way into my brain. "Please tell me it's not that dude from your softball team who tried to mansplain to me why White Claw is basically the same as a hazy IPA."

Kasen takes another swig of scotch, looking anywhere but at me. "It's Banks."

The name hits me like a shot of cheap tequila—it burns going down and leaves you regretting everything. For a split second, I think I might actually stop breathing. “Banks Priestly?” My voice cracks, sounding way more panicked than I intend. “The guy with the ego the size of Mount Hood?ThatBanks?”

"The one and only." Kasen attempts this weak, hopeful smile that wilts under my death glare.

"Absolutely the hell not." I grab a bar rag and start scrubbing at the sticky counter. My brother’s best friend has always been like a goddamn splinter under my fingernail. Living with him? That’s a special kind of torture Iwill notbe signing up for. "No freaking way. Never in a million years. Why can't he just crash at your place?"

"My place is still a disaster zone with the renovations, remember? I'm stuck in that tiny Airbnb by the river for the next couple of months. It’s barely big enough for me, let alone another person."

"He's a goddamn firefighter! He makes decent money. He can afford a freaking hotel."

My brother actually scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You have no idea what firefighters actually make, do you?” He finishes off his scotch and slides the empty glass back across the bar, like he expects a refill. Fuck him. "His entire apartment building got flooded thanks to some idiot upstairs and a burst pipe. There's black mold everywhere. His insurance is being a royal pain in the ass, and he’s been sleeping at the firehouse when he’s not pulling double shifts covering for some poor bastard who broke his leg. He needs an actual bed and a shower that doesn’t come with biohazards."

My traitorous brain immediately flashes back to the last time I laid eyes on Banks Priestly. Kasen's stupid birthday party three months ago. Me, four vodka sodas deep and feeling just a little too brave, letting my guard down for approximately two seconds to stare like an idiot while Banks laughed with his unfairly hot firefighter buddies. The way his plain white t-shirt stretched across shoulders that looked like they could carry a goddamn building.

The memory of that exact moment—how his eyes had locked onto mine across the crowded backyard, his annoyingly perfectlips curving into that smug, knowing smirk—still sends this unwelcome heat pooling low in my belly.

Three months later, and I can still hear his voice, all low and husky, when he caught me staring. The way he’d leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath tickle my ear as he whispered, "Take a picture, Freckles. It'll last longer."

The nickname had grated on my last nerve, almost as much as the involuntary goosebumps that had popped up all over my skin when his fingers had "accidentally" brushed mine as he took my drink from me and downed it as I watched.Accidentally my ass.

Heat crawls up my neck, making my face flush. I’d rolled my eyes and spun away, but the damage was done. He knew I'd been looking. And later, when I’d mentioned the business class I was struggling with…

"Still playing bartender until you find a real job?"

The casual dismissal of everything I’ve busted my ass to build at Ember, the assumption that my job is just some temporary pit stop—it had made me want to punch him in the face and then kick him in the balls just for funsies.

"No," I tell Kasen firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Find someone else. Anywhere else." I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at him.

He's pulling out the big guns with the puppy-dog eyes, but I’m immovable. I willnotbe swayed. "He's got nowhere else to go, Clover. The fire station isn't exactly set up for someone to live there. They don’t have enough beds, and the guy’s running on fumes."

"Sounds like a 'him' problem, not a 'me' problem." I turn my back to him and start wiping down the back bar, needing to physically escape those guilt-tripping eyes of his.

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