Page 81 of Capri

It makes it difficult to dodge him when my feelings aren’t reciprocated.

Noah hugs me and pulls a barstool out for me to sit. “Ran into Collie this morning. It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out.” He looks around the crowded bar, and I use his distraction as my opportunity to flip Collie off.

“This place is stacked tonight,” Noah says.

The Funky Rooster is nevernotstacked.

Friday nights are for karaoke, giving my family an excuse to come here at least once a month. Since we know the owner, we get complimentary shots and a discount on all the food. It works in our favor since Collie and I both love karaoke and have a core group of songs we rotate through.

I used to come here with Drew when we were married, and he always insisted on choosing the songs. I swear, his goal was to make me look like an idiot, picking songs I never knew. He knew them, of course.

He tainted the joy I felt in this bar for so long. I’m ready to take back my place here—with a songIwant to sing.

Settling in my seat, I order a beer and some award-winning nachos.

The Funky Rooster has a unique aesthetic. It reminds me of what the inside of a motorcycle clubhouse would look like. The walls are painted matte black, with one covered in a hand-painted mural of downtown Timber Heights. The wall behind the bar is covered in metal signs displaying club names and alcohol brand logos. A small stage is stationed on the wall opposite, with a mic in the center and soft lights illuminating the bottom perimeter.

It’s simple and most likely designed by a group of men with no sense of style, but it’s a staple for Timber Heights locals.

A heavy contrast to the beach town we live in.

I search for my sister, finding her chatting with a group of girls she went to college with.

“You singing tonight?” Noah asks from beside me.

I nod and take a sip of my beer. “You know it.”

“So what’s it gonna be? Shania or Spice Girls?”

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.”

Noah takes my challenge and leans casually against the bar. He rambles on about something regarding cars, but I don’t grasp much. Not when Jones Archer is walking, no, striding through the front door, looking like sex on a stick.

I think I just got pregnant.

He takes in the bar around him, scoping out the crowd. His face is stern and all sharp features until they land on me. Gone is the man with defenses because the smile that illuminates his face looks like pure joy—thrill even.

The fine lines around his eyes from age only enhance his appeal. He’s so damn handsome it should be a crime. I’m not the only one who seems to think so because he has the attention of every woman in this bar.

They aren’t on his radar, though.I am.

And I’ve never wanted to fail at my own request so badly.

He says nothing as he approaches me at the bar, but his eyes…they speak volumes.

Rubbing the scruff on his face, his vibrant greens drink me in. Unashamedly and leisurely. Taking his time not to miss a single detail.

“Eyes are up here, Captain.”

He smirks but doesn’t stop his study. “I’ll get there.” When he finally reaches my stare, I feel such care and adoration from him. He doesn’t even have to touch me, and I feel him everywhere. The way his eyes drink me in without a care who sees it.

The attraction is mutual.

I love everything I’m still learning about Jones, and that’s what terrifies me.

“Hi,” he says, smiling broadly.

“Hey, yourself,” I say. “We keep running into each other.”

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