Page 5 of Boulder's Weight

"So," I start, turning toward her. "You gonna work at Tart until the end of days?"

"Who knows, I might. Feels like I’ve worked there a century." She finally glances my way. "What's your real name, Boulder? Unless your mama actually named you after a rock."

I chuckle. "Barron. But nobody calls me that anymore."

"Barron," she repeats, as if trying it out. "Suits you better than Boulder."

"You think?" I lean in a little closer. "Does Kelsey suit you?"

Something passes across her face, too quick for me to read. "It's the name on my paycheck."

There's a story there, but I sense now's not the time to push.

Instead, I raise my glass. "Well, Kelsey from Tart, to good friends and a good time."

She clinks her glass against mine, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Likewise, Barron, who's called Boulder."

Three drinks in, and Kelsey's a different person.

The wall she wore like armor at the café has slipped, revealing a sharp wit and a laugh that makes heads turn.

She still hasn't told me about the bruise, but I'm starting to think that's a conversation for another time.

"So you're really prospecting in Mexico?" she asks, leaning against the bar. "What's that like?"

"Hot as hell," I reply, watching the way she twirls a strand of hair that's fallen from her bun. "Dusty. Different from here in ways I can't even explain. But I'm learning Spanish. Getting by."

"And how many broken hearts have you left down there?"

There's a playful edge to her question, she probably doesn’t even realize I’m picking up on it.

I flash her my best smile, the one that usually gets women to lean in closer. "None. I'm very clear about what I'm offering."

"Which is?"

"A good time. No strings, no promises, no bullshit."

She laughs, a rich, throaty sound that stirs something in me. "At least you're honest about it. Most men lie through their teeth to get what they want."

"No point in lying," I say, finishing my drink. "Life's complicated enough without adding that shit to the mix."

Kelsey studies me for a long moment, her whiskey-brown eyes seeming to look right through me. "You know what? I believe you."

"Should I be offended that you sound surprised?"

She smiles, a real one this time that transforms her face completely. Even with the bruise, she's beautiful when she smiles like that. "Take it as a compliment. I don't believe most people."

"So why me?" I ask, genuinely curious.

She leans in, close enough that I can smell her perfume—something light with a hint of vanilla. "Maybe I'm just drunk enough to let my guard down. Or maybe there's something about you that makes it hard to keep the walls up."

The air between us changes, charged with something I can’t put my finger on.

I'm no stranger to this dance, have performed it countless times, but somehow with Kelsey, it feels different.

Like it’s more significant or some shit.

"You want another drink?" I ask, my voice lower than I intended.

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