Page 26 of Best of Me

As I back out of my text screen, the time catches my eye. It’s already almost seven, and I’m dressed in jammies with my hair up and a mask on my face. Lord Jesus, I’ve got to get dressed—and fast.

I peel off my mask, moisturize, and apply some makeup, focusing on a subtle smoky eye and a bold fuchsia lip—battle armor, if you will. After releasing my bun, I give my hair a quick tousle, shimmy into a pair of distressed jean shorts and a black Johnny Cash shirt. A pair of Doc Martens later, I’m out the door.

The Gilded Goat is actually located in the next town over, but with my handy-dandy GPS, it’s easy to find. The parking lot is packed to the brim, with some cars even parked on the curb. I guess that’s not necessarily a bad thing though; the more people we’re around, the less likely we are to end up mauling each other again.

I’m out of the car and approaching the entrance before I can give myself time to rethink it. Swinging open the metallic gold door, I scan the ridiculously crowded space for Duke. Shockingly, I find him in a matter of seconds, as if my eyes somehow already knew where to look. Just as strange is that he was already looking my way, and the intensity of his gaze, full of dark promises, steals my breath, heats my core, and almost crumbles my resolve.

Straightening to my full height—a whopping five-foot-seven—I flip my hair and stalk his way. I radiate a confidence I don’t truly feel through my stance, face, and body. As long as I keep up the façade, I should be fine. There’s no need for him to know that with one glance I’m imagining the scrape of his five o’clock shadow or the way his kisses drown everything but the way he makes me feel. Nope, no reason at all. Because regardless of what Ashley and the others say, there’s no way in hell this man wants me the way I want him.

chapter fifteen

Duke

I never truly understood the saying ‘stuck between a rock and a hard place’until now. Countless times over the last week, I’ve warred with myself over whether or not I should reach out to Mallory to try to settle our differences. I’m torn between burying the hatchet and clinging to my resentment—God knows, resentment is easier to stomach than the other feelings she stirs in me. But when I think about the way her eyes get all soft whenever she looks at me, combined with the way my entire body feels electric when she’s near, makes it hard to ignore.

I don’t know why I asked her to meet me here.

Okay, that’s a lie. I do. The only problem is, I’m lying about the reason. How can I expect us to have an honest conversation when I can’t even be straight with myself?

Mallory knows my every button to push and damn if she doesn’t seem to actually enjoy pushing them. With one look, she can have me hard as steel or pissed as hell and ready to go toe-to-toe with her. And don’t even get me started on her smart mouth. She’s under my skin, and I don’t want her there.

At least this time I was smart enough to ask her to meet somewhere public. Then again, I also asked her out to a bar, so maybe I’m still an idiot. Only time will tell.

I made sure to get here early, mostly because if I was already here, I’d be less likely to back out. I’ve been chilling at the bar, nursing the same drink, for about forty-five minutes when the entire atmosphere of the room suddenly changes—for me at least.

My gaze swings to the door, and sure enough, there she is, looking like every dark desire I’ve ever had as she scans the space for me. Her golden-hued gaze finds me with alarming speed and accuracy, and for a minute, we simply drink each other in. Fifteen seconds of looking at her in those tight little shorts hits me harder than any drink ever could. She may not know it, but Mallory Parsons is the walking definition of sex appeal. Hell, the fact that she’s clueless to the way she affects most men only serves to make her hotter.

Valorie, on the other hand, knew she was a looker, and many-a-times used it to her advantage. Be it charming a male teacher when she forgot to do her homework, a free latte at Starbucks, or getting a discount on her oil change, the girl knew how to wield her looks like a weapon. Until this very moment, I never realized just how much Val using her looks like that bothered me.Huh.

Unsure of what to do with that revelation, I tuck it away to dissect when I’m alone.

I track Mallory as she walks toward me, the crowd parting as she moves through it. She looks like a warrior princess, her hair all wild and her lips painted pink. For a flash, I imagine that bright shade ringed around my dick, but just as quickly, I shake it away. Now’s not the time for thoughts like that—hell, is any time the right time for sexual thoughts of your dead girl’s sister?

She hoists herself up onto the stool next to me, and the bartender rushes over to take her order. She goes for a rum and Coke. I tip my bottle toward him, letting him know I’d like another beer. We sit in silence, absorbing the noises of the bar while we wait for our drinks. When the bartender returns, Mallory tries to pay him, but I swat her hand away and tell him to put it on my tab.

“I asked you here. I’m paying.”

“That makes it feel date-ish.” Her eyes widen and her cheeks pinken, making me wonder if she wishes this were a date.

“It’s just me being a gentleman.”

Mallory giggles. “Never pegged you as gentle.” My pulse thrums. As wrong as it is, I’d love to show her just how rough I am. Seeming to realize what she said, she rushes to add, “Not like that! I just mean…like you’re so big and strong and broody, and you have this whole tatted-up bad boy vibe going for you and—oh my God, I’m just making it worse. Please ignore everything I just said.”

I bring my drink to my lips, taking a slow sip to let her sweat it out a little. “Nah. There’s no way I can forget that, Cricket.” I wink at her and she scowls. I’m sure she means to look threatening, but really, she looks cute as hell. I guess glaring, golden-eyed dark-blondes just do it for me. The thought makes me cringe, because not that long ago, the only girl to really rev my engine was a certain brown-eyed, pale-haired one.Fuck.

Somehow, the more time I spend around Mallory—even if we’re not directly interacting—the more I find myself inexplicably drawn to her. She just has this goodness about her, this light that shines like a beacon, calling to my darkness. Ever since Val’s death, I’ve been like a sailor stranded in a tumultuous sea, and Mallory…she’s the lighthouse guiding me home.

After a beat, she says, “So, you wanted to talk? Let’s talk.”

I pick at the label on my beer bottle. “Where do we even start?”

“How about with what exactly your issue is with me.” Her words are blunt and to the point, catching me completely off guard. It seems as though the gloves have come off for this round.

I scrape a hand over my scruff. “You want me to be honest? I’m talking no sugar-coating, no bullshit or half-truths honest?”

Mallory nods. “Always.”

“You left. The second you had your diploma, you hauled ass out of Orchard Grove and never looked back. You couldn’t even be bothered to show up for her goddamn funeral. What kind of person does that?”

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