Page 55 of Outlaw Heartstrings
“With a friend like you around, I’m sure you help Alba out from time to time.So she can go on dates…” I emphasize.
She takes a slow sip of her drink, her eyes filling with amusement. “Mmm.”
I frown. This isn’t the Jules I knew from high school. The once chatty girl seems very guarded and standoffish nowthat I’m trying to get the scoop on her bestie. And judging by the way she quickly changes the subject and easily starts animatedly chatting with Rocco, I’m guessing that Jules is definitely not about to give me the info I’m digging for.
Jules is telling my younger brother all about the T-shirt company that she’s trying to get off the ground. “Everything is customizable. The text, the shirt colors, the sizing. Though I do prefer bulk orders to help with the overhead,” she is saying, only stopping every few minutes to scowl at Lincoln.
He’s scowling right back at her. Despite the weird vibes they’re giving each other, I think I’m sensing some sexual tension building there. I’d be laughing at Lincoln’s dumb ass if I wasn’t so focused on trying to learn more about Alba.
“Got any bachelor events coming up that need some matching attire?” Jules asks Rocco.
“Nope,” I butt right into the conversation. “We’re all perpetually single here. I’m guessing you make some sweet shirts for bachelorette gigs, though. Did you ever do one for Alba?”
“Alba?” Her thin eyebrow quirks at me, and it’s obvious that I’m being stupidly obvious here for bringing up her friend again.
“Yeah, I just figured you probably did something fancy for her. Where’s she at tonight, anyway?”
With a frown, she shakes her head at me and then goes back to talking to Rocco, diverting the conversation away from Alba once again. “Anyway, how about some T-shirts for your clients? You said you do personal training. Some promotional T-shirts could be great for bringing in new business!”
Well, okay then.
If I’m trying to glean any insight into Alba’s datinghistory, Jules won’t be the one to give it to me. So I sit here, sulking into my drink and wishing I had the balls to ask Alba about her dating life myself.
The embarrassing truth is, I have a big, ol’ crush on Alba Anderson. At this point, there’s no point in denying it to myself. But I can’t admit it out loud. Ever. That would only confuse Jagger and give Alba the ick.
I just wish there was a dial to turn or a switch to flip to cut these feelings off, or at least to lower the intensity a bit. This freaking sucks.
Jules goes through her whole marketing spiel with Rocco, and they end up exchanging business cards as Lincoln scowls from the sidelines. Rocco promises to reach out if the need for custom T-shirts ever arises.
The sassy business lady says good night to my brothers as she stands from her stool. Just before she slips away, she slides her empty glass across the counter and mumbles under her breath, “If you want to know about my bestie’s love life, maybe you should just”—she pauses dramatically—“ask her.”
Head snapping in her direction, I glare at her. I’m sitting here, obsessing over Alba and suffering, and this woman thinks it’s funny.
She suppresses a chuckle. “Good night, Easton. And thanks for the drink.”
The annoying woman is wearing the biggest smirk as she struts away through the crowd.
20
ALBA
I’m doing the night shift at the hospital’s reception desk. In between the occasional phone calls and patient walk-ins, I finally get to start the new Blakely Hamilton novel I’ve been dying to jump into.
A few pages into the second chapter, I’m startled when the main sliding doors scrape open and a horrendous howl of pain rings out. Alarmed, I drop my book to the floor and leap to my feet.
At the entrance, I spot Christopher clinging helplessly to the shoulder of his much-shorter wife as he hobbles into the building.
“Doctor,” he wails. “I need a doctor.”
His face is beet red, his eyes are bloodshot and he’s sweating the blond dye right out of his hair.
I rush across the floor and grab one of the wheelchairs that’s sitting beside the door. “Oh my god. What happened?” I ask as I roll the assistive device over.
Emmeline looks up at me, exhaustion and a hint of annoyance in her eyes. “Chris and his brother were having aweightlifting competition in the basement. A ten-pound dumbbell fell on his foot.”
Her husband turns to her with hellfire in his glare. “It landed on my pinkie toe, Emmeline. Those bones are fragile.”
“I know, I know, sweetie,” she says appeasingly as she tries to ease him into the chair. “But you’re giving me a hernia, and you’re going to hurt the baby.” Her free hand darts to her stomach and I notice the outline of her burgeoning baby bump.
