Page 30 of Awaiting the Storm
That surprises me.
“I figured you’d want me to stay in my lane.”
“I probably would,” she says, handing the bartender her credit card, “if I thought you were just sniffing around for sport. Besides, she could use a man to take her mind off the ranch for a night.”
I hold her gaze. “You think that should be me?”
She smirks. “It could be. Or it could be some other lucky bastard in here tonight. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
I chuckle. “I guess we will.”
She accepts a tray from the bartender and tells him to start a tab for her. As she turns to walk back to the table, her eyes meet mine. “Well, come on then and sit with us. Better than lurking,” she says.
I nod, about to reply, when the front door swings open, and a cold gust cuts through the heat. My smile fades as Carl walks in like he owns the damn place—button-down rolled at the sleeves, jeans clean, boots polished to a shine. His gaze scans the bar, pausing when he sees Matty, and a slow grin crawls across his face. Something tight coils in my chest.
He clocks Charli and heads toward us.
Her body stiffens, and she clutches the tray with both hands.
“You coming, Caison?” she asks loud enough for Carl to hear as he nears.
“Yeah,” I say, catching on. “Absolutely.”
Carl stops a foot from us, and his eyes bounce between us as I stand with my beer.
“Charli,” he says with a practiced smile.
“Carl.” Her voice is as cold as ice. “Bar’s that way.”
She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Just spins on her heel and headsback toward their table. I give him a tight smile, feeling his stare on the back of my neck like a weight as I follow.
Matty’s face shifts when she looks up and sees me coming. It’s not quite welcoming, not annoyance exactly. It’s more like curiosity mixed with caution.
“Look who I found sitting all alone at the bar,” Charli says as Shelby stands and scoots her chair over to make room.
I take the empty stool between her and Matty and nod politely. “Good evening.”
“Evening,” she replies.
Charli sets the tray down and starts distributing drinks. She places one of the bourbons in front of me and one in front of Matty, keeps one for herself, and hands the beers to Cabe and Shelby.
“Cheers,” Shelby says, raising hers.
“To surviving another damn week,” Cabe mutters.
We all clink and drink, and I feel the slow burn of the bourbon sliding down my throat and warming my chest behind my ribs.
Matty hasn’t said much. She sips her bourbon slowly and keeps her eyes on the stage, her shoulders squared, like she’s bracing for something.
I lean a little closer, keeping my voice low. “Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this, Miss Storm.”
She cuts her eyes to me. “You spying on me, Mr. Galloway?”
“No spying, but it’s hard not to notice you walking in when the whole damn bar turns to look.”
She scoffs, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind it. “Whatever,” she mutters like she doesn’t believe me.
“You come here often?” I ask.
