Page 1 of If You Never Come Back
Prologue
Valentine’s Day, this year
The second I set my eyes on Garret, I knew he would be good for one thing and one thing only: eye candy.
I was wrong. Sort of.
He is actually excellent eye candy. Six-foot-three, sandy blond hair, icy blue eyes, strong jawline. All of that on top of his build, which resembles that of an Olympic swimmer, and he’s hands-down the best-looking guy in this bar.
But what’s throwing me for a loop is his choice of conversation topic: eating pets.
“Kind of crazy, don’t you think?” He gestures, martini in hand. “Weird that we think it’s acceptable to eat cows and chickens, but not cats and dogs.”
The frown on his face doesn’t convey irony like I hope. Just pure, unfettered confusion. As if the single greatest mystery that exists on planet Earth is why we aren’t all chowing down on our pets.
I drain my glass with a long sip, the vodka burning my tongue. I wince, longing for the taste of tequila instead.
I will the urge away. No tequila, not ever again.
Stacy the bartender offers a single sympathetic nod as she refills my glass, this time with top-shelf vodka. I open my mouth to request the cheaper vodka, but she answers with a pointed stare.No need to explain,she wordlessly says.You have to listen to this guy talk about eating kittens and puppies on a date. The least I can do is offer a few splashes of decent alcohol.
And this is how I spend Cupid’s special day, sitting across from a hunky weirdo in the bar where I work part-time, trying not to choke on my drink.
Thank heavens that my cousin Remy isn’t here. He owns this bar, the Dandy Lime, and if he overheard this guy, he would immediately call him out. Ask him at maximum volume why Garret’s chatting about such a creepy topic. It would be entertaining and embarrassing. I love Remy to death, but it would cause a scene.
“Um, what now?”
I don’t even bother to hide the disgust in my response. I cross my arms and lean back on my barstool, widening the space between us. Garret carries on, unbothered by my reaction. Evidently, he can’t tell by my body language and dead silence over the last few minutes that I’m just not into this conversation.
He flashes a toothy grin, that same one that made my stomach flip when we locked eyes while perusing the stacks at the bookstore yesterday. That grin must be a decoy he uses to rope unsuspecting women into dates before he drops the bomb that he advocates for eating pets.
He rests his hand over my hand that’s sitting on the bar top. His clammy palm feels like a giant slug on my skin.
“So. You ready to get out of here?”
Over the rim of my glass, I squint. When I slam it down on the counter, his broad shoulders shrug up to his ears.
“Excuse me?”
Garret clears his throat just as the faintest shade of pink makes its way up his pale neck and cheeks. “I just figured…well, it’s Valentine’s Day. And um…I thought you’d be up for something more.”
I yank my hand out from under his, then take another deep breath. This time when I exhale, it’s slow, measured. There are a million invisible fire ants crawling under my skin, compelling me to toss the rest of my drink in Garret’s face for assuming I’d be willing to sleep with him just because it’s February fourteenth. Screw that.
“You know something, Garret? You’re pathetic. I don’t know why you would think I’d be desperate enough to go home with you, especially after I’ve had to sit here and listen to your bizarre monologue about eating cats and dogs.”
I fish a handful of dollar bills from my purse and slam them on the bar. “That’s for my drink and tip. Don’t leave without paying for your own.”
When I stand, I leer at him. This time he’s the one leaning away. He’s got nowhere to go, though, as the wooden edge of the bar top is digging into his back, blocking his escape.
“For the love of Christ, never, ever speak of pets as food again. It makes you sound like a serial killer.”
I yank my purse from the back of my stool before shrugging on my coat. With the fire currently coursing through my veins, I don’t even need to wear a jacket. And the single-digit chill outside will do well to cool me off. But taking the time to button my coat gives me a few extra seconds to tear Garret a new asshole.
“Lose my number,” I snap. “And if you know what’s good for you, don’t come back here again. The owner isn’t a fan of arrogant pricks like you.”
Garret offers nothing in the way of protest. Just silence and a nod.I’m out the door before I can take another breath.
I stand outside on the snow-covered pavement and breathe deep. This winter in Bend, the biggest city in central Oregon, has been a bitch with sub-zero temperatures and record snowfall. Normally, a heat demon like me would groan at having to stand outside in the icy cold. But it’s the perfect opportunity to quell the rage and frustration ravaging my insides. Hopefully these slow, even breaths I’m forcing out will work. Hopefully, that frigid arctic air will take the edge off the fire coursing through me.
