Page 18 of Fourth Wheel
Ipullopenthefront door with more force than intended and stumble back before gaining my composure. Blowing out a long breath, I fluff my curls and stand up straighter.
The Oak is surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday night. Some old dude is blasting through the sound system—Bruce Springsteen, maybe? Along with the guy from Fun.? I don’t know why Jake insists on only playing songs that were popular at least two decades ago.
I could claim a table in the back and bide my time. Order a soda. Scope out the scene. I didn’t exactly think through what I was going to do when I arrived here tonight. But one glance at the bar has me halting in my wedges in the middle of the dang room.
I’m frozen in place, held captive by cerulean-blue eyes and a disapproving glare. Fuck. That’s hot. My cheeks heat under his stare. I squeeze my legs together and bite down on my lip. But I don’t dare turn my head or look away: I stare right back into the eyes of Dempsey Haas.
What is it about pissing this man off that makes me want him even more?
I’m a moth. He’s the flame. I’m the moon. He’s the sun. It’s like he’s pulling me to him with the force of his gaze.
I walk on trembling legs to the end of the bar. He meets me on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” he demands in a whisper I barely hear over the music and the chatter of the people around us.
“Hmm?” I ask innocently, hopping up onto a barstool and leaning forward so he has a clear shot of my cleavage in my white tank top.
I’ve gotta hand it to the man. He doesn’t break eye contact as he leans in closer to repeat himself.
“I said, what are you doing here? There’s no reason for you to be here right now.”
Oh yes, there is.
“I come in peace,” I insist, letting a small smile grace my lips. “I just wanted to return your jacket.” I shrug nonchalantly, then do an internal happy dance when he narrows his eyes and his brows wrinkle together.
Maddie 1, Dempsey 0.
He crosses his arms over his chest and turns away from me, surveying the rest of the bar. God, he has the best arms. His forearms are lean and lickable, but his biceps deserve their own area code. They’re just so wide and beefy. I don’t think my fingers could touch if I tried to circle one of them with both hands. I bet he could hold himself in a plank position for hours with those puppies—
“So where is it?” he demands without looking at me.
Wait, what?
When I don’t answer, he turns back to me and smirks.
“Where’s my jacket, Maddie?”
Maddie? Shit. Is it hot in here? Dempsey Haas knows my name. Dempsey Haas justsaidmy name, and he made it sound so damn fine.
“Maddie. Seriously.”
I shake myself out of my stupor to find him turned back to me now, his arms spread long on his side of the raw-edge bar. I clear my throat and sit up a bit straighter.
“It’s in my car. I didn’t bring it in because I didn’t know if you were working,” I explain.
“You could have texted me,” he counters.
Oh. I could have? Good to know.
“After the way things ended last Friday…” I intentionally trail off and peek up at him through my lashes. “I didn’t even think to try. I figured you had probably blocked my number.”
His eyebrows pull together again, forming that squishy little wrinkle above his nose. I wiggle my toes in my wedges as I fight the urge to stand up and smooth it out. Gah. Why am I such a sucker for that grumpy forehead wrinkle?
“I didn’t see your number in my contacts. And I don’t even know how to block someone,” he huffs.
Of course he doesn’t. He’s adorable.
“Hmm. You must not have looked under Clock Tower Girl, then.”
