Page 2 of Fourth Wheel
Pathetic.
At least I have Paige to keep me company during my impromptu stay in Hampton. She’s been my best friend since middle school, and she still lives at home with her parents. When I told her my housing plans fell through for summer and that I’d have to hang out in Hampton until my new apartment was ready, she was thrilled.
I don’t share the sentiment.
Hampton, Ohio has nothing on Berkeley, California.
I giggle when Jake’s eyes practically bug out of his head before he turns and stalks off toward the guy who called him over. I take another swig from the stupid flask and make a mental note to see if Amazon has something less garish I can order for future BYOB needs.
I watch, amused, as Jake fumes about me to his employees. I know the second he starts issuing orders because that damn finger starts working again, pointing in my direction as he looks between two of the guys wearing those deliciously tight black V-neck shirts. Both men glance over at me, then look back at their boss, nodding like bobble heads at him.
Poof. There goes my fun for the night.
I glance at my phone again to find three missed calls and a text from Paige. I read her message and roll my eyes. They’re heading to the hookah bar in Holt, which is as lame as it sounds. There’s no way I’m making the drive out there to sit around and pretend to enjoy passing a pipe with Paige, Kyle, Travis, and whoever else they invited to come out with us. I’ll either die of boredom or catch mono. I don’t know which fate would be worse.
I survey the crowd, not because I want to find a familiar face, but because I’d like nothing more than to find an anonymous hookup for the night.
I’m staying at my parents’ house for the summer, but they both travel for my dad’s job, so they’re rarely home. They have some sort of river cruise planned for this summer, too, so I don’t expect to see them except on Zoom and FaceTime. My brother and his wife live in Virginia now, and most everyone else I know from high school didn’t come back to Hampton this summer because of internships or whatever.
I was lucky enough to score a one-bedroom apartment just minutes from campus, but my unit won’t be ready until August first. I thought I had a temporary place to stay this summer, but the girl from my logic class decided shacking up with her boyfriend sounded more fun than subletting the second room in her apartment, so here I am. I’ve got a solid eleven weeks to bum around this sleepy Ohio town before I can head back to Cali and move all my stuff out of storage and into my new place.
The prospects are slim tonight—everyone here is in a group or already paired up. Maybe I should just head out to Holt. At least there’s more than one bar out that way.
I take another swig from my flask as I consider my options. The vibe at The Oak is admittedly not bad—it feels like a local watering hole but with more of an upscale, hipster vibe. I honestly would probably like the place if Jake Fun-Sucker Whitely-Vargo or whatever his name is nowadays wasn’t the owner.
Maddie: ETA 30 minutes. I’m calling a car now.
I close out my messages app and scroll through Instagram for a few minutes, delaying the ride share that will take me out to Holt. Heading to the college town doesn’t appeal to me, but it looks like my only option.
I give one last glance around the room, resigned to the fact that I’m going to have to work a lot harder than I planned tonight. But before I can open the Lyft app, someone new walks up behind the bar.
I can’t make him out at first because his entire upper body is being blocked by the crate of liquor bottles he’s holding against his chest. But when he sets the crate down and turns, my heart flutters and my stomach fills with butterflies.
I try to school my expression as I stare down the bar at a man I haven’t seen in the flesh for more than a year.
Fielding Haas.
Well over six feet tall. Broad shoulders. Arm veins for fucking days. Straight white teeth behind a blinding smile that’s so intense it almost looks predatory.
His hair’s shorter than before, and he’s got a gorgeous tan, even though summer’s just begun. Somehow, he’s even hotter than I remember.
And fuck, do I remember.
I may not have seen the guy around lately, but Fielding was a mainstay at just about every party and holiday get together my freshman year of college. He was good friends with my sister-in-law, and practically besties with Jake.
God, it’s been too long. Just seeing him across the bar brings back a surge of memories. I miss his flirty banter and cocky attitude. I loved how he’d blatantly hit on me to get on my brother’s nerves. He’s hot, and he knows it. Just watching him has my body humming with excitement.
I’m not ashamed to admit that Fielding Haas has starred in more than one fantasy I’ve conjured up while spending quality time with my battery-operated boyfriend. Who could blame me? His eyes are like crystal-clear lagoons, and he’s at least six two!
I squeeze my thighs together on the barstool and try to calm my kitten, but it’s no use. If he has this sort of effect on me from across the room, I’m cream on a cracker once he makes his way toward me. Which he’s doing. Right now.
But as I watch his confident gait, an inkling of disloyalty tugs at my core.
The last time anyone even mentioned Fielding’s name was more than a year ago. My older brother, Rhett, insisted I block him from my phone, going as far as to make me swear I would tell him if Fielding ever tried to contact me. Something had gone down—and as per usual, no one would give me any details—but Fielding is officially on the no-fly list. He hasn’t been at any of our holiday gatherings over the last year. It’s like he ceased to exist.
If I’m not even allowed to accept a text from the guy, there’s no way Jake would hire him to work at his bar, right? Unless…
“It looks like you need a drink,” he murmurs in this deep, smooth voice that has me leaning forward in hopes of hearing him speak again. He stands opposite of where I sit and eyes me with a mix of intrigue and curiosity.
