I have no idea what he’s rambling about.
“Another whiskey” comes from Graham, and I ignore him and mix a lemon drop.
“You okay down there? Need help?” Mason asks me.
“I’m good,” I say, watching as Graham locks eyes with him, then comes right back to me. He arches one of his straight black eyebrows as if to say, Hello? My drink?
Uh-huh. He used the eyebrow at the motel. It says more than he does. It’s a smart-ass, know-it-all eyebrow.
Huffing, I make the whiskey, then slam it down in front of him.
The redhead gives me a rude look, then sparkles up at him with a winsome smile as I linger to eavesdrop. She tells him she’s headed out to a club and invites him to go with her and her friends.
Go, Graham. Have fun. Forget about me.
I audibly groan when he tells her he can’t, that he has business to handle at the bar. Without a prompting from him, she writes her number on a napkin and gives it to him. With one last adoring look and a kiss to his cheek, she sashays away and out the door. He crumples the napkin in his hands, then drains his whiskey.
“Can we talk?” I ask him, my voice quiet.
“Oh yes,” he says in a dark tone.
“Mason, I’m due a break,” I call out to him. “Fifteen minutes, okay?”
Mason gives Graham a steely once-over. “Sure, Emmy. Want me to go with you?”
“No,” I say.
“She’s fine with me,” Graham says, his tone curt.
Mason holds my eyes. “Yell out if you need me.”
Graham stands to follow me as I walk around the bar and head to the exit outside. Pushing the door open, I look around, half expecting blue lights and sirens.
Brody’s voice calls after us. “Be sweet, guys.”
The wind whips my hair as thunder rumbles in the distance, a late-spring storm brewing in the air. Fitting. Face the storm you’ve made, I tell myself as I duck under the overhead canopy next door to the bar to wait for him.
He stalks to me, and I’m struck again by his massive height, his broad shoulders, the way his shirt stretches over his muscles. He crosses his arms to match mine. We’re two feet apart, and the air wafts with the scent of his cologne.
I chew on my bottom lip, and he notices, his eyes landing there and staying. Two spots of color flare on his cheekbones, and he darts his gaze to a point over my shoulder.
Here goes nothing. A long exhale leaves my chest. “Graham, I’m truly sorry for the mess I made. Taking your car was inexcusable and wrong and impulsive. Extremely stupid. I’m old enough to know better. I’ve regretted it every day since it happened. I’ve had massive guilt over it. I am so sorry. So sorry. I can’t say it enough. You have every right to be angry.”
He grunts, unmoved.
Several moments pass, and I nod nervously, tension escalating when he doesn’t reply.
“If it matters, I wasn’t pretending in Arizona. I didn’t know who you were. I imagine a man in your position, you’re used to being recognized, but I was clueless. I missed it. My head was . . . all over the place at the motel.”
“Your boyfriend is a player.”
“My ex. He didn’t play while we were together, and I don’t follow sports. And how do you know?”
“Kian was waiting for you at the motel.” Steely eyes narrow. “I can’t see you with him. You . . . don’t . . . fit.”
He pauses between those last words, making it somehow more meaningful. I don’t know if it’s the cadence of how he speaks when he’s emotional or if he’s underlining that he knows what happened between me and Kian. My breath hitches. Of course—he saw my neck at the motel. Touching my throat, I drop my gaze to the ground as my insides twist. I’m deeply embarrassed about having been at Kian’s mercy in Vegas. And the truth is that I was at his mercy in Old Town, because I didn’t stay and face him. I ran instead.
“If you hadn’t stolen my car, I might have had time to beat the shit out of him.”
I glance up in surprise.
His eyes blaze with anger, not at me, but at Kian.
“I’m still angry with you, though,” he mutters. “I’d had that car for two weeks. It was a Lamborghini Aventador.”
I cringe. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds really expensive.”
“Yes,” he says grimly. “It was.”
“How much?”
“Over four hundred.”
“Thousand?” Nausea bubbles, and I put a hand to my stomach.