Page 47

"No clue," I mutter, brushing past him.
I stride across the yard, wind in my face—but it does nothing to calm me. I slide into the truck and floor it, hitting sixty before I even leave the property.
I head down the winding mountain road, aiming straight for Mattie's bar—hoping I'll find some girl there who doesn't have a boyfriend and is looking for a good time. Maybe we'll hook up in the bathroom. I'll pretend she's Hailey, and she can pretend I'm whoever the hell she needs me to be.
Maybe we'll fuck until Hailey is out of my system and I can finally act like a normal human being around her—not some moody asshole with a bruised ego.
Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I this worked up over someone I only just met? Why can't I shake her image out of my mind?
I don't have a good answer for any of it.
The place's packed—bodies grinding on the dance floor, drunken laughter rising over blaring country music, and alcohol-glazed eyes glancing at me with the usual mixture of curiosity and judgment. The air reeks of booze and sweat, but I don't mind. I ignore it all and head for the bar.
"Hey, Mattie," I say, gesturing to the grizzled bartender. "The usual."
He gives a short nod and hands me a beer.
Most folks in Cedar Falls don't like us mountain boys. Can't say I blame them entirely—we caused our share of trouble when we first rolled into town. But it's more than that. They don't like any outsiders. Even now, after all these years, Dean, Lennon, and I are still exactly that. Outsiders.
Not that we've made much effort to change that. We keep to ourselves, focus on the business. They've done the same—except they've made sure to spread their own version of who we are and what we do up on that mountain. Bunch of judgmental assholes.
Luckily, Mattie isn't like that. He doesn't care who walks into the bar, as long as they have money for their drinks.
I nurse my beer and scan the bar. A curvy, dark-haired woman sitting alone catches my eye—she's been throwing me fuck-me eyes since I walked in. I give her a polite smile, but there's nothing behind it. No spark.
Next, I clock a leggy blonde dancing near the speakers. She's gorgeous, but again… nothing. I sigh. Shit. I don't want any of them. And that's a damn problem—because I should. I've neverbeen picky. One pretty woman's always been as good as the next. So why the hell is my body only reacting to one? Why the fuck does it only want Hailey?
She doesn't want you. She wants Dean. Time to move on.
I'm trying. I really am. But sex isn't going to fix it tonight—not when I can't even fake the interest. I down the rest of my beer, get to my feet, and toss some cash on the table.
As I'm about to leave, someone taps me on the shoulder.
I glance down to find a girl standing behind me—she can't be more than eighteen… if she eveniseighteen. She flashes me a coy little smile.
"Hey," she says. "I hear you're the guy to talk to if a girl's looking for a good time."
I shake my head. "Not today."
"You sure about that?"
"Yup. And sweetheart, you're way too young to be hitting on an old fart like me."
She pouts and steps closer, pushing her luck. I take a step back, thrown off. What the hell?
"Are you sure?" she presses, biting her lip in some practiced, wannabe-sultry move. "I want you."
"I'm sure," I say flatly. Her expression drops—and just like that, her eyes flash with irritation.
I decide it's time to get the hell out of here before this turns into an ugly scene.
Unfortunately, I'm too late.
I'm almost at my truck when a loud, angry voice cuts through the night.
"Hey, bud. Were you talking to our sister?"
I turn to see three burly guys stalking toward me, each one radiating pissed-off big brother energy.