Page 13 of Claiming Ours (Anchor Bay #2)
MEMPHIS
S houlder pressed against the side of the faded pink building, I watched as the cool-as-hell late model Ford disappeared down the road, taking Baylee with it.
I shook my head, still chuckling to myself at the entertaining shit show that I enjoyed the last couple of hours.
And that grand finale when all their drunk asses were hauled out by several men was unexpected and hysterical.
The women appeared to trust the men who came for them, or I would’ve figured out a way to take them on.
Considering most looked like former military, even special forces, it would’ve been a slaughter since I’m a lover, not a fighter.
I hoped to meet Baylee’s friends if it got to that point.
They were hilarious and loud, especially after the fourth round of weird Alaskan shots hit their systems.
I was so entertained that I didn’t have time to be envious or crave their drinks or something other than the gallons of Sprite I sipped on throughout the night.
From a two-top table tucked in the back corner of the dive bar, I heard everything they talked about—which, holy shit, women had a lot to say—and could watch Baylee out of the corner of my eye without being too damn obvious.
Her revelation to the table about her and Dean never fucking wasn’t a surprise. He’d mentioned it a time or two when we were still friends. Never with resentment or annoyance, just a blanket statement with a shrug. What was a shock, though, was that she hadn’t moved on even once since his death.
Especially considering how the big-ass angry fucker acted around her. The two were clearly closer than friends. Dating, maybe, but not sleeping together.
Odd.
I raked my fingers through my hair, tugging at the long strands to distract me from the insistent urge to follow them.
Tucking a hand deep into my black leather jacket pocket, I freed the pack of smokes.
Cigarette filter pressed between my lips, I ignited the end.
A moan rumbled in my chest at the first deep inhale, the tension keeping my shoulders up near my ears easing.
I had sat inside the bar for over an hour observing Baylee and her friends to gather more intel on Baylee, then more to ensure no one harassed the table of chatty, clearly drunk women.
I never once stepped out to smoke, hoping to stay as unnoticed as possible.
It worked until the one friend of hers texted her boyfriend.
Or was it boyfriends, because she said she’d messaged two guys?
Which made sense, I guess, after hearing bits and pieces of stories told by two of the women.
It seemed the company most of them worked for and the community the owner built just outside town was very open-minded regarding the number of people in a committed relationship.
At one point, I almost got up and asked them where the sign-up sheet was to join.
Sucking in another drag, I ambled along the walkway toward the docks.
Hips pressed to the wooden railing, I stared into the bay’s dark, choppy water.
That poly lifestyle was intriguing, and I ended up googling the gist of it on my phone.
While it wasn’t anything I’d ever taken part in, the idea of multiple partners centering on a single female was something I wouldn’t be against. Hell, I dared hope for it a long time ago.
Back in high school, Dean talked about Baylee all the fucking time, so it was hard not to fall for the amazing woman, too, based on his stories.
Plus, there were those times when she caught me watching them make out or hoping for a peek of what Dean’s hand was doing beneath the blanket covering her lap.
I never broached the subject of being added to their relationship, but I sure as hell daydreamed about how that conversation would go down and the fucking amazing things that would happen after they agreed.
I cocked my head to the side as a thought filtered through. Was that why she moved here in the first place, to be somewhere that accepted the unconventional lifestyle she wanted?
Lead formed in my gut while fear wrapped its tight fingers around my chest and squeezed.
If she was already with the big angry fucker and others, did that mean she wouldn’t consider me for…
hell if even I knew how to finish that thought.
I had no expectations when I came to Anchor Bay, just that I needed to be here to see her.
Once I saw her picture, face squished next to a big fat cat, on her clinic website, I was packing for Alaska.
Now I just needed to grow a set and approach her. Let Baylee know how much I’d missed her, and him too.
Maybe that desperation to fill the space in my heart where our close-knit friendship used to live was why I needed to come here. Seeing her even from a distance made that deep, vacant cavern inside me feel less bottomless somehow.
Palms to the railing, I pushed off and turned toward where I’d parked the borrowed Nest SUV. Passing by the bar, I took one last hit of the nearly spent cigarette and extinguished the lit end in a plastic bucket of sand by the door.
The weathered wood swung open, almost clipping my shoulder, making me stumble back. A man I recognized as one of the bar’s employees stepped outside, hand already raised and lighting a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Seeing me, he paused, eyeing the tattoos along my skull and neck while holding the door open wide.
Tempting scents and laughter poured out onto the walkway, begging me to step back into the bar for one drink.
Not that it would ever be just one drink, and I wasn’t ruining my sobriety now.
Even still, my mouth watered at the thought of cold vodka sliding down my throat, calming the anxious energy that thrummed through my veins.
I fisted both hands at my sides and shook my head to disrupt the tempting thoughts.
I stepped around the guy, who was still eyeing me with suspicion, and forced my feet to move down the wooden planks, hurrying to put distance between me and my ultimate temptation.
Almost two years sober was close, and I would not fuck up all that progress.
Especially when the woman I couldn’t stop fantasizing about was close as well.
Baylee didn’t know how far off track my life went years ago, the dark hole I barely clawed my way out of.
I sure as hell didn’t want to relapse into that self-destructive behavior for her or for me.
Tonight was what I needed, seeing Baylee and gauging the woman she grew to be all these years later. She was exactly the same, though now a little more sadness darkened her smile.
It was time to man up and talk to her. To stop stalking her, daydreaming of approaching her and her reaction.
Tomorrow.
It had to be tomorrow before I lost the nerve and pushed it off another day. It was time to let her know I was here.
There was a ray of hope that bloomed within me after hearing about the poly community. A spark of anticipation flickered inside me that maybe, just fucking maybe, Baylee could be mine like in those dirty dreams I never confessed to anyone.
If I only had a sliver of someone like her, that would be enough for me. A piece of Baylee Smith in my life would be better than being on the outside, having to watch and witness what I was surely missing out on. Like I did those years with her and Dean.
No more waiting, no more watching.
Tomorrow was the day to step from the shadows.
My lips curled into a smile as I twirled the SUV keys around a single finger. Thankfully, I had the perfect plan.