Page 13 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

“That’s smart.” Patrick gave an affirmative grunt and shifted in his seat, revealing another tattoo on his bicep that read: Strength threw sobriety .

Clay looked away and glanced toward the door of the restaurant. As if on cue, Reese walked through it. He blinked. It was Reese, wasn’t it?

But this was a different Reese. Her hair was down and fluffed around her shoulders in a way that made Clay wonder what it would feel like to grab a handful at the nape of her neck and tug it to make her back arch. She was wearing some sort of slinky black top and jeans that hugged her?—

“Clay?”

Clay swung his eyes back to Patrick. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“Um—”

“That’s okay,” Patrick said with a laugh. “Those girls are beautiful, that’s for damn sure.”

“Girls?” Clay asked, confused by the plural. He looked back at the doorway and noticed Reese wasn’t alone. “Oh. Larissa. I didn’t see her.”

“You know them?”

“Old friends from a past life,” Clay said. “Want me to introduce you?”

“Nah, that’s okay. Looks like they might be heading into the bar.”

Clay nodded. “Right. And you probably want to maintain some privacy with the whole AA thing.”

“Not really an issue for me,” Patrick said, leaning back against the bench seat. “Everyone in town knows I’m in recovery. I try to tell as many people as possible, just to get the word out I’m available to help. If you know anyone else who needs me, feel free to pass my card along.”

“I appreciate that,” Clay said, trying not to make it too obvious he was sneaking glimpses at Reese. She hadn’t seen him yet, which gave him a chance to watch her from afar, studying the way her hair moved, the way those green eyes flitted around the room.

Patrick cleared his throat. “Speaking of girls, have you dated much since you got sober?”

Clay shrugged and folded his hands on the Formica table. “A few dates here and there. Nothing serious.”

“In four years? That’s a long time.”

Clay shrugged. “I’ve been busy with work, busy getting my life back together, busy attending meetings. You know how it is.”

Busy fantasizing about my best friend’s ex-wife , he didn’t add.

“I took it pretty slow myself. You’ll figure it out.”

Clay nodded and took a sip of his Coke as he stole another look at Reese. She still hadn’t seen him. In fact, she didn’t seem to know anyone was watching her. He gazed in fascination as she lifted her hand, hesitated, and glanced around. Then she stuck her hand down the front of her shirt.

Clay choked on his drink.

He was still choking as he forced himself to turn back to Patrick, trying not to look back at Reese and whatever the hell she was doing with her hand in her shirt.

“I’ll figure it out,” Clay said, his voice strained. “You’re right about that.”

“It does get easier. Never easy, but easier .”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

“Well, Clay—it’s been really great getting to know you. I’ll see you at the next meeting?”

“Looking forward to it. Thanks, Patrick—I really appreciate it.”

“No sweat. Call anytime you need me. And keep on keepin’ on, man.”

“You, too.”

They shook hands, and Patrick stood up. The second he walked out the door, Clay scanned the restaurant again for Reese. Dammit, where had she gone? And why did he care?

He spotted her then, seated in the bar where he’d been extra cautious not to go.

He studied her, still a little awestruck at her appearance.

She occupied a booth with Larissa, Eric, Sheila, and some guy who was staring down the front of Reese’s shirt so intently Clay wondered if she had a television broadcasting the NBA finals hidden away in there.

A waitress appeared at Clay’s table and he tore his eyes away from Reese to watch the perky blonde deposit his check on the table with a little smiley face drawn at the top.

“Refill on the Coke?”

Clay hesitated. He was leaving, right? Staying would be stupid, and going into that bar would be more stupid. Stupid for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that it was a bar. The flashing Deschutes Brewery sign caught his eye, but it didn’t hold his attention. He looked back at Reese.

“No, thanks,” Clay told the waitress as he stuck twenty bucks in the little wallet with the bill. “I was just about to leave. Keep the change.”

She smiled down at him. “You new in town?”

“Sort of. I spent a lot of time around here a few years back.”

“My name’s Emily. And I get off at nine, if you want to hang out or something.”

She slipped a piece of paper across the table at him, and Clay stared dumbly at the numbers. Before he could say anything, she swished away with her tray in hand and a wiggle in her walk he knew was for him.

Clay put the phone number in his pocket and stood up. He looked back at the bar. He wasn’t going in there. He was going to leave out the side door and?—

Before he could complete the thought, Reese looked up. Their gazes locked for three beats, neither of them blinking. Clay swallowed.

Suddenly, Larissa’s gaze swung his direction.

“Hey—it’s Clay!” she shouted across the bar. “Come join us. We’ve missed you!”

Clay gripped the edge of his table, considering it. There were two pitchers of beer on their table, but he hardly noticed. It was Reese who made his pulse kick into overdrive. Reese looked away first, touching Sheila’s wrist and making a point of admiring her bracelet.

“Come on, Clay,” Larissa shouted loudly enough that other patrons turned to stare. “Don’t be shy. We’ve got plenty of room here.”

Clay let go of the table and put one foot in front of the other, trying to look cool and probably just looking like a guy trying to look cool.

Eric grinned, the same, familiar expression Clay had seen a million times since college. Sheila smiled, too, tossing her blonde hair as she put her hand on her husband’s arm.

The guy next to Reese tore his eyes away from her breasts to see what the fuss was about.

Reese was the last to turn and smile at him, a move that seemed almost calculated. The smile was worth the wait—warm and real enough to light up her eyes.

“Hello, Clay,” she said. “What brings you here?”

“I just had a meeting with someone. I’m heading home now.”

“Ooooh—a girl?” Sheila asked with hope. “It’d be great for you to have a girlfriend, Clay.”

“Not a girl,” Clay said. “My new sponsor.”

“Sponsor?” Larissa asked. “Is that like the commercials you see on TV where you pay thirty dollars a month so a starving kid can eat?”

Everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably, and Clay couldn’t tell if Larissa was drunk, joking, or playing the ditz like she sometimes did in a bar full of men. Probably all three, he thought as he watched her drain her glass.

“No,” Clay said. “I got connected with Patrick through the local Alcoholics Anonymous group. I contacted them last week to get a support network in place before I came out here.”

“Working the steps, huh?” the guy next to Reese said. Actually, he said it to Reese’s breasts, but Clay assumed the words were meant for him. “Had a brother do AA,” the guy continued. “Relapsed six times.”

Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he offered his hand. “Clay Henderson. Good to meet you.”

“Bob Wilson,” he grunted, looking up to extend his hand. “I’m a financial analyst. I’m with Reese.”

Clay saw Reese’s expression go from uncomfortable to annoyed and back to uncomfortable in a span of three seconds. He wondered if anyone else noticed.

Then he watched her lift her hand and adjust something between her breasts.

What the hell?

On the other side of the table, Eric cleared his throat. “Clay and I were college roommates, Bob. Me and Reese and Clay, we’ve been friends a long time.” He looked back at Clay and gestured toward an empty chair sitting off to the side of the booth. “You gonna join us, buddy?”

Clay hesitated. Larissa snaked out a stiletto-clad foot and dragged the chair closer. “Come on, Clay—it’s been too long. At least help us with the nachos and catch up on old times.”

Clay hesitated again, hoping no one expected him to be the life of the party the way he might have been in college.

Then again, people had stopped inviting him to parties within a few years of college, back when he’d gone from being the fun guy with a beer in his hand to the pathetic guy with twelve empty cans at his feet.

He could change all that.

Clay sat down and signaled a passing waiter to ask for another Coke.

He looked back at Reese. She looked away. Then she reached between her breasts and fiddled with something again.

Seriously? Was he the only one noticing this?

He glanced at Bob. Okay, so he wasn’t the only one noticing. But Bob seemed more interested in the breasts themselves than in whatever was troubling them. Or troubling Reese—he wasn’t really sure what was going on.

“So, Bob,” Clay said. “How’s the financial analyst business going?”

“Good, good,” Bob said, peeling his eyes off Reese’s cleavage. “What is it you do, Clay?”

“I’m in construction.”

“I see,” said Bob in a tone that suggested his opinion of Clay had just dropped three levels. Based on the way Bob kept ogling Reese, Clay’s opinion of him had already hit rock bottom and was starting to dig.

Reese reached between her breasts again and squirmed.

Beside her, Larissa was having an animated conversation with Sheila.

Clay had missed most of the details, but Larissa shrieked with laughter.

She flailed her arm to the side, bumping Reese with her elbow.

Reese flinched, and Clay watched as her eyes flew wide.

Reese looked down the front of her shirt, joining Bob in what was apparently the preferred pastime for the evening.

What the hell?

Reese remembered too late why she hadn’t worn the damn black lace bra for years. As she stared down the front of her shirt where the broken front clasp had come unhooked, she wondered if there was any tactful way to remedy the situation.