Page 69 of The Wildest One

Normally, while I was working out, I gave no fucks about anyone getting in touch with me, nor did I even bring my phone in here.

But since Jolie had left this morning, I’d been waiting for her to get back to me about when we could get together. And considering it was one of my final days off, it should have been flying by. Freedom always moved quickly.

Not today.

Her silence had caused the hours to fucking drag.

A silence I found odd, along with the way she’d left this morning—before the sun even rose—considering we’d had such a good time last night.

At least, I thought we had.

It had been her idea not to use a condom and my idea to give her a total of six orgasms that spanned across the whole evening.

I wanted to do it again tonight.

But, goddamn it, she hadn’t said a word to me since I’d texted her when I woke up, realizing she was gone.

She was in LA. We’d reconnected after all these years. I just wanted to see her, and she was giving me nothing.

I checked the time on my phone. It was a little past four.

I mentally calculated how long the rest of this workout would take, along with a soak in the cold plunge, followed by a warm-up in the sauna, and began to type her a message.

Me

I’m going to head to Charred around six for a drink. You should meet me there, or I can pick you up at your hotel—whatever works best.

Jolie

Can I let you know?

Me

Of course.

Jolie

If I get out at a decent time, I’ll swing by.

Me

And if you don’t?

Jolie

A sad face? Meaning I wouldn’t get to see her at all?

What the fuck?

I picked up the towel off the bench, and before I could even bring it to my face, I balled it up and threw it across the room.

I held my glass of bourbon between both hands, turning the tumbler in a circle over the top of the bar, bouncing the large block of ice with my finger. “Talk to me about Horned,” I said to my sister as she sat next to me.

The whole side of the bar was blocked off for my family, so none of our diners were within earshot. That had been a surprising find when I walked into Charred, expecting to be the only Weston here, aside from Walker, who was working in the kitchen.

“Are the reservations still exploding?”

Horned was a restaurant we’d recently acquired, the Laguna Beach steak house now part of our collection, which we were currently expanding to three new locations—Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Charleston, South Carolina, and, as of a week ago, San Antonio, Texas. Land had been purchased. Build-outs were in motion.