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The place is very full, with people standing in the aisle between the bar and the booths. He weaves through the crowd, heading right for me.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Heard you were in town.” His fingers catch my arm, and that’s familiar. The times he guided me into a bedroom or shower at his place come flooding back.

“I was supposed to meet my friend Taylor. I’ll just have a look around. She—”

“Taylor Inslay’s come and gone. Come with me.” Tugging my arm, he draws me deeper into Slattery’s.

“So I missed her.” I press my heels into the old wooden planks, trying to slow our progress. “Well then, I’ll probably head home.” I’m feeling flustered. Why hadn’t I even considered he might be in the bar? Bumping into him on the street or at a café would’ve been safer than seeing him here.

Trick steps forward and leans his head down toward mine. “What’d you say? It’s loud in here.”

Raising my voice a bit, I repeat, “I’ll go then.”

His hand comes around my back, pressing against it. I smell him, the spicy soap from his shower and smoke from the pot-bellied stove in the pub’s small dining room.

His voice in my ear is sexy. “You’re not going. You just got here. I’m having a drink. Come sit with me.”

“I only came to see her. Your friends are here, right?” I ask nervously, not wanting to come under scrutiny again from Connor McCann or Sasha Stroviak.

“My friends are everywhere,” he says with a wink, but he moves around me, so he’s able to maneuver me forward. He’s quite good at that.

People reach out for him, touching him as we pass and shouting greetings and invitations. It’s rowdy. He’s all smiles, responding with good-natured acknowledgments. Laughter and warmth all around. You would never know he’s dangerous by the way the Slattery’s crowd treats him.

Trick stops in front of his booth where there are several people wedged inside. “I’ll take those,” he says, pointing to a couple of bottles of Coca-Cola and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Who’s this?” a man with an auburn beard asks.

“A friend of mine.” Trick hands me the Cokes and takes the whiskey before leading me away.

At the back, there’s a staircase with worn steps. “Go up, Laurel. But watch your step, they’re uneven.”

I glance up and can tell it’s quieter upstairs, so I go.

On the top floor, there are only four people and they’re playing pool. Three men and a woman, dressed for a night out. They greet him with smiles and raise glasses in greeting.

“Good to see you,” Trick says. “Give me the room.”

His words take a moment to register, then expressions turn serious and they set their cue sticks against the wall and descend without a word of complaint. Trick walks over and closes and locks the door to the room.

Along with the pool table, there is a pair of couches with a wood coffee table between them. There’s also a small bar, but no bartender.

Trick makes himself a Jack and Coke over ice.

“What’ll you have, Laurel? Some juice? Or a soda?”

My eyes move to his drink on the bar. He’s not offering me alcohol because I might be pregnant. “I’m fine.”

“Nothing? Water at least,” he says, pouring spring water over ice and cutting a lime. He drops a wedge in his glass and in mine. Then he moves behind me and starts to take my jacket off. I try to hold onto it, but a tug makes it pull from my fingers.

He turns down the music and flicks off one of the overhead lights, making things feel intimate, like I’m alone with him again in his place.

“I wasn’t planning to stay.”

Trick looks me over, swigging some of his cocktail before he sets it down and moves in front of me. “It’s really good to see you.”

His right hand slides into my hair, and he kisses me with a mouth that tastes cool and sweet, the Coke lingering. My mouth opens for his tongue. Trick’s left hand presses against my back, bringing my body forward, then his hand drops lower and squeezes my ass. I jerk, my mouth coming away from his.

“Still sore?”