Page 11 of What I Should've Said

“Me?” I laugh. “The guy who drove forty minutes to pick up your kegs and is currently helping you move them into your bar?”

“The guy who doesn’t know shit about anything, even though he was all up in the shit today.”

I put both hands on my hips and stare back at him. “I take it we’re still talking about Josie right now?”

He just groans and gets to work on replacing the old keg with the new.

You’d think a relationship that ended in divorce—before I even got to Red Bridge—would be long past the point of affecting Clay, but I guess that’s not the case.

And since I’m not a nosy asshole, I leave him to stew in whatever it is he’s cooking up in his mind and head back to my truck to get another keg. I don’t know all the details of the Clay and Josie saga, but I know enough to know he’s not quite over it. Not over her.

I also know that Josie pretty much hates him.

But that’s love for you. It’s a sucker’s game, and exactly why women don’t spark anything besides apathy from me—even ones with big brown eyes, wild curls, perky tits, and no sense of self-preservation.

I had to cultivate indifference when I came to Red Bridge because my life was a dumpster fire, and I needed desperately to put out the flames.

Though, some might argue that ending up in the back of a cop car in handcuffs for arson qualifies as worse than a dumpster fire. My sister Breezy would certainly agree, but I don’t waste my time hanging around in the past.

I’ve moved on from that part of my life, and there isn’t anyone or anything that will get in the way of that.

My biggest, most important priority makes sure of that.

Tuesday, August 3rd

Norah

A dark shadow hovers over me, and every muscle in my body locks on itself as I scream. Shrill and terror-ridden, the sound of my shout could shatter bulletproof glass, but my psychotic sister responds with only a laugh.

“Chill, it’s just me.”

My breathing is erratic as she shifts to the side and into the moonlight streaming in from the window of her guest room. I’m still drowsy, body heavy with sleep, but the power of her smirk compels me. I sit up quickly, dragging the sheet up over my air-chilled chest.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Instead of speaking, she moves from the space in front of me, silently but with purpose, and I instantly know why when the bright overhead light pierces me directly in the eyeballs. An evil sister doesn’t warn a person before she gives them an instant migraine—she just does it.

I grimace and reach down to pull the comforter over my face. “This has to be the worst wake-up call I’ve ever experienced.”

“Yeah, well, I tried to be gentle, but since you still sleep harder than a bear during hibernation, I had to take a different approach,” my sister rebukes without guilt and yanks the comforter away from my face. “Rise and shine, buttercup. You have fifteen minutes to get dressed.”

“Dressed for what? A midnight thrill? Even the sun is still sleeping.”

“Camille called off this morning. I need a barista.”

I blink several times. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying it’s a little after five, and since I have to get the shop opened by six, you need to get your ass in gear.”

“You want me to come work at your coffee shop this morning?” My jaw nearly unhinges. “You tried almost impossibly hard to turn me away three days ago, and now you need me?”

“I need a body. And you need a bed to continue whining about waking up in. Seems like a match made in heaven, doesn’t it?”

CAFFEINE is Josie’s life’s biggest accomplishment. Which begs the question, why would she want me anywhere near it? I always got my coffee from someone other than myself in New York, and let me tell you, there was a reason.

“Josie, I know nothing about being a barista.”

“And I know nothing about having a squatter in my house. Looks like we’re both dealing with some challenges.”

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