Page 45 of Tell Me Something True

“Good.” He put on his other sneaker. Straightened. “I’ll put your bike in the back of the car.”

Then he grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall and walked out, hoping like hell letting Verity figure this out on her own wasn’t a mistake.

Another one.

Chapter 9

Three weeks later, Tabitha was back in Mount Laurel.

This time to stay.

Pausing outside The Cockeyed Chameleon, she fluffed her hair, took a deep breath, then stepped inside. The bar was crowded and loud with people laughing and talking, the sharp crack of pool balls in the corner, the driving beat of “Thunderstruck” playing over the speakers.

As she made her way to the bar, she scanned the crowd, but she didn’t see Miles.

Not that she’d really believed he’d be there, but she had changed out of the comfortable joggers, baggy t-shirt and sneakers she’d worn on her drive from Philly into a wide-necked, white bodysuit, her favorite high waisted jeans and strappy sandals. And she’d curled her hair, leaving it to hang loose around her shoulders, put on blush, mascara and a soft mauve lipstick.

Just in case.

She slid onto an empty stool at the far end of the bar next to a pretty, twenty-something blonde chatting up a handsome Black man with a shy smile.

“Hey,” Hayden said with a grin from behind the bar where she was pulling a beer. “You’re back.”

Tabitha smiled. “I’m back.”

Hayden added the beer to four other full glasses. Gathered them together and picked them up. “I’ll be right with you.”

“No hurry.”

Hayden walked away and Tabitha turned halfway in her seat. Scanned the room again.

Still no Miles.

Probably for the best. She’d see him again soon enough, and when she did, she’d have plenty of explaining to do, such as why she lied to him that night about just passing through town, her sneaking off the next morning without a goodbye and, of course, that ugly scene with his younger sister outside his house.

Not her finest hour.

“Get you something?”

At the growled words, she whirled back to the bar and blinked at the gorgeous man scowling at her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wore jeans and a black T-shirt that clung to the hard planes of his chest, had perfectly tousled short dark blond hair, bright green eyes, and a face chiseled by the gods. His biceps were well-defined, his stomach flat, and his arms and hands covered in tattoos.

He looked hard. Angry.

Dangerous.

Enticing in a only my love can save him way.

He was exactly the type of guy she used to go for, a long, long time ago.

Those days were done. She’d never go back to believing there was some deep, hidden well of kindness, charm, and emotional vulnerability in dark, brooding men.

Sometimes, a duck was just a duck.

And more often than not, an asshole was just an asshole.

“Diet Coke, please.”

The bartender slapped a napkin onto the bar in front of her, scooped ice into a glass, then filled it with soda. He set it on the napkin with a thump as Hayden rounded the bar.

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