Page 168 of The Last Good Man

It’s hard to walk away from the table as the space is narrow, and our backs face the windows.

I do it at some point when I need to use the bathroom, but the process is complicated. More than one person has to slide their chairs closer to the table so I can squeeze past them.

The second time I do it, Ihave toask Joanna to accommodate me.

She is not the happiest woman in the group, but she does it nonetheless.

She still can’t forget I was up to no good an hour or so ago.

This time, I linger at the bar after using the bathroom, toying withthe idea ofordering a drink and sitting there alone when a new group of people swoops in.

The place is dimly lit, most lights glowing around the bar and over the tables.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as I swivel my head and glance around the bar, not knowing what to do.

“Um… A glass of water, please.”

“Sure,” the man says before pulling away.

The new group stalls, perhaps waiting for the hostess.

They’re mostly men and only a few women.

The hostess signals them to follow her.

A few waitersstand by the table, waiting for the clients to claim their seats and place their orders.

Someof themen are rough-looking. They wear blazers over their burly figures and sport buzz cuts.

The women have long dark hair, red lips, and plenty of eyeliner around their eyes.

They’re sexy, they know it, and they have no problem flaunting it.

“Here is your water,” the bartender says behind me, and Ipull mygaze away from the group.

“Thank you.”

I wrap my fingers around the ice-cold water, bring it to my lips, andtake aswig.

“Is everything all right?”Emile asks behind me, and despite knowing it’s him because of his unmistakable accent, I’m still startled.

“Oh, I didn’t want to scare you,” he says, his hand sliding up my back.

Goosebumps grow down my arms, yet his touch feels like an invasion more than pleasure.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you left the table. Is everything all right?”heasks.

“Yes, everything is fine,” I say, my eyes flying straight to the entrance where a fewlargestrides bring in the last manI thought I’d see tonight.

My heart climbs up my chest, threatening to fall out.

Jax London looks precisely the same. He wears the same clothes and shoes, has the same jewelry, and flashes the same sexy smile.

Only it’s not addressed to me.

It’s not addressed to anyone since he walks into the place alone.

As strange as it sounds, he doesn’t look around as if he’s not interested in his surroundings.

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