Page 138 of The Last Good Man

The first thing I order is a tall burger with double cheese and a side of greasy fries.

The bartender, a petite woman with pink bangs and a bedazzled choker, slides a glass of wine in front of me.

"Keeping it classy,” I murmur to myself before taking a sip.

The alcohol wrecks my chemistry and, more importantly, fucks with my patience. I’m hungry. I hadn’thad anything to eatthe entire day except for breakfast and a pile of lettuce with vinaigrette that had maybe fifty calories for lunch.

My food arrives, and I can’t wait to dive in.

For ten long minutes, I eat uninterrupted, licking my fingers and drinking wine only to take a break from eating.

Next I order an ice cream cookie sandwich and indulge until the very end.

Hunger quenched, I crave a cigarette. I look around, hoping to spot a smoker. No one smokes inside–it’s against the law––and I don’t want to ask one of the men glancing at me.

I try my luck with the bartender.

She’s nice to ask one of her colleagues and returns a moment later with a palmed cigarette.

“There’s a door to the side alley in the back,” she says.

I thank her, slide some cash over the counter before reassuring her I’d be back, and walk away, my purse dangling from my arm, my trench on, and a cigarette between my fingers.

A howling sound trails me outside asI tap my heels against the concrete slabs. Aman smokes at the other end of the alley, talking on the phone with his back turned to me.

I need a light, but I don’t feel like talking to him, and then I remember Jax’s lighter.

I still carry it in mypursefor no good reason.

Although I may have hoped to meet him tonight, talk to him, and return it.

He didn’t even ask me about it.

I reach inside my bag.

“Excuse me,” a woman says, trying to sneak past me.

I make room for her, and she strolls to the back, where she joins that man. He ends the call and starts flirting with her.

Apparently, they know each other.

Shit. I can’t find Jax’s lighter. Where did I put it? I rifle through the contents of my bag with no luck.

I lost it or forgot it at home.

My brain can’t come up with an answer when footsteps move around thecorner,and a man blocks the light, heading my way.

I’ll ask him for a light.

He swaggers toward me, and the closer he gets, the warmer I get, a flicker of recognition sweeping through me.

My cigarette shakes between my fingers when he stops in front of me, hisgreen eyes two powerful orbs in the fabric of the night.

“Need alight?”Jax rasps, but my vocal cords refuse to move and give him an answer.

With merely a couple of inches between us, he removes the cigarette from my hand, slides it between his lips, clicks his new lighter open, and runs the flame across the tip.

The orange dot glows with life, and his eyes never leave my face, yet his lips refuse to move into a smile.

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