Page 6 of Easy Out

“Sydney.” He gives her a curt nod.

“Enzo.” She nods back mocking him with a sly smile. I know this face. Damn it Syd. I give her a look that says to stop whatever she is trying to do because it won’t work.

“How do you know these guys?” Enzo asks me.

“I don’t.” I keep my answers concise. “I know her.” Enzo eyes me curiously but doesn’t push the conversation.

“I grew up living in the same neighborhood and playing baseball with them. I’ve known Hart my whole life,” Enzo adds. Hart grunts. I smile but stay quiet. I will blame it on the loud music and chaos of the club if anyone says something.

“Are you from Alabama?”

“No,” I say as Sydney says, “Lauren is from Seattle.” I throw a dagger in her direction for giving away my personal information for free.

“Seattle.” Enzo lets the word settle over him. “I’ve visited a few times when I was younger, but my father went there a lot for work. He traveled back and forth when I was a kid.” His eyes glaze over momentarily before he shakes out of whatever memory his mind trapped him in.

I’m not sure why he is oversharing about his dad with someone he just met. I would never do that.

Hart is quietly observing our entire interaction with laser precision. He glares at Enzo, who is now staring at me. It is all bizarre. I feel like I’m under a microscope. Like every twitch of my body will be documented for further examination.

I turn to Sydney for help, but she is deep in a conversation, more like a lecture, with Koa and Nash. Great. Just great. I need to get out of here before this situation becomes even more awkward.

“Why Alabama?” I tilt my head slightly, confused by Enzo’s question. “Why not stay in Washington State? Why did you come here?” Enzo says the word ‘here’ as if it’s a place I don’t belong. I open my mouth to defend my choice, but a large arm blocks my line of sight.

Hart has his hand on Enzo’s chest. With a sharp shake of his head, he calls off Enzo’s interrogation. Enzo’s eyes narrow on Hart. “Fine,” Enzo clips. “Lauren,” he says to me before stalking away to the bar with his brother.

I don’t understand what just happened or why Hart felt the need to intervene, but I’m grateful. Seattle isn’t something I talk about. All Sydney knows is that I lived there before college.

Seattle is in my past, and that is where I want to keep it.

“Th-Thank you,” I stammer out. Hart doesn’t respond in words or actions. He stares out into the crowd. His black eyes roam the sea of dancers. Now and then, a flash of light hits his eyes, and they turn a beautiful grey color.

Hart’s gaze flicks to me before scanning the crowd again. His lip twitches so fast I almost miss it. He’s pleased he caught me ogling him. I should be embarrassed, but for some reason, I’m not.

It’s not like I’m the only girl looking at Hart tonight. He is wearing the standard uniform of fuckboys everywhere. Low-slung jeans, a dark tee shirt that molds to his chest, shoulders, and biceps, a backward hat, and bright white kicks on his feet.

Raised veins and a smattering of black ink tattoos accentuate Hart’s skin. It’s the hard lines of his face that really pull you in.

You ache to be the girl who makes a guy like him crack. You know whatever he is hiding would be worth sacrificing part of yourself to see. You want to be the one who is powerful enough to bring a man like him to his knees.

Hart looks like he is the type of guy who would never let that happen. It doesn’t matter if he catches me looking at him. Hart would never let a woman get close enough to make him vulnerable.

“You need another drink.” Wyatt’s words and nearness make me jump. For some odd reason, I find myself retreating closer to Hart as if he is here purely for my protection.

“I’m good. But thanks.” I smile or attempt to.

“Oh, come on. One more. My treat, darlin’,“ Wyatt says, smiling big and showing off dimples that could easily zap the last of my working brain cells.

Darlin’. I’ve never been anyone’s darling. When Wyatt returns with a new drink, he places it in my hands. I mumble a thank you and take a sip. Secretly I’m plotting my revenge on Sydney for leaving me alone. Hot sauce in her toothpaste? Itching powder in her underwear?

“Have you been here before?” Wyatt asks with genuine interest. The question gets everyone’s attention in our group.

“Yes,” I reply, sipping my beer.

“When?” Nash asks with a crease in his brow.

“Before.” Do they expect details? Does Nash want to know how I spend all my free time with the residents of Royal Oaks trailer park? Does he want to know that I am a resident too?

“Who are you here with?” I run my eyes over everyone in our group and then back to Nash, trying to imply I’m only here with them. “Lauren, I didn’t even know you were coming tonight.”

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