Page 69 of A Lucky Shot

“Well,” Cass said, pasting on her brightest smile.“Then it’s worth a shot.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JOSH

Im bored

So get a fucking life?

Ur my life bro

Get your shit

We’re going out

The paints sat unopened on the spotless drop sheet that had sat in the rental’s hallway for months. A notebook filled with dozens of sketches laid open in front of him, each page offering a variation on the mountain range he’d planned. Places he’d lived. Places he’d visited. The North Shore mountains that had dominated the Vancouver skyline and his childhood, smooth and close and verdant, rising from the ocean like Poseidon. The Dandenong Ranges, though he’d only seen them in the Melbourne summer. A version of the Andes, pulled from a decade-old memory, and admittedly not true to life. Here, the Rockies waited in the distance, jagged and wild, grey against the blue sky, a knife blade thrust towards the heavens. He’d have to decide, eventually.

Josh sat cross-legged on the floor, scowling at the empty expanse of wall mocking him. This wasn’t going anywhere tonight, and with just over a month left in Calgary, it was barely worth starting now. He tossed the pencil and notebook onto the counter, and Stephen’s pounding on the door sounded seconds later.

The bar trying to style itself as a speakeasy had an artificially accelerated patina, all burnished brass, patterned peacock-and-emerald wallpaper, and richly upholstered shell benches. Good vibe, actually, and busy for a Tuesday night. Gusts of cold December air pushed through the doors at his back and under the collar of his warm-up jacket, doing anything but its actual job, and Stephen cut through the crowd with practiced ease.

“This place used to be a country bar when I was in university,” he said, sliding into the booth and frowning at the art déco interior. He nudged his bearded chin at a corner with a wine cave glassed off. “Cover bands used to play on a shitty stage right over there.”

“You seriously think I’d be sitting here listening to country covers?”

“Aw buddy, you’d do anything for me.”

“Fuck off.”

Fine. It was better than staring at the blank wall of his rental, with no clue where to start. Either that, or work on Vivian’s revisions. No clue where to start there, either.

Lo-Fi vaporwave filtered in through the speakers, matched to the knock-off Tiffany lamps at every table. Josh leaned back, his arm stretched along the booth’s backrest, and swirled his elderberry soda in the crystal-cut lowball glass. “We’re going to get kicked out of this four-top,” he said.

“Nah,” Stephen replied, nodding at the server who dropped off his pint of stout. “We got friends coming.”

Minutes later, Libby slid in beside Stephen, who greeted her with a smile and a kiss. Libby stripped her puffer jacket and hung it off the hook at the end of the booth. Josh couldn’t be sure, but he thought her hand reached down to squeeze Stephen’s knee as she settled herself.

That was new. At least one of them had found a way to stay warm this winter. Josh hid his momentary surprise behind a sip of his drink and waved a finger between the two of them. “How long has this been going on?

Stephen took a pull from his beer. “Short version or long version?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Libby deadpanned, shaking the snowdrops from the ends of her hair.

Fair. That was kind of a dick comment. Josh shot a glance at the entrance.

Libby smirked at him. “Don’t worry, she’s coming.”

He whipped his head back like he’d been caught ogling someone’s chest and realized that was exactly what he would have done when Cass showed up. He glared at Libby and swigged a larger than anticipated gulp of his drink, the carbonation burning his throat on the way down.

It didn’t help that when Cass showed up a few minutes later, his chest clenched like he’d tried to swallow the fist-sized ice cube floating in his glass. Her warm hazel eyes widened slightly when she saw he was there, and after a beat, hung her own jacket on the booth’s hook beside Libby’s and took her place next to him. The light wash high-waisted jeans hugged her thighs before they flared over her suede fur-lined boots.

Hell, this woman could even make winter wear look sexy. The simple black ballet top with a wide neckline ended just where her shoulders dipped down, inviting his eye to trace the contours of her collarbones.

All that skin on display meant she was probably wearing something like that bustier he’d peeled off her that first night. He wondered if it was the same one, and if not, what colour it was, and if it was silky and red and … fucking hell, his dick was straining against the fly of his jeans.

Since he was already uncomfortable, might as well partake in a bit of light self-flagellation. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I can’t comment on how you look in low-waisted jeans, but you make these ones look fantastic.”

Cass pursed her bright red lips at him with a look of feigned reproach. “These hide muffin tops,” she said finally.

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