Page 87 of Love By a Landslide

“Do . . . Do you know where I can find her?”

Brodan laughed, a snide rattling sound. “Nah, man. Surprisingly, I haven’t heard from her since she moved out. Sorry.” He and the redhead retreated into the apartment and shut the door.

Jonathan heaved a sigh of relief, feeling a bit more confident that things might go his way. She was single. Or at least she wasn’t with that asshat anymore. Hadn’t been with him since the initial split. His hope dipped. How was he supposed to find her now? Resigned, he pulled up the picture he’d taken of her contact information back in Leavenworth. Nothing left but to call her. His finger hovered over the Send button just as an idea sparked. Picking up the pace back to his car, Jonathan googled an address and grinned.

Bingo.

Neon pink halogens illuminated the swirly text of The Tackle Boxx sign. The street outside of the drag bar scuttled with energy and life, and it amplified as he paid cover to the bouncer and stepped into the entryway. Music thumped, voices cheered, and Jonathan weaved his way around tables toward the crowded bar in the back. A massive blond man, who bore an impressively striking resemblance to Thor, mixed drinks and poured beers. After a few minutes, he stepped in front of Jonathan, straightened his silk vest, and asked, “What’ll it be, handsome?” He adjusted his rolled-up sleeves and braced two massive hands on the bar top.

Jonathan leaned in and propelled his voice through the thumping base. “I’m looking for Todd. I was told he works here.”

The sturdy tree of a man looked Jonathan up and down, clocking his plaid button-up and thick beard. He flipped a pint glass from one hand to the other then filled it from a beer tap. Setting it down, he called, “Stardust IPA. Drink up while I look into that for you.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan smiled back, grateful for the bartender’s help and for a splash of liquid courage. It had already been a long night, and he was quickly losing steam. The only thing urging him on was the possibility that Todd might be able to help him find Lucy. Her best friend was his second-to-last hope. He could still call her after all, but Jonathan needed to see her, even if it was for the last time. Eyes stinging, he gulped down half the beer.

A cocktail server sauntered over. “Follow me, sweet-cheeks.” Jonathan pulled out a twenty and placed it under his half-drunk beer, calling a quick thank you to the flaxen-haired Avenger before following through the crowd and back behind a thick velvet curtain.

A row of five square mirrors, surrounded by lightbulbs, lined one wall of the back room. Makeup, pantyhose, and duct tape lay scattered across the vanity that stretched the entire length. A tall—very tall—queen crouched in front of the middle station, expertly applying shimmering lip gloss.

“Well, who do we have—oh!” Turning from the mirror, the queen stared, mouth agape. “You’re Lucy’s guide.”

How would she know? Wait. “You were at the hospital.” The heavy makeup disguised masculine features, but enough similarities showed that Jonathan was certain of it. “I thought . . . when we met . . . I thought you were Brodan.”

Perfectly arched eyebrows shot up twice as high as where they were drawn on. “Bite your tongue! Gross. Can’t stand that weasel.”

“I one-hundred percent agree with you.” Jonathan snorted derisively.

Setting down the gloss, the queen walked closer. “Dirty O’Feelya.” She reached out her hand, which Jonathan took for a gentle shake, being careful of her long fingernails. “And we’ve already established that you’rethe guide. What brings you here?”

“Jonathan,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Sure.” Dirty O’Feelya crossed her arms and gave him a bored expression. Clearly, Lucy’s friend wasn’t a fan, which meant Lucy told her everything.Shit. It was critical to play this right. “I need your help.”

“With what, exactly?” She analyzed him, head to toe, through thick lashes.

“I need to talk to Lucy.”

“You have her number, don’t you?”

“Yes, but . . .” Jonathan shifted from foot to foot. “I need to do it in person.”

“Look, pal,” Dirty O’Feelya growled, poking a long nail intoJonathan’s chest. “If you came here to make her feel even shittier, then you got another thing coming. She was a wreck after you broke her heart, and she’s just now starting to get back to her usual, vivacious self.”

Guilt ricocheted inside Jonathan’s chest. He assumed he’d hurt her, and he hated himself for it. But her friend’s confirmation made him sick all over again. “No, I came here to fight for her. Please, you have to help me. I was a complete idiot. I’m desperate to fix things. I need to win her back.”

The queen stepped back and smiled a satisfied grin. “Good. I’m glad you decided to pull your fat head out of your ass.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope. With Dirty O’Feelya in his corner, he could pull this off. “All I need is her address, and I can . . .”

“Like hell!”

“But I thought you were going to help me.”

“I am. But if you think for one second I’m going to let you get away with some basic bitch apology, then you came to the wrong queen for help. Our girl deserves a grand gesture.”

“I drove all the way from Leavenworth unannounced.”

“Look at me and tell me if you think I’d count a three-hour drive as ‘grand’.”

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