Page 44 of The Road to Finding Us

“Hands fucking off, Cassidy,” I grumble, leaning as far away from her as possible.

The woman actually fucking pouts, sticking her bottom lip out in an attempt to be cute.

It isn’t fucking cute.

“Don’t play hard to get,” she says loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. Her gaze rakes over my friends in an attempt to regain the composure I took from her when I told her no meant no. “You know we have fun together.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. She can’t take the hint. I slide my hands down the front of my pants before I kindly tell her to fuck off. Finally, my eyes find hers once again. She’s got a lipstick ring on her chin from where she stuck her lip out too far.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but not fucking interested.” I enunciate the last three words slowly so her brain can really catch onto the hint that it isn’t happening tonight.

She lets out a whine, hanging her head in embarrassment as she travels back to her friends, wherever the hell they are. She’ll be setting her sights on some other asshole in this bar in less than five minutes; I don’t feel bad at all for letting her down.

I’m in a fucking mood because of a certain woman teetering at the bar like she’s had a few too many. If it were any other girl I’d been interested in, I’d be across the bar so fast, throwing her over my shoulder to take her home safely and tuck her into bed. But fate is fucking me up the ass because this girl I can’t erase from my mind is the one of the only women in this world I can’t really touch.

Maverick’s sister.

Lily has me so fucked up I can’t even properly finish with other women. Including Cassidy. The truth of the matter is, I couldn’t fucking finish with Cassidy because she made way too many noises that didn’t allow me to picture Lily in my head. So, I jerked off afterward to the memory of Lily’s legs wrapped around me. To the soft sounds she made. To the way she almost fell apart in my hands.

I’m all sorts of fucked up at the moment.

And it’s all because of Lily pain-in-my-ass Morrison.

The same girl who just handed her keys over to the bartender. I can’t look away as he pockets the keys, giving her a sly smile. He walks over to the only other bartender besides Lenny, mouthing something that looks a lot like, “I’m heading out.”

He and the guy exchange conspiratorial looks with one another.

I’m out of the booth so fucking fast. “Oh, hell no.”

My feet take me across the old floor of Lenny’s quickly. I’m shouldering through the mass of sorority girls when I make eye contact with Lenny. The look on his face lets me know he’s onto what I’m about to do. He narrows his bushy eyebrows at me, warning me not to make a scene.

I lift my shoulder in a half-assed shrug as I finally break through the abundance of perfume and blondes. I’m not trying to make a scene here, but there’s absolutely no fucking way on this planet that Lily is going home with the wannabe-hipster bartender tonight. She’s been swaying at the bar for an hour now, making it very clear she isn’t in the right state of mind.

Lily must feel the connection between the two of us as well, because her head snaps up from talking to the bartender, her eyes connecting with mine instantly.

She takes one look at me, straightens her spine to gear up for a fight with me, and opens that heart-shaped mouth to speak. “Well, shit on a stick.”

23

Aspen

Past - Age Twenty-Two

“Hand over the keys,” I demand, my open palm extended toward the hipster bartender, my fingers wiggling to speed him up.

The guy stares at me, looking like a damn deer in headlights, not moving a muscle.

Lily’s tiny hand smacks mine. “Go away!” She apologetically looks at the bartender, then wraps her arm in his. “Don’t pay attention to him. His brain is obviously not working properly.” She tries to step closer to him, tripping over nothing and stumbling forward a bit.

I reach out to steady her, but Lily pulls her elbow from my grip as soon as she regains her footing. It irritates me that the scowl on her face is adorable, with her nose scrunched and eyebrows drawn together—though the look is doing nothing to deter from my mission at hand.

Once again, I hold my hand out. “Keys,” I repeat, staring down the dude who, on closer inspection, has a tattoo of a marijuana leaf peeking out from his neck collar.

What a fucking keeper, Lily.

The guy still doesn’t budge.

Dude, is he broken?

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