Page 4 of Timber's Girl

But Martha was easy to ghost since I knew when she ate lunch in the break room, and I took a different route to the bathrooms—one that avoided her cubicle. The interoffice IMs were a bit more difficult to ignore, but eventually, she stopped trying to hang out.

Until recently.

She heard about my breakup, probably by overhearing our boss talk about it since he had to approve my decision to work remotely—a choice made to create a clean break from Everton and Dean—and reached out.

“Yeah, I think so. It’ll be good to rekindle those friendships I let die under Dean’s control,” I say.

Martha had messaged Caroline asking if she had my new number, then after checking with me, Caroline connected us. We’ve texted a couple of times to catch up before Martha asked if I’d like to hang out this Friday. Since I didn’t have any plans—I rarely do outside of book club—I figured what the hell?

It’s been over a year since I left Dean.

It’s long past time for me to ease back into the social scene outside of Suitor's Crossing and the Reaper’s Wolves MC community.

Caroline reaches across the table to squeeze my forearm. “I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there again. Martha and I weren’t super close, but she seemed nice enough. Go have fun, then tell us all about it.”

***

Go have fun. Tell us all about it.Caroline’s words ring through my head as my gaze absorbs the scene around me.

I can’t believethisis where Martha wanted to go—Rust, Everton’s premiere underground bar and club. The large industrial space looks like it belongs in a horror film with all the stained concrete and eroded metal. An abandoned warehouse chic vibe clings to the building. The perfect place for all kinds of degenerates.

Okay, maybe, everyone isn't a delinquent, but still… This is a far cry from what I imagined tonight would be. I wanted to dip my toes into society again, not cannonball into shark-infested waters.

Where’s the classy bartop, leather booths, and warm wooden features meant for a cozy atmosphere? My black bodycon dress rides up my thighs, and I hurriedly tug it down, regretting the decision to assume we were going somewhere upscale.

You know what they say about people whoassume…

"Are you sure it's a good idea to be here? Is it safe?" I whisper to Martha. Her head bobs to the music filtering through the air as she scans the crowd of people in front of us.

The moment we parked outside Rust, I tried persuading her to go to Diamond instead. At least that club is owned by the Reaper’s Wolves MC, making it leagues better in my mind.

But Martha was adamant that I give Rust a chance.

"Of course, just relax! Your ex must have done a real number on you if you’re this antsy about a club. You really need to loosen up.” Her hand pushes me forward once she finds who she’s looking for.

I stumble a bit in my heels, unused to their added height, then recover, narrowing my eyes. She didn’t shove hard, but I don’t like even the pretense of being forced into something.

It’s too reminiscent of Dean.

Martha introduces me to a group of six people occupying a dimly lit corner couch. Everyone scoots to the side so there’s enough room for Martha to settle on the lumpy cushions, but it’s clear I won’t fit in the tiny space leftover. Not with my wide as fuck hips.

“I’ll stand. Thanks.” I wave off Martha’s silently raised brow.

My plan is to recede into the background while she talks with her friends. I'll wait the night out in my own little corner until we leave, privately acknowledging that this will be the last time I ever hang out here. It might be the last time I meet up with Martha, too, if this is her idea of fun.

Sketchy warehouse clubs really don’t fit her work vibe, but I guess that makes sense. People wear different facades depending on their environment. I just wish I’d seen beneath hers before agreeing to step into this bad idea waiting to happen.

CHAPTER FOUR

LINDY

I don’t feel too good.

My head is pounding, and my stomach is threatening to revolt at any moment. Looking around Rust, I can’t find Martha.

Where did she go?

Things were going smoothly in our little corner group. An actual waitress distributed bottles of ice cold beer, then there was more chatter before everything became fuzzy. Holding my half-empty bottle higher, I squint at the sloshing liquid.

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