Page 5 of Fate

ChapterTwo

Carson

One month earlier…

The San Francisco sky is dark, cloudy, and foreboding. The gloom of the weather fits my current mood. I sit in my truck, drumming restless fingers along the steering wheel. The clock on my dash reads five fifty-five. She should be arriving anytime.

I just need a glimpse.

Somehow, I feel if I can see it with my own eyes, the truth of the situation will make itself known. I just need to seeher.

A blue Honda pulls up and parks along the curb across the street. Her blond hair pops against the navy jacket she’s wearing. She runs her hand through her hair and enters the building.

What seems like eternity drags on in the minutes I wait for her to exit. When she does, I watch closely, taking in every feature, from her blond curls to her blue eyes. Even at this distance she’s beautiful. Yet a sense of uncertainty slips across my heart.

If she were meant to be mine, wouldn’t I feel it? Know it deep down from within the very depths of mysoul?

Perhaps not. I felt that way once before, and it didn’t last. Crashed and burned more likeit.

Maybe the thing people talk about—unconditional insta-love—only happens when you’ve known the person from the very beginning? The thought saddens me as I watch her settle into her car, pull into traffic, and leave.

The end result is that I need to be sure. Just because she’s told me it’s fact doesn’t mean it is. I’ve been taken advantage of in the past in business, not to mention the gold-digging whores who think they can sink their filthy claws into me by opening their legs and showing me a good time. Those women I scrape off like gum on the bottom of my shoe. Unwanted and annoying.

There’s only one woman who’s ever had her claws in me, and she’s the only woman I wish had never taken themout.

Still, I need concrete evidence, or I’ll never believe what she’s saying.

Decision made, I put my truck in gear and head across town to the shady bar I formerly had no plans to ever enter again.

When I arrive, the parking lot is mostly empty except for a handful of wayward Harleys and off-brand motorcycles. It’s only six thirty. Not exactly party time, and this is not the type of establishment that promotes happy hour or half-off drinks for the regular after-work officecrew.

The building itself is off the beaten path and made up of all wooden planks. It’s shocking the damn thing hasn’t been bulldozed for being a hazard. Structurally, I’d swear a strong wind off the bay could flatten it, but there it stands, as it has for over twenty years.

I park my truck and head to the entrance. The Honda isn’t here yet. I didn’t expect her to arrive that quickly. She told me she starts work at seven most days, so here I am, ready to confront her about her confession last month.

If I were being honest with myself, I should have already touched base with her. She could fuck up my life royally if she can prove what she claims to be true. I, honest to God, have not been able to give credence to her claims. Not even for a moment. It’s beyond comprehension and preposterous. Definitely not something I ever thought could happen to me. I’ve always, always been careful.

Since that night three weeks ago, I’ve been hiding out. Only Chase knows I’m seeing someone new, although labeling it as seeing her is a tad far-fetched. I couldn’t very well tell him the truth. Not yet anyway. Not until I’m one hundred percent clear she’s not pulling a fast one onme.

Misty Duncan.

I didn’t even know her name when I fucked her over two years ago. All I knew was that she was blond, beautiful, and available during my drunken haze of need. And now it’s all coming back to bite me in the ass. Hard.

The bartender approaches warily. He’s probably not used to seeing clean-cut guys in this establishment. I’ve just come from a business meeting downtown, and my suit and tie make me stick out like a sore thumb.

“What’s your poison?”

“Beer. Cold. Whatever you’ve got on tap isfine.”

He scratches his long scraggly beard andnods.

I scan the room, making sure I can see the front door from my seat. There’s a couple of rough-looking guys playing pool, each with a two-bit floozy dangling on their arms between shots. One of the guys slides a hand along his girl’s thigh, brazenly copping a feel before putting his entire paw all the way up her leather skirt until she tips her head back and moans in delight.

Ugh. Why does Misty work here anyway? She seems like a nice girl. Pretty, great body. The girl could work anywhere. So whyhere?

The bartender sets the beer on the counter and foam overflows down the side of the glass. I don’t complain or say a word. This is not the type of place to lodge complaints.

I spy a stack of napkins in the corner and reach over and grab a few, sopping up the worst of the mess, when the door opens. The woman of the hour enters in a flourish.

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