Page 7 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“Shush,” I say. “I’m leaving if you can’t be cordial.”

Monty pours him a shot then says to me, “I’m guessin’ we should give the lad a pass.” He nods to one of the televisions on the wall. “After all, his cheese kind of fell off his cracker today.”

Lucas’s hand wraps around the shot glass like he’s ready to launch it at yet another TV.

I put my hand over his, noting how large and warm it is. “Are you really going to let this ruin you? So she moved on. Just like all your other exes did. Instead of wallowing in it, maybe this is a sign thatyoushould move on too.”

He laughs bitterly. “You mean to the next woman I’m going to leave at the altar? No thank you. I’m done with that. Everyone in this town knows I can’t be trusted. They warned Lissa. She thought I could change.Ithought I could change. Turns out they were right, and Lissa was wrong. I was wrong. I’m thirty years old, Regan. I’m never going to change. A tiger can’t change his spots.”

“Leopard,” I say.

His brows knit together. “Huh?”

“Tigers have stripes. The saying is: a leopard can’t change his spots.”

“Whatever. So I’m a leopard.”

I giggle, because with the way he’s slurring, the word sounds more like leper, which is definitely what he is to all the women in this town.

With Monty back behind the main counter, cleaning shoes returned from the Calloways and the college girls they just left with, Lucas sips tequila and stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Regan Lucas,” he says pointedly. “I almost forgot that was your last name until Monty said it. I used to joke with Ryder that if you and me got married, I could be Lucas Lucas. But that was way back in high school before your dad caught me staring out the window at you while jerking off.”

There are so many things to unpack in that sentence. I start with, “You used to talk to my brother about me?”

“You’re the reason I became friends with him.”

I point to myself. “I’mthe reason?”

“Well, kids,” Monty interrupts. “All the lanes are clear. Time for me to put the chairs in the wagon.”

Lucas opens his wallet to pay but comes up empty handed. “Shit. Forgot I gave all my money to Hunter.” He slides out a credit card.

Monty waves it away. “You fall off the tater truck or somethin’? Card machine has been broken since 2016. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”

I open my purse. “I’ve got it. What do I owe you, Monty?”

He eyes the bottle of tequila he left on the bar to see how much is left. “Twenty-five ought to do it.”

I leave him thirty. “Thank you, Monty. Have a good weekend.” I tilt my glass, emptying the last bit, then vacate my barstool.

“You, too, pretty lady. And come back soon. Don’t be such a stranger.”

I turn. “I could say the same about you. I haven’t seen you inmyshop.”

He cackles. “Next time I need a smutty novel or some of those pretty tights you like to wear, I’ll pop right on over.”

“I do carry other types of books, you know. Thrillers. Mysteries. You should come check it out.”

“I might ought do that then,” he drawls, his Texas accent coming through even though he’s lived here for more than fifty years.

As soon as we’re out the door, he’s got it locked up and the lights off. It amazes me that a man Monty’s age can still run this place alone.

Back at Lucas’s car, I hold my hand out. “Keys?”

He stares blankly at my hand. “You have them.”

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