Page 60 of Tough Nut to Crack

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

I can't even describe how I feel as I see those three little dots pop and disappear for more than a minute without a return text coming through. I don't know if it's jealousy, anger, or shock that I care at all, but there's a very real chance that it's a combination of all of those plus a few extras thrown in for good measure.

Not once in my life has a woman ever been able to tie me up in knots, but here I am, staring down at my phone, wondering just how easily I'll lose my shit if she says she has a date.

I know that's a red flag on my part. I know it's toxic to think I have any say in what she does in her life. I don't own her. I haven't agreed to any form of relationship with her.

That was the absolute last thing I wanted that night I brought her home with me from the bar. I wanted a little fun, some time between the sheets, to take the edge off of a very bad day.

I never anticipated that I'd want to see her again, and it never crossed my mind that there was a chance I'd crave her even when she wasn't around. I have no freaking clue how to navigate any of this, and the men sitting near me right now don't have enough successful relationship experience to give me advice, even if I was the type to talk about my personal life.

Riley: I have plans.

I growl at her simple response.

I'm not owed an explanation, but I can't help but read more into the three words she has sent. I don't know if she's being coy, doesn't want to tell me, or she doesn't think I have a right to know. There's always the chance that she thinks I wouldn't care what her plans are, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

My skin itches as I pull in a deep breath, part of me knowing I should just leave well enough alone, but the part of me that yearns daily for this woman is the one who wins out.

Me: What kind of plans?

"Oh, man," Ethan says, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "You aren't begging her, are you?"

I scoff, but I don't lift my eyes to any of them, although my crew has become instantly uncharacteristically quiet.

Riley: A drink with the girls.

It seems innocent enough, and it wouldn't bother me if I didn't know that the only bar in town also happens to be the very bar she left with me from before rocking my world and leaving me like some fiend who can't seem to get enough. I'd be a fool to think that she wasn't able to rock the next asshole's world as well.

Me: Have fun.

The text is simple, but in my mind, I'm already formulating a plan. There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that the woman will be taking anyone else home tonight.

Chapter 25

Riley

"And what will you have tonight?"

I roll my lips between my teeth, wondering exactly what I want to order. I came to The Hairy Frog with the intention of having a beer or some fruity drink, but the reminder of thatHAVE FUNtext that Mac sent, there's a whisper in the back of my head urging me to get blackout drunk.

I let myself believe at first, when he asked about my plans, that maybe he was a little jealous. My heart fluttered at the idea that he cared what I was doing, but then he ruined that by being an asshole.

"A Long Island iced tea," I say, holding my chin a little higher as if the hint of defiance matters to anyone but me.

The waitress dips her head before turning her attention to the other women at the table. No one spares me a glance of worry before placing their own orders. I know that if the drink is too strong or if I order a second one, someone here will make sure I get home safely. Hell, I wouldn't put it past Walker, the owner of the bar, to take me home himself if no one else was around, but I ordered with confidence because I trust these women.

I do my best not to seem annoyed, but more than once, Sage looks down at my hand when my fingers start tapping on the tabletop. She doesn't call me out for it, but I can tell by the flat line of her lips that she has a million questions for me, although she'd never ask them in front of the others.

My eyes dart toward the front door more than half a dozen times when it swings open, a sigh of relief on my lips each time I realize that it isn't Mac, but there's also a hint of disappointment when someone else walks in.

My head is a mess, and he's the only one to blame for it.

Maybe I should be glad for the distraction, grateful that my thoughts drifted to him instead of the status quo of constantly worrying about my business and if I'm going to be able to make ends meet this month.

I thank the waitress when she drops our drinks off at the table, not wasting a moment before pulling the strong liquid through the straw. Almost instantly, the liquor in my drink begins to warm my stomach, but I know it's more than the drink affecting me when the door to the bar opens, and Mac, along with most of his work crew, walks inside.

I narrow my eyes at him. The man is smoking hot on his worst day, but he was wearing work clothes that night I left with him.

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