Page 18 of Why Not Us?

“Yes. There’s something I need to do.”

I go out to my car. I’d driven today, intending to go to Hops Scotch this evening to return the things I’d borrowed last night before I meet my friends for the play. But after the call with my sister, I can’t wait another second. I need to talk to Nate, because I am done being overlooked and forgotten by people who are supposed to care about me. I’ve never been strong enough to cut my family out the way Spencer did, though I’ve thought about it.

If I can convince him, maybe Nate can help me break out of this box my family put me in.

Chapter 7

Nate

I’m in my office, recording the notes I’d taken earlier and setting a schedule for next week’s brewing when I hear someone say, “Um, we’re closed.”

“I’m here to see Nate.”

Adalie.

My cock twitches and my heart rate spikes before I can remind myself to calm the fuck down.

“Nate?” the employee says.

“Yes. Nate Sinclair. Owner. Brewmaster. Is he here?”

I can’t help but smile at the snarky edge to her voice. Soft Adalie has a bit of steel in her.

She marches into my office, dropping a bag on an empty chair. She’s standing as tall as she can with her shoulders back and her chin tipped up. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, but she’s not angry. At least, I don’t think she’s angry atme.

“I need your help,” she says with confidence.

“Oh?” What would she needmyhelp for?

“You do crazy things.”

I lift my eyebrows at that, but don’t interrupt.

“You ride a motorcycle, you play hockey, and you jump off bridges.”

“I’ve also jumped out of a plane a couple times,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“Exactly. You don’t seem to care what people think.”

I’m still failing to see where this is going, but I agree with a nod. “Generally.”

“I need to get out of my comfort zone. I want you to help me with that.”

“What’s wrong with your comfort zone?” I ask. “I happen to like mine.”

“I am apparently not memorable enough to show up when people say they’re going to. Or to invite out because I’ll probably say no, anyway.”

Her clenched fists loosen and her hands come together in front of her, twisting in the first show of nerves since she barged in here. Or maybe not nerves. Hurt. At her sister, standing her up last night?

I don’t tell her she’s plenty memorable. I haven’t stoppedrememberingher since I first laid eyes on her Friday night. I’m not sure if that admission will help in this situation or not.

“What about your friends?” I ask instead. “Can’t they help you?”

Her shoulders relax a bit and her chin dips. “My friends?” She takes a breath. “My friends love me. They’d tell me I don’t have to change for anyone.”

“They’d be right.”

“But you don’t know me,” she continues. “You don’t know what I would normally do or what I wouldn’t.”

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