Page 20 of The Lair

“We love you too, Allie. Don’t make any impulsive decisions you might regret later. Think about how precious the life you’re building for yourself is, and don’t let anybody ruin it. Not even yourself.”

Not even yourself.

That has always been the hardest part.

Chapter Seven

After lookingfor seven days and seven nights, Jada and Paul don’t find anything. Not a single trace of me or my whereabouts on the internet.

“Maybe she didn’t know who you were after all,” Jada suggested. “Your hair probably threw her off.”

“Or maybe she recognized you,” Paul offered over our video call last night, which didn’t really help, but I still love him, “but she chose not to say anything.”

I stomped down the idea that she could have recognized meandgone directly to my mother because that would be insane. But now, twenty-four hours later, I’m not proud to admit it has resurfaced.

And now isn’t the best time for distractions.

The Lair is packed to the brim with Travis’s friends. A guy named Josh turns forty tonight, and he chose The Lair as the place to celebrate. Apparently, he offered Travis a ridiculous sum of money to rent the bar for a private party.

The first hour goes by as normal as any birthday party full of half-drunk people would—an indecent number of shots, loud conversations, and endless laughter. That’s until I notice something unacceptable.

“What are you doing?” I arch a curious eyebrow at Travis, who doesn’t so much as spare me a glance as he gets some drinks ready.

“Working,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Whyare you working tonight? Isn’t it your friend’s birthday party?”

He sets two beers in front of a waiting customer before turning to me. Those green eyes scream boredom as he asks, “Your point?”

“Travis…”

“Allie.”

So, this is how it’s going to go.

I watch his profile as he cleans some spilled beer from the counter. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with them? I’m not asking you to get first in line for karaoke, but you could let loose for a bit.”

I know what he’s going to say before he says it, and I’m ready to fight him on this.

Travis is one of the most—if notthemost—hardworking people I know. He’s here every day before anyone else and is always the last one to leave. Whenever there’s an issue with any of the patrons, he gets involved and doesn’t relent until the customer leaves satisfied or at least less pissed off.

Granted, I have no clue what he does in his spare time. He could have the most active of social lives known to humankind, but I doubt it. I mean, he’s pretty much here fifteen hours a day, and he doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. But right now, I do.

“I have to work,” he says in that deep voice, which is exactly what I expected of him.

“Charlie and I can take care of everything for a bit if you want to grab a drink with them,” I offer.

But of course, the next thing he tells me is, “I don’t drink on the clock.”

“Then get off the clock.”

“Allie.”

A warning.

“Boss man.”

He shoots me a bored stare that, for some reason, I find amusing.

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