Page 94 of Blue

That bitch. Whatever happened to chicks before dicks?

She was supposed to be her best friend. Instead, she’d sold her the fuck out.

“It’s nice to see you in the clubhouse again,” he added and drew her attention back to the matter at hand.

The what? She hadn’t fully paid attention and found her brain was slow to process his words. Could be the concussion or the booze she’d used to medicate it.

His fingers ran through her hair, and she drew in a deep breath. A shudder rippled through Blue as she fought the urge to turn around. That’d mean facing him. Then she’d have to look at him andtalkto him.

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have anything to talk about. What the fuck could she bring up? Was there anything?

A boa constrictor coiled around her chest. She couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to, how badly she missed him, or how good his touch felt, the fact remained.

He was married.

She couldn’t look him in the eyes.

She couldn’t trust herself around him. The last time she went with her gut, she wound up in jail and then into a grungy basement. Only bad things happened when they got together.

As though he could read her mind, he rounded her and filled her vision. All of him—nothing else was in focus. His perfectly combed hair. His impeccably manicured beard. The colorful lights of the neon beer signs on the walls made him glow. His navy button-down shirt was tucked into his dark wash jeans with his cut over it.

He was her walking wet dream.

Without words, she brought the straw to her lips and sucked. She gulped down swallow after swallow of the blue alcohol, knowing full well it was a bad idea. Everything about this was a bad idea.

She was already drunk. This might put her into puke territory, but she needed to keep her mouth busy.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “Somewhere else, where I can hear you?”

Empty. Already? What the shit?

She wished the clubhouse had fishbowls. Those things were like forty bucks at the bars, but right now, totally would’ve been worth it. She wouldn’t have had to respond if she had a fishbowl to chug.

She couldn’t have answered. Her mouth would’ve been full.

Shifting her focus down, she spotted his extended palm. His peace offering.

Why the hell wassheacting like the deer in headlights?Shebroke up withhim. She had all the power here.

Put your big girl panties on, Blue.

Speak to him or, well, hear him out. Makehimdo all the talking.

A small burp bubbled up and slipped past her lips. It might be a bad idea to have anything else. But to get through this chat, she couldn’t think of any other ways to cope.

She put the plastic cup in his hand and grinned.

“Empty,” she said with a shrug, then brushed past him.

Swiveling her hips purposely, she reminded herself she had to appear confident and not as drunk as she felt. Making a point not to look back, she told herself he’d follow. If he wanted to discuss things with her, he’d stick with her.

Only one problem. She didn’t know where the hell to lead him.

Curses to drunken logic.

As she walked toward the rear of the clubhouse, she considered her options. The lounge area was all but empty. The music was just as loud. She and Sarah had tried to make it their own personal nightclub.

Sure, there were the couches in the back. They were more intimate, but that area wasn’t exactly meant for chatting. They didn’t need intimacy right now.

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