Page 9 of Playing Dirty
Sawyer and I stepped inside, brushing snow from our jackets as the door clicked shut behind us. I was ready for a medium-rare steak, a decent bourbon, and maybe a little quiet to balance out the static still ringing in my head from earlier.
What I wasn’t ready for washer.
Callie sat tucked into a corner booth with Lilly, wine glass in hand and cheeks flushed from laughter. She looked... relaxed. Her ponytail was a little looser, her blouse a little wrinkled, like she’d finally exhaled after holding her breath all day. She hadn’t seen us yet.
Then she did.
And just like that, the stiffness snapped back into her shoulders. One blink and the real Callie—the soft one, the messy one, the girl I used to know—vanished behind that polished mask she wore like armor.
Sawyer nudged me with a grin. “Looks like the scenery just improved.”
Before I could stop him, he strolled over and leaned a forearm on the edge of their booth like it belonged to him. “Ladies,” he said with a slow grin. “Mind if we crash?”
Lilly gave him a once-over, shrugged, and scooted over. “Long as you order something stronger than light beer.”
Sawyer winked. “Darlin’, I don’t even look atlightbeer.”
I slid into the seat across from Callie, who was busy pretending I wasn’t there. Her wine glass hovered just in front of her lips, her fingers wrapped tight around the stem like it might save her from saying something she’d regret.
I flagged down the waitress and ordered half the menu—steaks, burgers, wings, fried pickles, whatever would keep me from blurting out the million questions I had for her.
When the food arrived, I pushed a plate of fries toward her. “Play like you don’t hate me for five minutes, and I’ll buy you dessert.”
Her eyes flicked to mine. “Depends. You gonna talk trash about Matt again?”
I leaned back, one arm slung across the top of the booth. “Only if you say I’m wrong.”
She didn’t answer right away. That pause? It was the loudest thing she’d said all night.
Instead of fighting, she reached for a fry.
Across the table, Sawyer and Lilly were already laughing about something, heads tilted close, shoulders brushing like they’d been doing this dance for years.
Callie watched them out of the corner of her eye. She tried to hide it, but I caught the flicker of longing. Not for Sawyer—but for the ease. The comfort.
Hell, I wanted that too.
But right now, I’d settle for her finishing that wine without stabbing me with a fork.
Progress.
Soon, the fancy jukebox was scratching out the opening notes of an old country slow jam—one of those songs where the words didn’t matter half as much as the ache behind them. The kind that made you remember things best left buried.
Sawyer twirled Lilly across the battered dance floor, her laughter cutting through the low murmur of the bar. Theymoved like they’d done this before. Maybe not together, but easy.
Comfortable.
Callie sat across from me, working on the last of her wine. Her ponytail was slipping loose, one stubborn strand falling across her cheek. She didn’t bother to tuck it behind her ear.
I stood and held out a hand. “Come on. Just one.”
She blinked up at me, already shaking her head. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
She rolled her eyes but slid out of the booth. “Fine. But just one.”
The floorboards creaked beneath our steps as I pulled her in. Not too close. Not too far. Her hands landed stiffly on my shoulders like she was holding up a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign, but I didn’t mind.
