Page 104 of Hate You, Maybe
“It’s Madelyn Porter.”
Annnnnnd now I’m even more confused.
Maddie Porter and I met back in seventh grade, when I first moved to Harvest Hollow. We stayed friends throughout high school, and even went on a couple dates a few years back. Maddie’s funny. Smart. Cute. But nothing clicked beyond casual with us. Which is the way I liked to keep things anyway. Still, a woman as great as Maddie Porter deserves a guy who can’t get enough of her brand of funny, smart, and cute. So when she felt the limit of our click too, and cut things off, I was relieved.
“What’s going on?” I ask, blinking in the dark cab of my truck.
“You at the football game? If so, I need you to come on down here, ASAP.”Down here. Last I heard, Maddie was tending bar at Tequila Mockingbird.
“I’m not at the game,” I grunt. “I’m already downtown.”
“Well, that’s good. Because your girlfriend’s had a little too much wine.”
Girlfriend.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Maddie lets out a scoff. “Based on the number of times she slurred your name tonight … I just figured.”
“Who’s slurring? Sayla?”
“That’s the one.”
“She’s been talking about me?”
“All night long.”
“And you have her phone because …”
“Like I said. She’s had a few too many glasses of Chardonnay. I didn’t overserve her on purpose, but I get the feeling your girl’s a total lightweight.”
“I get the feeling you’re right.”
“I just talked to her mom, and she was worried. We both think letting Sayla use some app to get a ride probably isn’t the best idea tonight. Harvest Hollow’s safe, but people show up from all over on a Friday night. I didn’t want to let her go home with a stranger.”
The thought of Sayla alone in the back of some random guy’s car makes my chest constrict. Like an elephant’s sitting on my ribcage. I’m already putting the truck in gear, forcing myself to keep a cool head while I drive. The bar’s only a few blocks away, but plowing into some other car will only hurt someone innocent. And I won’t get to Sayla any quicker that way either.
“I took her last glass of wine before she could finish it,” Maddie says as I pull out of the lot.
“Good call. Thanks, Maddie.”
“She was kinda feisty about it, but she’s got her head down on the bar now.”
My throat goes tight. “Sayla’s passed out?”
“Just resting,” Maddie says. “Talking to herself. Mumblingabout linguini. And forehead kisses. And some kind of moon tattoo.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll be there in five.”
I’m coming for you, Sayla.
My girl.
I call Bridger next.
“She’s all right,” I say when he answers, relieved to have the words out. Even more relieved they’re true.
“Where was she?”
