Page 82 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

“We’re just borrowing it, so I’m going to need it back at the end of the night.” He kept his eyes on the road as we pulled up to a stop sign. “You and Patrick’s girlfriend look close enough that you can pass for her.”

My jaw dropped open at the same moment my focus returned to the driver’s license in my hand, zeroing in on Felicity’s date of birth. The math was quick. “She’s twenty-four. I don’t look twenty-four.”

His tone was light and amused. “Sure you do. No one is going to care, anyway. They barely check.” Abruptly, he turned serious. “But start studying, just in case the bouncer wants to be an asshole and quiz you.”

As Preston drove to the highway, I started memorizing everything. Just having the borrowed license in my hand felt wrong and fucking exhilarating. None of my friends had fake IDs, and if this worked, I’d get a sneak peek at the world that was still off-limits to me for another four months.

“Hey, Felicity,” he teased. “What’s your address?”

I rattled it off, then double-checked that my answer was right.

“Cool.” His gaze sliced my direction, and a smirk twitched on his mouth. “And what’s your sign?”

I opened my mouth to answer, only to freeze. Felicity’s birthday was in June, but mine was in October, and I didn’t know Zodiac dates. “They’re going to ask that?”

He peeled his fingers off the steering wheel to lift a hand and gesture ‘maybe.’ “I’ve seen it before. When the girl hesitated, the bouncer knew immediately it wasn’t her ID, and so he took it.” His tone was serious. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen tonight.”

“Felicity is okay with letting me borrow her ID?”

“Yeah. If it goes wrong, she can just say she lost it. All the risk is going to be on you.” His tone was warm and persuasive. “But you’ve got this. It’s early, so they won’t care, plus a little danger doesn’t bother a bad girl like you. Right?”

I swallowed a breath, so it came out sounding less confident than I wanted it to. “Nope.”

The bar was on the outskirts of downtown. It was a freestanding brick building, painted in a modern black, and there was a large axe perched over the doors. The axe emoji he’d sent me the other day finally made sense.

My heart was racing at a thousand beats a minute when we reached the front door and Preston put his hand on it. He shot me a quick glance, maybe checking to see if I was ready to go through with it.

I nodded.

All the information I’d memorized pounded in my head when he pulled open the door and walked in. Usually, he’d let me go first, so I got the feeling he’d done this intentionally. Like he was the first through the door because he wanted to be a shield for me.

There was a stand just inside, and the woman who sat on a stool beside it glanced over as we came in. She smiled and sized us up instantly. “Can I see your IDs?”

I’m Felicity Gamble, I chanted repeatedly as I pulled the borrowed driver’s license from my purse. Nerves made my hands clumsy, and Preston must have noticed because as soon as he had his license out, he grabbed mine and passed them both to the woman.

She looked at the first one, and her gaze flicked to him. Then she glanced at the other license, making me hold in a breath. Preston wasn’t wrong—I had the same length brown hair and blue eyes as Felicity, and since the ID was a few years old, the picture was somewhat faded.

But I wasn’t a spitting image of her. Our noses were different, and my chin was pointier, and—

“I made a reservation for a lane,” he said.

She stopped looking at the ID, distracted by him, and then gestured to a spot behind her. “One of the guys at the booth can help you with that.” She glanced at the IDs for another microsecond, nodded, and handed them back to him. “Have fun.”

I slowly metered out the air in my lungs as we walked past the stand and moved deeper into the bar. The rush of excitement was intoxicating, but I did my best to play it cool.

The bar was busy but not too crowded, and the music and conversations surrounding us were interrupted by loud thuds as axes hit wooden targets. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and stalls were partitioned off with heavy black netting, allowing multiple games to run simultaneously. The ceiling was exposed pipe and ductwork, the floors were polished concrete, and the atmosphere was pure machismo.

I was so busy watching the game in the stall closest to me, I didn’t realize Preston was heading toward the bar. I hurried along to catch up. “Are we going to play?”

“Once we get some drinks.” His grin was sexy. “What are you having, Felicity?”

For a half-second, I considered telling him I’d have whatever he was drinking. I wanted him to think I was cool and at ease, that I could hang with him. But then I realized he was probably going to order a beer. And more importantly, I strangely didn’t feel the urge that I needed to impress him.

I liked who I was when I was around him.

And I liked who he was too.

So, I sipped on my spiked lemonade while we collected our gear and lane assignment from the booth, and then we each took a few minutes to warm up.

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