Page 12 of Vamp

She pushed to sitting with an exaggerated groan, kicking her legs out wide and looking up at me with a killing glare. “Tell me again why I agreed to do this run with you?”

I bent and grabbed her wrist, hefting her off the ground. “Because we both agreed it’ll feel good to accomplish something this big. Because it’s for a great cause. Because—”

She held up her hand to cut me off. “Okay, okay. I don’t need you to go through the whole list of excuses you used to get me to do this insane run.”

I smiled in triumph.

“But you never told me you were a freaking robot,” she grumbled. “You said we were going to start out with a light jog. You didn’t tell me you’re Jason fucking Bourne. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to stuff my lung back down my throat.”

I smiled, propping my hands on my hips as I moved from foot to foot to keep my muscles warm. “I take it that’s your eloquent way of asking me to slow my pace a little bit?”

She responded by flipping me the bird.

“All right,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll take it easy on you from here on out. Now are you ready to get back to it?”

“Fine, but you owe me a coffee,” she bargained. “And a cheese Danish. Abigone.”

“Deal.”

We started to move, me itching to speed up, her limping along like every joint in her body was displaced. She was hobbling along like my great-grandma before she’d gotten her hips replaced.

I kept pace with her as we hobbled down the tree-lined streets and out of the subdivision toward the town square. It wasn’t a far walk to get to the best coffee shop in the entire freaking state, but at our current pace, it was going to take forever.

I almost offered to give her a piggyback ride the rest of the way there, but I worried she’d back out of the 8k, and I really needed a running buddy.

Ever since Asher’s wedding, the universe had been betraying me with constant reminders of the past. It was really freaking hard to keep all things Roan Blackwell locked in that metal box in my mind where it belonged when he was being thrust front and center every time I turned around.

Every time I started my car, it was one of his stupid songs playing on the radio. I couldswearthat I tuned the stereo away from any country stations, but somehow, it always turned back. Like it was being controlled by some evil, sadistic bitch ghost. Then, while I had the news playing on the television as I got ready for the day, one of the top stories had something to do with him and a dispute over his label or something. I triedreallyhard not to listen to what the stupid overly-teased and hair-sprayed-to-an-inch-of-her-life news anchor was saying, but I wasn’t able to block it out on my dead sprint from the bathroom to the bedroom where the remote was. And there had been no way tonotsee the picture of him they flashed across the screen. It was the one time I cursed buying such a big television.

But the worst part was the owner and main choreographer of Whiskey Dolls, McKenna, had introduced a new routine, and it was to one of that asshole’s songs. I would have rather had all my teeth drilled down to nubs than perform to a Roan Blackwell song, but I couldn’t exactly say that out loud without having to field a ton of questions from my friends that I absolutely didn’t feel like answering.

When I moved to Hope Valley, it was to escape my past. It was my home now, and Whiskey Dolls was my safe place. Or at least it used to be. I felt like the bastard was infiltrating my life. Like there was no escaping him.

We finally managed to make it to the local coffee shop that served the best coffee and pastries I’d ever had, and pushed through the doors into heaven itself.

There were countless reasons why I loved my small town so damn much, but Muffin Top held the number one spot on that list. Some people thought it was ridiculous to spend more than three bucks on a cup of coffee, but I was convinced those people had never tasted the brilliance that the owner, Danika Drake, created. That or they were just plain stupid.

I headed to the counter to order while Layla limped to one of the tables in front of the window and collapsed into a chair.

“Hey, Alma. How’s it going?” Dani greeted from behind the front counter. The shop owner wasn’t much older than I was, and had married one of the town’s detective’s, Leo Drake, a few years back. Not only was she an amazing person, but being friends with her meant I got the added perk of her occasionally stashing away whatever the pastry of the week was if she knew it was a favorite of mine.

“It’s good. Just got finished with a run.”

“Ah.” She leaned to the side so she could look over my shoulder. “That explains why Layla looks like she’s about to have a heart attack in the middle of my shop.”

I turned to look back at Layla. She was still sitting in the chair, but her top half was sprawled across the top of the table. “Yep,” I said flatly before turning back to face Dani. “And we didn’t even go that far.”

She laughed. “I’ll add a water to your order. Just keep her from dying on my floor, okay? I’m pretty sure that’s a major health code violation.”

I ordered our coffees, along with Layla’s giant cheese Danish and a ham and swiss croissant for me. By the time I made it to our table, Layla’s color had turned more normal, and she was sitting up again.

“Here.” I plunked the water down in front of her first and took the chair across from her. “Drink that first.”

She snatched the clear plastic cup off the table like it held the meaning of life and guzzled it down in seconds.

I watched silently as she slammed the cup down on the table with a loudaaah.

“Feel better?”

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