Page 12 of One Night

Should have just stayed home.

Daryl Hall

You know a night out is supposed to be fun, right?

My heart clunked. It was something we had never done before—an invisible line we had yet to cross. Texting in public was risky. I looked around, and for the briefest moment my eyes landed on hers.

My jaw flexed as I controlled the urge to break out into a grin.

Daryl Hall

You look like you’re about to murder someone.

What do you mean? This is my happy face.

Across the bar, I could see her look at her phone and cover her laugh with a cough. Heat radiated across my chest.

Wyatt’s shoulder bumped into me. “Dude, you are so fucked.”

My eyes flew to his as I slipped my phone back into my pocket and shot him a harsh glare.

He only smirked and nodded toward the phone secured in my pocket. “I know that look. You are so gone for that girl.”

At the high-top table, I shrugged him off and leaned on my elbows, letting my bottle rest between my hands. Fresh tension set in between my shoulder blades. Sylvie was hanging around, so my typical one-beer exit strategy evaporated, and I ordered another.

Over time I had learned that Sylvie wasn’t the kind of woman who laughed loudly or sucked up the energy in the room.Instead, she was all subtle smiles and assessing eyes. Her loud-ass brothers may have demanded attention, but somehow she had stolen mine.

Once I found her, I didn’t let my eyes stay on her longer than a fraction of a second. Especially not after Wyatt was already suspicious of whoever I was texting. Plus, I didn’t want to creep her out by staring at her across the bar like some lovesick puppy whose face apparently looked like a murderer’s.

From my peripheral, I watched as conversations overlapped around Sylvie. Her long fingers traced a drop of moisture down the outside of her wineglass. Leave it to a King to be the only person in a dive bar drinking white wine.

She contributed to the conversation only a time or two as voices flowed over her, crashing into her like a wave and swallowing her up. I wasn’t sure if anyone even acknowledged her comments, and that pissed me right the fuck off. It was as though she was present but not fully included.

Finally, MJ grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. I sat back and relaxed a little in the stool. Whenever she danced, I knew I could watch her weave through the crowded dance floor without worrying about getting caught staring.

To any outside onlooker, it would appear like I was just a silent observer as my friends and neighbors enjoyed a night out on the town.

If only they knew.

By my third beer, Wyatt clamped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s about your bedtime, isn’t it, Cinderella?”

I harrumphed but drained the last of my beer and stood, dropping a nice tip on the table for our server.

The truth was, I could stay all night and watch Sylvie sway and move to the music on the dance floor. Out there she let herself go in a way I’d never seen her do anywhere else.

She was free. And fucking gorgeous. Breathtaking.

It was a sick kind of punishment to watch the one thing you could never have. Drowning in self-loathing, I agreed with Wyatt to call it a night.

Outside, the June air was thick and oppressive. Even the breeze off the lake was stifling. We headed out the front of the Grudge and walked through the alleyway between buildings toward the packed parking lot near the back. Wyatt’s car came into view, and I eyed it, wondering if a King had covered the windshield with sticky notes or swapped out the washer fluid with colored liquid, or any other of the mindless pranks they managed to pull.

My boots crunched against the gravel parking lot, and the sudden hushed voices drew my attention. Leaned against his truck at the far end of the lot was Royal King and his brother Whip. When they saw Wyatt and me, Whip straightened to his full height, while Royal slowly turned to face us.

My fists clenched at my sides. I was already irritated at the way their entire group seemed to ignore Sylvie, and I hated how I could never seem to escape the ridiculous feud. I couldn’t even get a fucking beer without it being thrown in my face.

“Just keep walking.” Wyatt’s low tone let me know he saw them, too, and was well aware of the way they were tracking our movements.

My blood ran hot. In Outtatowner, loyalty waseverything. My secret friendship with Sylvie would be enough to ignite the tinderbox of our small-town feud, but I couldn’t convince myself to stop—not when her messages were the only things dragging me out of bed some days.

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