Chapter Six
Summer wound her way through the crowded tables at The A-Hole, the only bar in Huntwood. She had a margarita in each hand and she had to concentrate on her steps because she’d already thrown back one margarita on an empty stomach, and Ross, the bartender and owner of The A-Hole, made them strong.
Halfway back to the table she’d claimed with Becca, she froze. Something was off. Becca still sat primly in her pencil skirt and silk blouse. Her blond hair was still flat-ironed to fall in layered sheets around her face and shoulders, and her sea-green eyes were glued to a phone as she tapped away at the screen, a thoughtful expression on her face. Not an unusual image. So why was Summer suddenly uneasy?
That was it. The phone Becca was messing with—it was Summer’s.
“Dammit, Becks,” she muttered. Becca was notorious for changing Summer’s settings to images of half-naked men and ring tones featuring the kind of hip-hop lyrics that made Summer blush. She speed-walked the rest of the way, nearly tripping over a chair that she swore appeared out of nowhere, before depositing the drinks on their table. She snatched her phone back before Becca could do more damage.
Summer pointed her phone at Becca. “I step away for two seconds to order us another round, and you’re already messing with my phone?”
Becca smirked. “Your fault you haven’t set a passcode.”
“Well, I forgot that my evil best friend likes to steal it and change my settings.” Summer opened the phone and looked at it. The background image was the same, and everything was in place. She had to admit a little disappointment—she didn’t entirely hate coming back to her phone and seeing a half-naked dude, all abs and pecs, smoldering up at her.
Wait a second…her SocialBook app was open in the background. Summer looked down at Becca. “What did you do?”
Becca blinked innocently at her and took a sip of her margarita. “Hmm?”
Summer sat down and clicked open the messages tab. “Shit. You wrote to him? You told him to come here?”
“Oh, did I do that?” Becca asked.
“I could strangle you.”
“You’ll thank me for this.”
“Doubtful. If you have to un-bury me from yet another mess that this guy puts me in, that’s on you, sister, and I’m not paying any of your lawyering bills.”
Becca laughed. “You don’t pay me anyway.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not strangling you right now. Cheap attorney fees.”
“So what does he look like?” Becca asked. “I want to see who he is when he comes in.”
“He sent a photo of a hottie, actually,” Summer said. “But I don’t know if he was just joking around. We’ve been sending photos of animals back and forth.”
“Aww, that’s so cute. I guess we just have to sit back and wait.”
Summer frowned. She could send him another message. Tell him not to come.
Text appeared on her phone screen.
JRJ: I’m on my way. I’m wearing a Licorice Fiddles shirt. If you change your mind, you don’t have to say hi. But I hope you say hi.
Summer felt her heart melt a little bit. He was still giving her the opportunity to back out. Did he recognize how skittish she was? He must. She wasn’t trying to be high-maintenance or difficult to get along with. It was just so difficult to trust someone again.
She looked over at Becca. “So, when this all falls apart and my heart is in a thousand pieces…”
Becca took her hand. “I’ve been hearing about this guy for weeks, Summer. He sounds like a good guy, and he sounds smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” Summer took a large gulp of her margarita. “Who even says that anymore?”
“How about besotted?” Becca asked. “Infatuated?”
“I don’t know.” Summer closed her eyes once, wishing this were happening in a different way, that she had agreed to meet Jackson for lunch at some quiet, awkward restaurant where she could take a good hard look at him, decide she wasn’t attracted to him, and send him on his way. Then their messages would trickle off to nothing and eventually they would close this weird, obsessed chapter of their lives.
She glanced down at her clothes. She hadn’t given them much thought. Getting drinks at The A-Hole was hardly a dress-up event, and Summer certainly hadn’t come here hoping to find a man. Her dark jeans had one of those “stylish” tears in the knee, and her flower-patterned tank top was flowy and forgiving. She guessed she could be wearing something worse to meet Jackson in.
“A man walked into the bar,” Becca said.
Summer laughed too loudly, and covered her mouth. “Is that the beginning of a joke?”
Becca pointed. “Is that him? I don’t recognize him as a local.”
“Don’t point,” Summer hissed.
This guy couldn’t be Jackson. Summer had expected Jackson to look a little soft around the edges, like the kind of guy who spent way too much time on the computer and not any time at all exercising or watching his diet. She’d thought the photo he sent was either not him at all, or an exaggeration. Or maybe a photo of him a few years ago, when he’d been in his prime.
But the guy who’d just walked in was over six feet tall and built like an athlete. He obviously cared for his body. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Summer didn’t want to be around a dude who was too busy finessing his six-pack to pay attention to his girlfriend.
He turned to look around the crowded room. His dark blond hair was a little too long, coming just beneath his ears, and messy, like he’d rushed out of the house. He surveyed the room with blue eyes, bright and intelligent.
“Tell me that’s not him,” Becca said. “Because if it’s not, I so have dibs.”
Summer forced her gaze away from his face and down to his black t-shirt. The distinctive red logo of the Licorice Fiddles was stark against the black cotton.
She set down her margarita before she dropped it. Still not looking away from him, she said to Becca, “It’s him.”
At her words, those gorgeous, baby blue eyes turned her way and locked with hers.