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I take my time in the restroom, applying ChapStick and looking at myself in the mirror. Compared to the young, voluptuous redhead serving us, I don’t look quite as . . . eye-catching, but I’m not an old hag either. Of course, I have no idea why I’m comparing myself to the waitress; it’s not like it matters to me if Co
When I head back to the table, two shots sit in front of where I’m sitting, and two are in front of Co
“I do,” Co
“Blake obviously never wrote you about my low tolerance for tequila. It makes me crazy,” I laugh as I reach for the shot and turn it between my fingers on the table.
“Then we’re two birds of the same feather,” he jests. “Crazy is okay.” He gives me a pleading stare. “Please?”
I know I’m going to regret this, but when a man who just got out of prison after eight years asks you to take a shot with him, it’s hard to say no. So I plaster a smile on my face, nod in agreement, and raise my shot glass. “To freedom.”
“To freedom,” Co
“Straight up, no lime. You’re a badass,” he laughs when he sees I’ve left my lime untouched.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “What’s the second shot for?”
Co
Tears sting my eyes as I lift my glass. “To Blake,” I manage though my words are strained, my voice hoarse with emotion. After we drink our shots of tequila, Co
“I heard it was a nice funeral,” he murmurs, staring at his empty shot glass.
“It was,” I agree.
“I wanted to be there, but I wouldn’t have gotten released to go. Even if I had, it would’ve cost Grams thousands to get me there, and I would’ve been in a pink jumpsuit and cuffs with guards on either side of me. That would’ve only made things more difficult for everyone. Blake deserved a dignified funeral. Not one with his loser cousin drawing everyone’s attention.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the thought of a man like Co
“Some hero,” he grumbles as he wipes a palm down his face, his eyes laced with sadness.
Redhead returns and takes our order, and Co
When our food is delivered, as Co
I chuckle. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Not in detail. No.”
My eyes flit to my hand holding my beer bottle. The way Blake and I met wasn’t exactly your classic romance story. “I was a waitress. At Hooters,” I admit, trying to fight the heat crawling up my neck.
Co
“Uh . . .” I struggle to move on. If Co
Co
“They all left, and an hour later he returned. Alone.” I can’t help the smile that tilts my lips as I remember Blake with his easy smile and shaggy hair. “By that time, we were really busy, and all of my tables were full. He waited an hour and a half to be seated at my table.”
Co
“When I asked him what I could get him, he told me my phone number.”
“Confident bastard,” Co
“I told him no, but he stayed the remainder of the night and every time I came to his table he’d ask again, but in the end he left that night without my number.”
“Playing hard to get?” Co
“No,” I answer honestly. “Do you know how many guys asked for my number during my shifts?”
“I bet,” he somewhat snorts a laugh through his nose.
“To make a long story short, he returned three more times and sat at my table all night asking over and over for my number. Finally, I gave it to him.” I shrug and take a gulp from my beer.
“What finally made you give in?”
I stare down at the bottle of beer in my hand and smile. “Blake was . . . refreshing. He wasn’t like other men I had met. Sometimes I think meeting him was a punishment, and sometimes I think it was a gift,” I admit.
“Punishment?” Co
“It’s not fair to have known someone so great and have them taken away so soon.”
Co
After we finish di
“You staying?” I question.
“Maybe for another drink or two,” he answers, his gaze meeting mine. “But I can walk you back.” He moves to stand, and I place a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“It’s literally four hundred feet. I think I can make it,” I assure him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, I leave wondering why I feel so . . . lonely. Clearly Co
As I enter my hotel room, I decide to think about it a little more; not make any rash decisions.
When Co