Happy Hour

by Piper Rayne

  “Why don’t you put your shirt back on and then we can talk?” I really don’t care at this point if I’m tipping my cards to him. I cannot sit here and pretend not to be distracted by his body any longer.

  I pull the sheet up over my body. I’m dressed in shorts and a cami, nothing too revealing but I’m sure my headlights are on and glaring.

  “Why?” he asks with his signature cocky grin. “You like what you see?”

  Yes, yes, I do.

  “Nope.” My tone is curt and borderline mean. “It’s common courtesy when we’re sharing a space.”

  “Common courtesy?” He quirks one eyebrow, amusement lighting his tone.

  “Yes. You’re in the presence of a lady.” I sip my coffee, hoping to keep the smile from my face.

  “Shit, how old are you?” He leans back on his hands, not attempting to move for his t-shirt.

  “Old enough.” I scowl.

  “I’m older and even if I suggested I should clothe myself in front of a lady, it’d be dated.”

  “There’s only one thing right in your sentence and that’s that you’re older than me.”

  He stares at me for an unnerving beat. If I was anyone other than myself, I’d pounce on him and think of the consequences later.

  He stands. “Get ready. We’re heading into town.” He saunters to the bathroom and closes the door, water rattling the pipes in the wall seconds later.

  An hour later, I’m back in the passenger seat of his Range Rover trying not to peek over at Roarke in admiration again. His usual suit has been replaced with a pair of light blue linen shorts and a V-neck t-shirt that showcases his broad shoulders. His hair isn’t gelled into cement, rather showing the soft curls in a messy weekend look. The man can pull off casual and business. How do I even stand a chance?

  “You’ve got great legs.” His gaze doesn’t venture my way as we pass a small green sign that says Woods Parlor Population 1034.

  “Did someone have a baby?” I ignore his comment about my legs. I was unsure if I should bring shorts so I opted on sundresses. Easier to dress up if I had to.

  “What?”

  “The population sign. The four looked new.”

  He grants me a fleeting look and shrugs. “I don’t keep up with the town gossip.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as tall trees on either side fill out the drive. It’s beautiful, but I can’t help but notice the lack of people. Growing up in the burbs of Chicago my entire life, woods were reserved for forest preserves the city mandated so every square inch of the area wasn’t cement. Even while you’re in the forest preserve, you can usually see other people.

  Since Roarke wasn’t too keen on me asking about the four, I remain quiet. My mind spins to why he brought me here. As a punishment of some sort? Did he want to see what it was like to take the rich society woman out of her element just for shits and giggles?

  “Are you going to acknowledge my compliment? Isn’t that bad manners?”

  “It’s bad manners to compliment my physical attributes.”

  He huffs. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Lamest?”

  “Who’s asking one-word questions now?” He spares a quick glance my way.

  A zing fires in my belly. Our banter is something I’ve come to enjoy in the past week and when Roarke was busy sulking or thinking I kind of missed it. Don’t ever tell him that because I’d deny it , even if you offered me Chris Hemsworth covered in chocolate.

  Okay, that’s BS, who could resist that?

  “I’m just saying you’re a lawyer and you used the word lamest.” I cross my legs and catch his gaze drift in that direction. My breathing picks up just slightly.

  “Excuse my vocabulary. Must be because I’m back here in Woods Parlor.” He says his town name much like people who make fun of small town people.

  “I was just suggesting—”

  “I know what you were suggesting,” he snaps. “I’ll pick up a dictionary while we’re in town.”

  My jaw hangs open and I stare at the side of his face. Who the hell does he think he is to go and get all sensitive on me now? This is what we do.

  “I get that you don’t seem to want to be here which only confuses me more as to why you brought me, but unless you plan on using a favor to treat me like gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe, stop deflecting your bitterness onto me.”

  The truck jerks to the side of the road, and he slams on the brakes.

  Thank goodness for seatbelts.

  He swivels in his seat, facing me with an expression that could scare a mountain lion.

  “Listen, I have no idea why I brought you here either.” His fingers thread through his hair. “It was wrong, but you’re here now. You’re going to see where I came from. How fucked up my childhood was. So let me just give you the lowdown now. I don’t have a father so don’t ask about him. My mom raised me when she wasn’t waitressing down at a bar where she screwed most of the clientele at one point or another. My sister, Allie, is the product of one of those one-night stands. Life here wasn’t squeaky clean or picture perfect, but we made do.”

  We continue to stare at one another for a moment before I respond. “Do you think I’d judge you?”

  He looks away from me and out the windshield. “You’re practically Chicago royalty.”

  For the first time, Roarke is not the mean shark from the courtroom who facilitated the stealing of half my shit. The man who saunters around Chicago like he owns the city is no longer in this car.

  “First of all, I’m not judging you. Second, I don’t judge people based on how they were raised—period. I understand how lucky I am to grow up with what I did. And if I made a habit of looking down on people, I wouldn’t have started my own foundation with my own money. If you don’t want me making assumptions about you, don’t make them about me.” I cross my arms and stare out the window.

  Still nothing but trees.

  The weight of silence presses down on my shoulders for a minute before his hand lightly covers mine. “I’m sorry. It’s just…there’s no excuse for me taking the bullshit overloading my brain out on you. In my demented head, I thought you being here would help you understand me more, but there’s ugliness in this town that I should’ve remembered. A past that still haunts me. But I apologize. Write the date and time of this right now because I might never say this again.”

  I turn to look at him and tilt my head.

  “You’re right. I can’t very well want you to see the true me if I’m assuming you’re like every other rich society woman I’ve met. I know your foundation, I know the work you’re doing and if I really thought you were like that, I would never have invited you along. Let’s start the day over, all right?”

  My smile forms without a fight. “Fine.”

  His hand squeezes mine and he straightens his back and merges out onto the road.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “The compliment about my legs.” My cheeks heat.

  His grin slowly spreads across his entire face. “You’re welcome. You wouldn’t be thanking me if you knew what I was really thinking.”

  My face warms again and I bite the inside of my cheek trying to suppress my grin.

  “One day I’m going to tell you exactly what that was—in great detail—ungentlemanly or not.”

  I cross my legs hoping to stifle the hum of desire between my legs.

  How am I going to survive two more nights with this man?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I have to run an errand. I’ll be back before you can finish your breakfast,” Roarke says.

  “Fine.” I sit down in the booth, picking up the menu placed behind the fake jukebox. “This place is cute.”

  Roarke stands on the outside of the booth, leaning over and positioning both cups up for coffee.

  “Who said I wanted another coffee?”

  He smirks. “I doubt they have soy milk, but you’re on a vacation of s
orts so you can live a little.”

  I lean back in the seat, my arms over my chest. “This is my vacation?” My eyes shift out the window to a Mayberry-type town.

  His smirk grows wider, like it usually does the longer we converse, but he doesn’t have time to reply because a woman walks up to our table.

  “Roarke?” she asks. Her black waist apron is stained with grease suggesting it’s already been a busy morning for her and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, makeup smeared, but she’s an attractive woman.

  “Liv?” he asks, backing up a step. I note the sound of surprise in his voice.

  She awkwardly rocks forward on her worn out sneakers unsure if she should hug him or not, telling me they knew each other well at some point.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  “I had no idea you worked here.” Roarke’s back stiffens, his hands finding his pockets once again. “How long?”

  “Two months.” Their eyes lock and for a moment, and suddenly I feel like a third wheel.

  Roarke breaks eye contact first, shifting his gaze to the stained linoleum floor.

  Liv’s bright blue eyes shift in my direction as I gawk at the two of them. “I’m sorry, did you want coffee?”

  “Sure.” My voice croaks as though I just figured out how to talk.

  “Be right back.” A smile creases her lips and she ignores Roarke, beelining it behind the counter.

  “The one who got away?” I ask.

  Roarke puts on the sunglasses that were hanging from the front of his shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You’re not going to answer me?”

  He turns back around, his hand resting on the edge of the booth. “Not the one who got away, but an ex. Yes.”

  A sprout of jealousy bursts through the soil in my heart. “Oh.”

  “Be right back.” He heads out of the diner without another look at either of us.

  Questions bubble in my head like a baffled cartoon character. They remain unanswered as I watch Roarke walk across the street to a big white building in the middle of the town square.

  “Do you take cream?” Liv’s voice pulls me back to my surroundings.

  “Any way you have soy milk?” I ask, feeling a little pretentious for doing so.

  Liv smiles and her effortless beauty waters that tiny sprout of jealousy, causing it to grow another inch.

  “We do. One of our farmers makes the best soy milk. Let me grab you some.”

  How can I be sitting here resentful toward this woman who is only being sweet to me? She should be hating me unless…she was happy to get out of the relationship with him. Maybe he cheated on her or ran off and left her behind.

  She arrives back at the table with a little carafe of milk.

  “I think you’ll love it. Do you know what you want for breakfast?” She poises her pen over the pad of paper in her hand. It’s then that I see the ring on her left hand. The diamond is small but the gold band worn. It’s not a new marriage.

  Ah, that’s why there’s no jealousy on her part.

  “Um… I’ll just have the American breakfast. Eggs poached and instead of hash browns, can I have fruit please?”

  She scribbles my order down. “Sure thing. Do you know what Roarke wants?” She eyes the empty spot on the other side of the booth.

  “I don’t.”

  He knew my coffee order, but I have no idea what he prefers in the morning. I mean he made me that huge breakfast, but is he an oatmeal guy or an eggs man?

  “I doubt he eats what he did at eighteen. I’ll wait until he returns. If you need anything, just holler.”

  “Thank you.”

  I remain in the booth, sipping my coffee and staring out the window. It’s a cute town. A little rundown but quaint nonetheless. I’m not sure what kind of place I thought Roarke was raised in, but I’m not sure I pictured this.

  A group of men in overalls and dirty shirts laugh and carry on at the street corner. An elderly couple enters the diner and sits a couple of booths down from mine. As I’m busy taking in my surroundings, a police officer walks in.

  He’s much different than the Chicago police officers I’m used to seeing. His swollen gut falls over his pants where the leather belt that holds his gun is worn and strained. He bellies up to the counter, and another waitress smiles, filling a cup of coffee and sliding the sugar over to him without him asking.

  They discuss the morning and the weather and when his radio squawks, he quickly silences it, never granting it his attention.

  A minute later, a brunette breezes into the diner, her eyes scanning the booths. An inkling tells me who she is even before matching hazel eyes to Roarke’s bore into mine and she points in my direction.

  She saunters over like she owns the town and slides into the booth on the other side of me. “Hannah?”

  “Allie?” I ask.

  A smile wraps around her lips. “Yeah.” She sticks her hand out. “Nice to meet the woman behind the man.”

  “Excuse me?” My forehead crinkles.

  “I just saw Roarke and he said you were over here. I had to meet you.”

  She’s the complete opposite of Roarke. Where he’s like an aged Redwood, she’s more like a willow tree.

  “Oh, well, I’m not…”

  She waves me off. “He’s never brought anyone back here before. Ever. Whoever you are, you’re someone to him.”

  My hand falls to my stomach to stifle the purr of excitement induced by her words.

  “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding,” I say.

  Her lips dip for a second. “We’ll see if Wyatt is a rat. I’m rarely wrong on my suspicions.” She looks over to flag a waitress down but her gaze sticks on the cop at the counter. “Oh, great. The bastard is having me followed.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Wiltaker. He probably told his grandson not to marry me because I’m a Baldwin. Jackass.”

  The bell rings and the energy in the room shifts. My body alerts me to Roarke’s presence before I even look away from Allie.

  “It’s my brother, right?” she asks.

  “How did you—”

  “Your face changed. You like him.”

  Roarke comes over before I can answer and signals for Allie to slide over.

  “He’s here,” she whispers, nodding toward the counter.

  Roarke glances over, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re being paranoid.”

  “I am not. He thinks I’m not good enough and he’s convinced Wyatt to go sleep with fucking Kylie. Well, screw them both. I don’t need either of them.”

  Roarke’s head falls back. “I got your marriage license moved forward so you can get married tomorrow. Quit with the assumptions. Wyatt didn’t do anything.”

  Liv returns to fill Roarke’s coffee cup. “Do you guys want anything else?”

  Roarke’s chest heaves with a breath as though the last thing he needed in this moment was to be reminded of something. I just don’t know what.

  “Coffee’s fine,” he says.

  “Can I have a Coke, Liv?” Allie asks, peeking her head around to watch the counter again.

  “Sure thing,” Liv tells Allie. “Sugar is on the table, I’ll go get you some milk,” she says directly to Roarke.

  “I take it black now.” His words sound bitter and curt, silencing the table and wrapping us in an uncomfortable blanket.

  “Oh, okay.” She walks away.

  “Asshole much?” Allie organizes the sugar packets with great concentration.

  Roarke doesn’t even flinch. “Fucking Christ. It’s my first day here and already all this shit.” He brings the coffee to his lips. “You okay with driving my vehicle home by yourself?”

  My stomach clenches. He suddenly wants me gone?

  “What?” I ask.

  “Stop being an asshole.” Allie pushes the container of sugar back where it came from but starts in on the jams. “You can’t just make people disappear when you think they’ve seen too much.
” Allie’s gaze meets mine. “He won’t tell you, but he’s embarrassed. You know the whole men-not-wanting-women-to-see weakness? Well, Roarke is the king of it.”

  I bite down on my lip to stop my smile from forming. Why do I like the fact he doesn’t want me to see him vulnerable?

  Instead of getting an easy dig in on him, I sip my coffee and smile.

  “Thank you, Allie. Next time I won’t do you the favor of using my charm to get your marriage license on the fast track when you should have applied three weeks ago.”

  “I’m not going to need it anyway.” She shrugs.

  Roarke rolls his eyes. “Since Allie feels like being so open this morning, let me tell you about her hang-ups. She trusts no one. Thinks everyone is out to get her, including the man she loves. The man she said yes to when he proposed. Now that man is about to walk in here.” Roarke points and sure enough there’s a young guy in his twenties steadily making headway toward the door. Definitely a man on a mission.

  Allie knocks Roarke’s hip. “Let me out.”

  “Nope.”

  Her back slides down the booth and Roarke’s foot appears on the edge of my booth seat. “Nope again.”

  “Seriously. I’m not having this conversation with him, especially with his grandpa’s judging eyes a few feet away.” Allie’s willow tree statue straightens and she gets back in her seat, her lips in a tight line.

  “Relax,” Roarke says, sipping his coffee again.

  As if we’re on a movie set, a strong wind storms in with Wyatt’s giant figure. He stops, gaze searching the room before it rests on the back of Allie’s head.

  “Allie Baldwin!” he yells.

  “Go away, Wyatt.” She finishes with the grape jelly row and moves on to strawberry.

  Liv silently places my breakfast and Allie’s Coke down on the table, before sliding away, clearly not wanting to get in the middle of this showdown.

  “May I?” The kid eyes my side of the booth.

  I slide over, my purse resting on the edge of the seat.

  Wyatt pushes the plate my way and picks up my coffee mug, positioning everything the way it was before he asked me to slide over. Nice kid.

  “Thank you,” his deep voice says and then he extends his hand out across the table. “Hey, Roarke.”