Part of Your World(3)

I scoffed at my best friend, chalking the end of my cue stick. “Since when do you have a hundred bucks?”

Brian laughed from his barstool. “Since when do you have five bucks? And if you do, you better give it to me. You still owe me from drinks the other night.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered.

Doug flipped us off. “I have it. And I have your five bucks too, dick,” he said to Brian. “Besides, I’m not paying the whole bet. Losers each put in fifty, and whoever gets her to go home with you takes all.”

“Leave her alone,” I said, taking my shot. The balls bounced around the table, and the six ball went into the corner pocket. “That woman is not going home with anyone in this bar. Trust me.”

Women like her wanted nothing to do with guys like us.

The car I’d pulled from the ditch was a Mercedes. It was worth more than all three of us probably made in a year. Not to mention she was dressed like she was headed to a cocktail party on a yacht. Fancy dress, huge diamond studs in her ears, diamond tennis bracelet—she was clearly on her way through town and had no intention of stopping for a layover. In fact, I was surprised she’d stopped here at all instead of driving the forty-five more minutes to Rochester to eat. The VFW wasn’t exactly fine dining.

Doug was already fishing money out of his wallet.

“I’m not interested,” I said, putting the eight ball cleanly into the side pocket. “I don’t like betting on other human beings. She’s not an object.”

Doug shook his head at me. “At least try to have fun.”

“I’m having fun.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the last time you hooked up with someone?” Doug asked. “It’s been what? Four months since Megan?”

“I’m not looking to hook up. Thanks though.”

Seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere with me, Doug turned his attention to Brian. “What about you? Hundred bucks.”

Brian almost immediately glanced to Liz, working behind the bar.

Doug rolled his eyes. “She’s married. Married. You need to get over it. It’s getting depressing. Get on a dating app or something.” Doug tipped his glass of Sprite at Brian. “I met twins on Tinder last week. Twins.” He bounced his eyebrows.

I took my shot. “Oh yeah? You got to disappoint two women at once?”

Brian laughed.

Doug ignored me. “I’m serious, man. She’s not gonna leave her husband. Do your thing.”

Brian peered back at Liz. Then, almost on cue, the door to the VFW opened, and Jake sauntered in wearing his police uniform.

We all stopped to watch him walk to the bar. He made his way through, slapping backs and saying hello louder than necessary, just to make sure we all knew he’d graced us with his presence.

He went around the counter like he owned the place, strode over to Liz, and pulled her into a dramatic kiss. Hooting erupted in the bar, and Doug and I shared a glance. What an asshole.

I looked back at Brian, just in time to see the hurt move across his face.

Hell, maybe Doug was right. I wasn’t saying that betting on women was the answer, but Brian did need to get over this shit. Liz wasn’t leaving Jake—even though she should.

Mike walked by on his way to the bathroom, and Doug nodded at him. “Hey, Mike! Hundred bucks if you get her to leave with you.” He pointed to the woman at the bar.

Mike stopped and peered over at her in his glasses. He must have liked what he saw because he fished out his wallet. “Almost doesn’t seem fair. I get a hundred bucks and a beautiful woman.”

I laughed and checked my watch. “I have to go. I need to feed the kid,” I said, putting my stick away.

Doug groaned. “Every damn time.” He waved me off. “Fine. Get the hell outta here then.” Then he looked over my shoulder at the bar and nodded at the woman. “Hey, put in a good word for me on the way out, yeah?”

“So you want me to lie to her?” I asked, shrugging on my jacket.

Brian and Mike laughed.

Doug ignored me and put his pool stick on the table. “’Bout to get my secret weapon.”

I chuckled and headed to the bar, shaking my head.





Chapter 3

Alexis



Whatcha thinking?” asked the bartender, wiping down the counter.

She had blond hair, a tattoo of a rose on her wrist, and hot-pink lipstick. Pretty. Her name was Liz.

I looked over the menu she’d handed me. “What’s good?” I asked, not loving the options. Almost everything was fried.

“The chili’s homemade,” she offered.

I twisted my lips. “I don’t really love chili.”

The fog outside had gotten so bad, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it home before the need to eat and use a restroom got desperate. The only gas station in town had been closed, so I couldn’t use the bathroom or grab a snack. Google kindly directed me to the one open place within fifty miles—the VFW that Truck Guy had mentioned.

The place was—worn. The tables were mismatched with cheap chairs. There were broken vintage-looking beer signs on the walls, along with framed medals and black-and-white pictures of veterans. “Bennie and the Jets” blared from an old jukebox against the wall. A huge deer head was mounted over the bar with rainbow Christmas lights strung through its antlers. It was all very tired and junky. I couldn’t imagine being in here under any other circumstances, not in a million years.