Running Wild(Wild #3)(110)

“Those nights are usually fun.”

“I’m sure he’d love it if you came.” He hesitates. “So would I.”

Thoughts of the last time Tyler and I met at the Ale House burn in my mind.

Why is he inviting me out again? Why is he saying these things to me? Is this still his attempt at friendship or has something changed? Has …

No, Marie, you can’t go down this road again. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight.”

He bites his bottom lip, shifting his focus to nudging at the snow with his boot. “Are they legit plans? Or ‘I’m being polite but drop dead, Tyler’ plans?” His face cracks with a sexy, crooked smile. “Just for my own understanding.”

There’s humor in his tone, but I sense him holding his breath for my answer.

“Legit.” I hesitate. “I’m seeing someone, and we’re doing something tonight.” Taking a trip up to Talkeetna to meet his friend at the brew house.

Tyler’s brow furrows and I instantly regret being so truthful. “Right. Well, have a good night, then.” With a gentle pat on my hood, he backs up. “And thanks again for coming out.”

Nausea roils in my stomach as I climb into my truck and crank the engine.

Mabel frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I force a smile. “Nothing.”

And everything.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





The faint, sweet scent of tobacco is in the air when I climb into Steve’s truck. Lingering, I assume, from the package of cigars near the heat vent. I don’t mind those as much as I mind cigarettes. Besides, he said he only smokes them occasionally.

“You look nice tonight.” His blue eyes crinkle as he leans across the console to greet me with a spearmint gum–laced kiss, his lips lingering longer than usual. The first time he kissed me, it was at my porch door at the end of our first date, and he asked beforehand. Since then, he’s grown bolder, and the lip locks have lasted longer. And I’ve been willing.

Now, though, I pull away.

“Hard day?” Steve deftly navigates his truck along my driveway and out to the road.

“Long day.” Spent lost in conflicted thoughts, battling the urge to cancel this date. I should have canceled, but then I’d be sitting at home, battling the urge to show up at the Ale House. I unfurl the knit scarf from around my neck. The truck is warm, and the drive to Talkeetna is almost an hour from my place. I may as well get comfortable.

“So … plans have changed,” he announces. “A bunch of my friends are meeting up in Trapper’s Crossing. There’s a big wing night happening out there, and I think it’ll be a good time. Plus, it’s a lot closer, and I’ve been up since four. I’m beat.” Steve reaches over to collect my hand. His skin is calloused, his thumb wrapped in a bandage to hide a gnarly cut—one that should have seen stitches. “You’re good with that, right?”

My stomach sinks. There’s only one place in Trapper’s Crossing he could be talking about. Am I good with showing up on one man’s arm while the man who’s dominating my thoughts sits across the room? No, of course I’m not good with this! But what am I supposed to say? What excuse do I give that doesn’t trigger questions?

“Marie?” Steve’s gaze darts between the road and me, his hand giving mine a squeeze.

“Yeah.” I clear the strain from my voice. “I’m good.”

If I’m lucky, maybe Tyler will have changed his mind about coming.





*



The blazing firepit to the right of the Ale House’s front entrance is new, and a popular addition judging by the ring of people huddled around it, savoring pints. Above them, festive strands of colorful Christmas lights hang in the canopy. They match the ones lining the long, narrow building’s roof that Muriel keeps up year round.

I try to be inconspicuous in my scan of the parking lot as we walk toward the hum of casual conversation. But it’s dark, and there are several green trucks. I don’t see any familiar ones.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Steve loops his arm around my waist, and I try not to stiffen. “It’s a good place. Fun atmosphere. And Muriel and Teddy have owned it forever.”

“You know them? Wait, of course you would.” It only makes sense. They’re all in the fishing industry.

I catch a familiar, deep laugh a moment before a bellow of “Marie!” carries. I couldn’t see Jonah standing among the group before, with it being dark and me wrapped in growing dread. But there he is, Calla beside him. His presence is a life preserver thrown into deep waters, and some of the tension slips from my shoulders.

I check the other people in the circle. Some, I recognize. Locals who always make it out for the McGivneys’ more festive nights. None are Tyler or Reed.

Maybe I’ve lucked out tonight.

I turn to Steve. “I’ll meet you inside?”

A funny look skitters across his face, but it’s quickly gone. “Sure. I’ll grab you a beer.” He kisses my cheek and then diverts his path.

And all I can think about is how that kiss doesn’t stir an ounce of the desire that Tyler’s bristly cheek pressed against mine earlier today did.

Jonah ropes his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a side hug. “I thought you weren’t comin’ tonight.”