“Closure?” Chuck and Whit ask in unison.
Shaking my head from my thoughts, I turn to face them. This is not the healthiest way to seek closure. Not healthy at all. Dr. Kravitz would be furious. But Dr. Stein is on my side, at least. She agrees I need this, even if it isn’t healthy.
“Unfinished business. This actually feels really good to see. I can’t wait for the grand opening.”
Whit’s smile blooms across her face, only adding to the fact she’s insanely beautiful. If she wasn’t so nice, I’d have to hate her.
A horn blows outside, and Whit glances through the doors. “Oh crap. I have to go finish my last shift at the diner. My ride’s here.”
I glance through the front glass doors to see the shiny red Ford that is jacked up on huge wheels and tires. You can tell I’m in Hayden. Big trucks. Big tires. Big boys with big toys.
The guy sitting behind the wheel is holding his phone to his ear, blocking most of the view of his face, but I can see tattoos running down the length of his arm and crawling up his neck. I can even see the scruff on his jaw, and it’s a good look on him.
Of course Whit would have a sexy bad boy. Personally, I’ve always preferred the sweeter guys. Then again, even the sweet ones are just assholes in disguise.
Snapping my gaze back to her, I force a smile. “I’ll see you next weekend,” I tell her.
She squeals a little. “Can’t wait.”
She jogs toward the doors, and I watch as she climbs the beast of a truck to get in the passenger side. The guy doesn’t even lower his phone as he wheels away, never once glancing in the direction of the bowling alley. For some unknown reason, I continue to stare as if gravity demands it.
Hayden may already be messing with my head.
Chapter 4
CHASE
“Are you seriously not coming to the grand opening tonight?” Whit groans, following me through the house as I search for my elusive belt. The hell did I do with it?
“Nope,” I tell her, cursing when I get desperate enough to start searching under couch cushions.
“I don’t get it. This is huge for me, and you act like you don’t want to know anything about it. You haven’t even asked who my boss is or what she’s like. You haven’t asked about what my responsibilities will be or… Well, anything. You don’t even listen when I try to tell you about it.”
Whit’s not usually so dramatic, hence the reason I’ve been with her for five months instead of one.
“Last I checked, you don’t exactly know anything about my business, Whit. I don’t give a fuck about the bowling alley. Sorry. It’s a stupid waste of time. That place is a money pit and will fold after the summer. Just watch and see. Someone is committing business suicide.”
When I turn around, she’s glaring at me like she’s wishing she had the power to incinerate things on command. I don’t need this shit right now. Just knowing someone bought that place has been pissing me off. Knowing someone is probably fucking up the plan I once had is… Fuck it. I’m not going to think about this high school pipe dream bullshit.
“Finally,” I growl, seeing my belt peeking out from under the recliner.
Just as I grab it, Whit snatches it out of my hand, forcing me to groan in frustration.
“I’m late, Whit.”
“You’re having beers with Blake. It’s not like you’re on your way to a job—like me.”
“What do you want to discuss?” I ask, exasperated. “What’s the wonderful world of working in a bowling alley like?”
I finally feel like an ass when tears well up in her eyes.
“You know what, screw you,” she mumbles, tossing my belt at me.
Running a hand through my hair, I follow her into the bedroom.
“Sorry. Okay? Just… You know summer makes me cranky. This isn’t news.”
She cuts her eyes toward me. “So I’m supposed to grit and bear it for three months because you hate tourist season. Which by the way, tourist season brings everyone a lot of business. A lot of people need that money to last them until the next summer.”
Pointing at my chest, I narrow my eyes. “I don’t. I specifically set up a business where I didn’t have to rely on tourists. Not my fault that others didn’t do the same.”
“Good for you,” she says bitterly, jerking her shirt over her head to pull on another one.
“Damn it, Whit. I’m sorry. Okay? I just… Fuck it. Sorry.”
Telling her I don’t want to hear about the bowling alley will just make her confused, which will lead to questions I won’t answer, and more fighting I’d like to avoid.
“Will you now ask me about what I’m so excited about?” she asks me, putting on a white, button-down shirt.
“The fact you won’t smell like fryer grease?” I ask jokingly, hoping to defuse her bad mood and also sideline the bowling alley speak.
Lanes to Strike? The fuck kind of stupid name is that?