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Chapter One
Laurel Shepherd moved past the bouncer stationed at the door, tugged the baseball hat she was wearing lower on her forehead, and entered the noisy chaos that was Saturday night at Humpin’ Hannah’s. The bar was a crowded madhouse, with masses of people everywhere she looked. As usual, there was a decent amount of blue and orange. A lot of cities may not boast their college colors year-round, but this was Boise State Bronco country. Fans here in Idaho took school spirit to a new level. She wasn’t surprised most of the patrons appeared to be college students, since this was one of their hangouts. Unfortunately, that made her feel even older than she already did—like she needed help with that today.
This is a bad idea.
As far as bars went, Hannah’s was practically a landmark. It’d been there over forty years and was one of the largest and oldest bars downtown. As soon as she walked underneath the red brick arch looming above the threshold, she was reminded of how much personality the place had. There was a main bar—also made of bricks—on the lower level, and another on the second floor. A balcony overlooked the dance floor and stage where a live band was belting out 80’s tunes.
So many people were packed inside the place that, despite the large square footage, it verged on claustrophobic. Especially with all the stuff—there really wasn’t a better way to describe it other than garage sale items on fishing line, maybe?—hanging from the ceiling. Guitars, lampshades, clothing, chairs, bikes, a huge collection of bras, and a multitude of other things dangled overhead.
It must be a nightmare to dust.
Laurel was jolted from that troubling thought when a frat boy wearing a football jersey knocked into her. The force caused her to stumble-sidestep and bump into the table on her left. Her hand flew to her head, guaranteeing her baseball hat remained firmly in place. The last thing she needed was for it to fall off.
“Sorry,” the guy slurred with a drunken dialect. “My bad.”
She watched him stagger forward until he met up with his equally inebriated friends at the main bar.
Why people let themselves get so drunk, she’d never know. She had a wine cooler every now and then, but never in her life had she drank enough to lose control of her senses… or ability to walk in a straight line without bumping into poor, forced-by-their-friends-to-be-here, unsuspecting victims.
Something twinkling drew Laurel’s eye. She held onto her hat and looked up. A giant, fully-decorated, upside-down Christmas tree hung precariously above, regardless of the fact it was May. She drew a sharp breath and stepped back, right into the knee of the guy sitting at the table she’d just knocked into.
“Sor—”
His hand on her ass stopped her apology. She slapped it away with a scowl and started for the entrance.
Enough of this butter brickle!
She shouldn’t have to be tortured on her birthday. Especiallythisbirthday.
She’d almost made her escape when a shrill whistle sliced through the clamor, followed by…
“Laur!”
Ugh.Laurel had hoped to sneak out before her best friend saw her. Then she could’ve texted her, faked sick, and backed out of the evening. Not that Skye would’ve believed her. They’d known each other since grade school. She could tell when Laurel was going to fib, even before she knew it herself.
“Over here!” Skye called.
Laurel decided to ignore her.
“Laurel!”
I don’t hear you.
“Laaaa-raaul!”
Nope. Not a word.
Another piercing whistle. “Hey, Slugger!”
That stopped her in her tracks and made her skin prickle. Skye knew full well she hated that nickname. She’d hated it from the moment her father had first christened her with it four years ago.
With a defeated whimper, she tugged her hat down further and headed toward where Skye was frantically flagging her down. Sometimes her best friend was a pain in the popsicle.
The place was so crowded, she hadn’t even made it two steps before someone ran into her from behind. She almost toppled over, but a large hand grasped her upper arm, preventing her from falling.
She looked up—way up—into the brightest, ice blue eyes she’d ever seen. She only stood five-foot-three, but the guy was probably close to a foot taller than her and how-in-the-world-do-men-like-him-exist-in-real-life hot.
“I’m sorry.” The deep voice poured over her like warm honey. “I should’ve been more careful.”
