Page 88 of What Remains of Grace

Travis narrowed his eyes. “Held up by?”

“A door.”

“Uh-huh.” Travis angled his body toward him, studying his face. “You look like somebody ran over your dog.”

Cole rubbed a hand along his jaw, her words replaying in his head, whether he wanted them to or not. He’d thought he could handle whatever came from showing up at her door.

He’d been wrong.

Cole stared at the condensation sliding down his beer bottle before finally saying, “I went by Jenna’s.”

Travis’s brows climbed. “Oh?”

“I invited her out. To karaoke. With us.” He let out a breath that landed somewhere between a laugh and defeat. “Thought it’d be low-pressure. Group setting. Terrible singing as a distraction.”

“And?”

“She slammed a door in my face.”

“You lost me,” Travis replied.

“I slept with her. Last weekend. Twenty-dollar champagne.” The confession tumbled out of him before he could stop it. The words felt wrong in his mouth, even if they were technically true.

Travis blinked. “Okay. Was it . . . bad?”

“It was the most exhilarating, passionate night of my life,” Cole said, dead serious. “That’s the problem.”

“I’m failing to see how that’s a problem,” Travis said. “Sounds like a win.”

“She thinks that’s all I ever wanted,” Cole murmured, fingers tightening around the sweating bottle. “Sex. One night. Box checked.”

“If that was true,” Travis said, “you probably could’ve pulled that off weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” Cole muttered. “That’s basically what I told her.”

Travis stared at him. “Oh no. You did not say that out loud.”

“And then,” Cole added, jaw tight, “I told her she needed a therapist.”

Travis dropped his forehead into his hand. “Shit, boss.”

“I know.”

They sat there for a moment, the noise of the bar filling the space where neither of them spoke. Someone on stage gave a valiant but hopeless attempt at the chorus of “Friends in Low Places,” their voice cracking on the high notes.

Travis lifted his head again, his tone losing all the usual teasing. “Listen, if you love her, you can’t give up that easily.”

Cole gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Because a former client taking out a restraining order for stalking would probably be great for business. It’s done, bro.”

“The difference between stalking and not giving up is whether she wants you around,” Travis said. “You gotta figure out which side of that line she’s on.”

“I think she just made it pretty clear,” Cole said, lifting a hand to flag the bartender. “We’ll have shots.”

Travis sighed. “Shots? Really?”

“Tequila,” Cole said. “Put them on my tab.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender replied.