Page 23 of Where I Should’ve Been

“I’ve had enough of this. You can see yourselves out.” Eileen storms away from her desk and toward a back room down the hall.

Two of the golden retrievers bark like they’re applauding Breezy, and the little pug previously sitting on Tracey-Jayne’s lap—now peeking around the corner in Tracey-Jayne’s arms—snorts.

“Good grief.” Breezy exhales hard, muttering, “I need a drink.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m pretty sure I need to cut back on my drinking. Because if I can’t remember whether I slept with a pretty woman, that’s a problem.”

Her blue eyes cut to me.

“I’m sorry I was so blitzed that night.”

“Well, far be it for me to encourage liver-bending drinking, but you did nothing wrong, Tad. You were a gentleman. Friendly. Accommodating.”

“Yeah?” I question, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah. Eileen is the problem here.”

Something about Breezy’s confidence is infectious, and I find myself shooting a shot of my own. “Would you let me buy you lunch?”

8

Breezy

Metcalf’s Diner smells like bacon grease, burned coffee, and small-town curiosity. Every booth is packed. The hum of voices rises and falls around us, silverware clinking against porcelain, the coffee machine hissing like it’s part of the conversation.

“I still can’t believe you thought we slept together,” I say, leaning across the booth table and lowering my voice to make sure no busybody ears can hear me. “Now that awkward conversation at CAFFEINE makes a whole lot more sense.”

Tad doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he grins.

“Did I meet all your needs?” I tease, mocking his exact words in a deep tone that sounds more like a cartoon cowboy than him.

“Damn, Breezy. Run my ass over the coals, why don’t you?” His laugh is a low rumble that makes heads turn from the counter. Several eyes stop and stay once they’re there, too. I imagine that’s a perk of the trumped-up article.

“Hey,” I say, smiling at him. “I’m not the one who was walking around Red Bridge for three days wondering if we slept together that night or asking you if I met all your needs.”

His grin expands. “Can’t risk a bad Yelp review. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

God help me, it’s hard not to laugh. “Pretty sure no one in Red Bridge even knows what Yelp is, and the things you thought we did don’t have a review section.” I stab my fork at my salad and take a bite before allowing myself to ask the really hard question. “What is…your reputation exactly?”

He guffaws, a dangerous smirk melting his chocolate eyes. “It’s big. The highest standard in both physicality and performance. By far the best in the business.”

On any given normal basis, I’d find the remark smug—disgustingly egotistical, really. But under these circumstances, it’s funny, and I react accordingly.

“Oh boy, that is a big deal.”

He leans back in the booth, arm stretched casually along the top, and I use the opportunity to take him in. Everyone seems to know him, and yet, with the way they’re watching his every move during this lunch, it’s like they don’t understand him at all.

His eyes are so entrancing, I swear they could melt reason right out of my skull, and his striking smile could talk a reverend into sinning. He’s tall, but there’s something relaxed in the way he carries it, slender but muscular and strong at the same time.

Honestly, Tad Hanson is unfairly good-looking, and I think he knows it.

His shoulders are broad in a sexy way that reminds me of Olympic swimmers, and his body language is a cool, confident kind of chill. There’s something under it all, though—something rigid under the layers and layers of happy paint.

“So, how long are you sticking around in Red Bridge?” he asks, watching me over his cup of coffee.

“You know, that’s a great question.” I huff out a laugh, and his features pull toward center.

“Sounds like there’s more behind that.”