I choke on my martini for the third time. “Stuck in this town? Absolutely not. Besides, I have more trust issues than a psychologist would know what to do with.”
“Single and not ready to mingle,” she breathes a laugh. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” But those traumatic skeletons are part of me.
Paisley’s smile is warm. “I’m serious about being friends. It isn’t just because we happened to be at the same bar or that you’re Colton’s cousin. We can meet for coffee and gush about CT.”
I’m already nodding. “Two of my favorite things.”
“How do you feel aboutProject RunwayandSurvivor?”
“Oh, my gosh.” I slap the bar. “Quit flirting with me, woman. You’re married.”
The gawking from our fellow patrons cranks up a notch as she giggles loudly. “Okay, fine. I’ll cool it. But we’re totally doing this.”
My head bobs again while I warm up to the idea of having her in my corner. “All right, thanks.”
Her brow furrows. “For what?”
“Just… whatever.” I motion to my drink for starters. “This might come as a shock, but I haven’t had many friends.”
“Bianca can vouch that I’m a pretty good one.”
“I believe it.”
“Glad that’s settled.” She lifts her glass to mine.
A resounding clink follows, announcing my agreement. “Cheers.”
We finish our cocktails just as the bartender drops off a fresh round. I snort while Paisley blows a kiss at her husband. Brody is still guarding her from a distance, plastered to the wall like it’s his job.
The blonde who’s weaseling her way under my defenses slides off her seat. “I have to pee. Will you be okay here alone?”
Disbelief sputters from my lips. “Um, yeah. I think I can manage.”
Before I can reach for my phone to resume scrolling, a cagey voice crackles from right behind me. “Thought I recognized you.”
My hackles rise as I peer over my shoulder. The man is probably middle-aged, but appears older. The glint in his eyes is too familiar, like a sharp edge received from a tough life.
“Can’t say the same,” I tell him.
“You were part of James Keller’s group.”
Old habits flow through me to harden my tone. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
He wags a gnarled finger in my face. “Can’t fool me. You stick out like a sore thumb.”
That’s when a large figure materializes from the shadows. “Is there a problem here?”
My spine snaps straight at the authority in Brody’s appearance. “Nope.”
But then I realize the grumpy cowboy’s gaze is fixed on the man standing next to me. He must sense the danger closing in and shrinks back.
“Just having a word with Frankie,” he mumbles.
My eyes widen. I never told him my name. The upset must reflect in my features because Brody’s glower turns lethal.
“And now you’re done,” he tells the stranger. “I suggest you leave before I show you the door.”