“I forgot to be scared.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s good.”
“It felt good.” Her voice goes quieter. “And then I felt guilty because August is at your house and Jeremy is out there and I was dancing in a bar like I had a right to enjoy anything.”
“You do.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Feelings lie.”
“So do men.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me, and there is no joke left now.
No Cornbread.
No Firestarter.
No fake relationship.
No bar full of gossip.
Just Amelia and me in an alley behind a bourbon bar in Hell, Kentucky, with her husband’s threat breathing somewherein the dark and her mouth looking like the worst decision I have wanted to make in years.
“I’m tired of being careful,” she whispers.
My hands curl at my sides.
“Amelia.”
“I know. I know I shouldn’t say that to you.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m still married.”
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I had bourbon.”
“One drink.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone but Jeremy in years.”
My body goes still.
There it is.
The road opening.