Chapter 13

"This Manhattan isthe best I've ever had." I shed the black leather jacket I borrowed. Hadley demanded that I wear this very low-cut black dress, because "my tits will look impeccable in it." I couldn't say no after that and, really, they do. It's the best I've felt about myself in a while.

Grant looked at my lips and then I swear his voice dropped an octave when he said, "So fucking beautiful." I nearly passed out again. I would have let him kiss me. Truthfully, I would have let him do a treasure-trove of things to me after the way he talked to me in the stables and made sure I was okay. It only took his horse to kick her stall that had him snapping out of whatever trance he was under. He pulled back so fast, I'm not even sure he said goodbye. Maybe I had blacked out and dreamt the whole thing. If it hadn't been for Julep walking next to me on the way back to the cottage, I would have second guessed if it actually happened.

Hadley texted that she was kidnapping me tonight, and I let her. Getting away from the Foxx distillery and anyone with the last name Foxx for the night sounded like a great escape. I needed a breather from the heaviness of the day, that thunderstorm, and the stables.

As soon as we walked into the front of the small French bakery and toward the back hallway along the kitchen, I knew this place was going to be impressive. Most speakeasies are a throwback to the prohibition era, when alcohol was illegal and any establishment that wanted to serve it had to be hidden in plain sight. In Fiasco, Midnight Proof can be found down a flight of stairs in the back of Crescent de Lune.

The black-painted walls that greeted us as we were buzzed in set the mood for the kind of place this was going to be. I haven't seen anywhere as impressive as Midnight Proof, and I've been to plenty of places in New York City that held year-long waitlists. No, Midnight Proof is a clash of the late 1920s Gatsby-style with a ceiling that replicates the starry night sky and the live music of a three-piece jazz band as its soundtrack.

For the past couple of hours, the mix of tourists and locals has kept the room buzzing. Low conversations and laughter just a notch louder than the band. Hadley greeted everyone with either a beaming smile or a two-cheeked kiss. "It's a tie between the sour-cherry smash and this one for me. Here, give me one second." She walks to the far end behind the bar and shakes up a dirty martini for an older man who's been shamelessly checking her out since we arrived. He wasn't the only one. Hadley had fans—men and women who looked for excuses to get her attention. She was magnetic and her charm bled all over this place.

Whispering couples fill the intimate pink velvet booths peppered around the edges of the room. Toward the center are larger plush couches and low coffee tables between them for bigger groups. And around the sprawling bar, small couplings of friends gather out for the night or singles look to find a person to drink and flirt with. Between the crowd, the rich jewel tones, and the warm lighting, Midnight Proof makes you feel like you're the main character of a sexy evening you've randomly stumbled into.

"Looks like you have a fan," I say, smiling at my new friend. Her long black hair flows into pretty waves, offsetting her light blue eyes. Not a single person here would refute the simple fact that Hadley Finch is stunning.

She's easy to be around too. "I never take customers home, but that one is making it really hard to remember why."

"Does it have anything to do with one of those unnaturally attractive Foxx brothers?"

She smiles as she reaches below the bar in front of me, ignoring the comment. "Okay, this is my favorite new liqueur." Holding up a bottle, she starts pouring it into two shot glasses.

I hold up my hand. "I'm already tipsy. I can't."

"Sip on it, don't take it as a shot. It's a pistachio cream liqueur. If you sip it alongside an espresso martini, it's absolute heaven." With a tilt of her head, she smiles at me. "Next time for the espresso martini." She clinks her glass with mine and takes a small sip. "Can I say something if you promise not to take it the wrong way?"

My smile falters. Nothing good ever comes from a preamble like that. "That has to be the worst way to start a conversation, Hadley. And I'm almost drunk, so I can't be certain how well my filter is working." Although lately, I haven't been filtering much, with the exception of what brought me to Fiasco.

She nods and looks at me as if she's about to tell me something awful. Little does she know, awful things and I are well acquainted.

"They're my family," Hadley says, leaning on the bar. "I've been a part of the Foxx family since I refused to stop following Lincoln home as a middle schooler. They couldn't get rid of me if they tried. Luckily, they never did. Those men just folded me into their lives. I love them." She sips her light green liqueur, and I do the same, savoring the sweet, nutty flavor. "So if you're here to make any kind of trouble for them, then this is me kindly asking you not to."

I smirk, eyes narrowing on her playfully. "Asking?"

"Telling." She smiles right back at me. "I don't know your whole story, but if I had to guess, Ace is doing you a very big favor. So..." she pauses with a shrug, "don't fuck him over."

I didn't want to lie to her, so I told her a piece of the truth. "You're right, he's doing me a big favor, and I don't take that lightly. I wasn't planning on Fiasco, but, well, I'm here. Doing my best to live a quiet little life."

She watches me, looking for the lie in it. Then she shoots the rest of her drink and slaps the bar. "Good. Now let"s talk about how you somehow managed to wrap four Foxx men around your finger in less than a few weeks."

I exaggeratedly scoff at that observation. "Hardly."

"Griz told me that you're the kind of stranger that small towns like ours can only hope to have crash into them."

That makes me smile. "I feel like Griz has some stories."

"Oh, he does. And that man loves to talk about them over some really old bourbon. That's pretty on par for him. But Ace"—she looks down at her nails—"he'd never move an overnight plaything into his guest house."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "I didn't sleep with him," I tell her with a coy smile. "He's all yours."

"No thanks," she says quickly. "Lincoln has a little crush on you, which is...shocking, really. He's become a bit of a slut. I'm not sure how I feel about it. He probably could use less of his dick and more therapy, but I've tried that conversation. It didn't go well."

I've never been close enough to someone like that. A person who would put things into perspective. Even if it was blatant honesty. Lincoln is good looking, sweet even. But I would guess she and I feel the same about him—a hot older brother who you can count on for a good time. Plus, he has the girls. I like them too much to muck anything up with their dad and hurt them in the process. It's the exact kind of complicated I can't do right now.

"And Grant, I'm sure he has women. I mean, look at him." My belly swoops with excitement at just hearing that man's name. Gah, it's a problem. "But he's not the guy to dance with girls at the bar and take them home. Let alone, word spar with one who shows up out of nowhere. The way he's been acting around you is..." She takes a sip of her water, eyebrow quirked. "It's just not like how he's been."

"Rude?"

She smiles, chuckling. "No. Just that he's been talking to you at all. He typically keeps to himself. A lot of grunts and annoyed looks are Grant's typical language."

I'm not sure why that makes me want to smile, but I bite my lips and hold it back.

Looking around the bar, she says, "They all believe it, too."

"Believe what, exactly?"

"I think it's bullshit, but every dumbass in this town has been force-fed the idea that the Foxx men are cursed."

I can't help the laugh that comes barreling out of me. "Seriously?"

"Griz lost his wife shortly after Ace was born. I actually don't remember how it happened." That admission has me feeling instantly awful for laughing. "Ace never married." She sighs. "And Linc..." Her eyes water as she tells me about his wife, Olivia. "She was everything good. I don't think she had a mean bone in her body. They loved each other since they were kids. The only reason I started following him home in middle school was because she begged me to come along." Tipping her chin down, she looks at the bar top. "God, I miss her every day."

"How did she . . .?" I ask quietly.

"Aneurysm. She wasn't even thirty yet, completely healthy. It was such an unexpected thing. And it happened just a year after—" But she's cut off when one of her servers interrupts an argument about a bill.

That kind of loss is one I haven't ever known. I missed my father, and while I still wanted him to be here with me, it wasn't the same kind of loss as a partner. But I understood what it feels like after someone you loved has passed. To feel insignificant. To feel thankful for being here, but angry to be left behind. To want to grip onto something greater, something higher so that it didn't have to be a finite ending. All of it has me anxious to grasp how Grant factors into it. If he's been "cursed" in that same way. My chest tightens, but my buzz is stronger now. I just need some fresh air.

The air outside isn't cool, but it feels good to breathe in. The cocktails were delicious, but now I'm realizing thatI haven't downloaded any rideshare apps on this phone, that would be a whole ordeal trying to figure out. Especially since I didn't have a credit or debit card to connect it to. Shit.

It only took us about ten minutes to get here from Hadley's place and the car ride from Ace's was less than five to there. Tipsy girl math brings that out to be about a half hour if I walk and don't get lost. There's only one main road in Fiasco, as far as I know, so it should be easy. I could start walking, and then pick up a cab if one comes along. On a Friday night, there have to be at least a few around.

"Hey there, girlie." Then the sound of someone's spit hitting the cement has me turning. "You new 'round here?" The slow drawl is much twangier than anyone else I've met in Fiasco. Either way, I know if I tried to ignore him, I'd quickly earn a follower. That was the absolute last thing I wanted.

So I flash a smile, put on my best I'm-not-as-tipsy-as-I-am face and pretend. I'm starting to get better at pretending, but I've always excelled at putting small men back into the Polly Pocket-sized egos they'd earned. "What gave it away?"

The twanger has a buddy, and the two of them look like the kind of trouble you never want to meet in the dark. It isn't tattoos or dark features–those were turn-ons. No, these guys look like bad taste just had a big payout. There might be a gold tooth, I can't be sure. I don't want judgmental glances to be misconstrued for interest on my end. I glance at the sign for the bakery, still lit, making the dark night around me feel less scary. But the reality is, nobody's around to step in and ask these guys to back off. When the one that spoke steps closer, I take in the dark slacks and black shirt. If it was on anyone else, it would be an attractive look, but he's the kind of guy that makes the back of my throat burn down to my belly.

"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" His eyes drag around my body.

"I'm really not able to say the same about you." I smile. The sarcasm finally hits him as I flip him off.

"Now, now, new girl, I'm okay with taking Ace's seconds. Looking like that..." He licks his lower lip, and it sends a wave of nervous disgust through me.

If I didn't see the police cruiser parked down the block, I probably would have turned back inside, but I'm banking on the fact that there's an officer just a scream away.

So I don't hold back or cower. I lift my chin and square my shoulders. "Does this actually work for you? The sexual predator rapist vibe? Because I'm fascinated to hear about your success rate." I hold up a finger. "Forced customers don"t count."

A bark of laughter sounds from behind me. "Waz, if it wasn't obvious by now, she's out of your league," Hadley says, grabbing my hand and pulling us toward her car just a few feet down from where we are.

His smile isn't one that greets an old friend, rather one laced with annoyance. "Hadley, you need a reminder that we used to play together?"

She mimics the sound of throwing up. "We never played, Waz. You tried to fuck me, and we both know how that ended." She tilts her head to the side. A nonverbal standoff that reads: keep talking, fucker. Let's see who walks away with their ego intact.

His mouth kicks up like he's got something funny to say, looking between the two of us. "You playing for the other team now?"

"Always been on the girls' team, Waz."

He ignores her. "Your daddy was looking for you today," he says while his friend just quietly stands next to him, observing all of it. I can't decide who is more of the stereotypical creep.

"Such a good guard dog. I'll be sure he knows you were looking out. And verbally assaulting women outside of my business." And with that, she slams the car door shut.

The engine roars to life, and she peels out of the parking lot. I'm not totally sure if it's to make a point or if that's just how she drives.

"While I love how you told him to fuck off, he's dangerous, Laney."

I rest my head back. "An ex?"

"He wishes." She rolls down the windows and the warm air whips, so she has to yell over the sound. "My dad's got a bunch of guys working for him. Waz handles a good portion of the business. He's a shit-stirrer. Plain and simple."

I pick at the cuticles of my nails, looking over at her driving like she doesn't believe in brakes. "Thanks for the rescue."

She smiles, flicking a glance at me from across the front seat. "Laney, you didn't need any rescuing. I wish I could have caught everything you said, because there is nothing more beautiful than watching a guy like that get verbally spanked."

It's another time in just a few days when I feel strong. Less like a people-pleaser or someone to fall in line and more like someone I could start respecting again.