Chapter 9

Adam

Zane is sitting in the back of Yosemite Sam's, drumming his fingers to Highway to Heaven, playing over the ceiling speakers, when I find him.

"Hey, buddy. Glad to see you're still in one piece," he says as I fist-bump him.

"You too, man."

The bar-and-grill is half-filled, mostly with regulars. The tourists typically seek out the familiar chains closer to downtown Merced.

Zane, a dark-skinned He-Man with pulled-back dreadlocks, is arguably the best climber in Yosemite. He has conquered Half Dome and El Capitan several times as well as many of the most challenging climbs in the West.

A matronly waitress with an infectious smile comes over with two bottles of local lager. "Your usual, gentlemen. I'll have the burgers out in a jiffy."

"Thanks, Dorothy," I say. "Please open a tab for me."

"Sure thing."

Zane waits for Dorothy to leave. "Ready for the big day?" he asks me.

Zane is the one person who knows about my whopper of a lie.

"Not even close," I reply, taking a long draw from my beer.

Zane selects a cue from the wall, chalking it. "What are you going to do? If you show up to Steph's wedding solo, you're going to look a lot worse than that time you wiped out on the Angels Landing."

I've worked hard to forget that hike. Zane and I had gone down to Zion National Park, set on breaking the record for reaching the top of the iconic rock formation. We would have made it, had it not been for a slippery trail. Thanks to Zane's quick reflexes, I left with no more than a fractured wrist and a bruised ego. It could have been far worse.

"Pray for me," I say, grabbing a cue, noting the table Zane selected has six pockets. Pool. "Thought we were playing billiards."

"About time we mixed it up. You good with that?"

I shrug.

Zane says, "Twenty bucks says I beat you by three balls."

"No chance."

Zane sticks out his hand.

I take it and shake. I know how fiercely competitive Zane can be. Even if he has been practicing on the sly, I don't care. I'm happy to have a good buddy to hang with. Not to say I'm not competitive. Just not in Zane's cutthroat way.

I rack up the balls. "I'll break." I position my cue and take the shot. The red eleven ball falls into the far corner pocket. "Odds."

The two of us stop all chatter as we play, Zane winning by a landslide. I pull out my cash but Zane holds up a hand. "Let's eat, then double or nothing."

I know I can't beat Zane and it doesn't matter. The guy is so excited with each victory. And he needs the money.

"You're on!"

We take our seats and dig into the burgers and fries that Dorothy brought over to the table mid-game. Five minutes later, the food is devoured.

"Another beer?" I ask, licking a bit of ketchup off my bottom lip.

"Not until I cream you," Zane says.

I laugh. Zane looks past my shoulder. "Whoa. Cougar alert," he says in a loud whisper.

I see Zane's gaze shift up and down. Apparently, there's an older attractive woman right behind me. I grin. "You're salivating," I whisper back.

"Anyone playing?"

The female voice behind me is tinged with an East Coast bravado.

I turn around in my seat.

My eyes settle on a woman, her dark hair held up in a ponytail. She has cat green eyes under the longest lashes I've ever seen. She's exquisite.

Dressed in zippered hiking pants and a ribbed navy tank top that fits in all the right places, she's older than I am but by how much is hard to tell. Top-of-the-line, high-cut, scuffed Keens are on her feet. Her arms are toned but pale. Her enchanting eyes are smiling at me.

Okay, maybe not only at me. But the effect is the same. The cat's got my tongue.

Her brows are raised in question.

Before I can reply, Zane asks the woman, "Are those real?"

I nearly fall out of my chair. "Bro!"

"Her lashes, you freak. They look like butterflies about to take flight."

The woman laughs, lightly. I follow suit. She's a good sport.

"Yes, they are real and they're amazing."

Zane looks confused but I pick up on the Seinfeld reference. "Good one."

"Thanks." She moves toward the table, looking around. "So, anyone here play?"

I say, "Yep, we just finished a game. Do you play?"

"A bit."

Zane looks like a mountain lion ready to pounce. "Care for a friendly wager?"

The woman says, "Nah, I'll lose my shirt."

Zane is opening his mouth in response then shuts it at my fierce glare. "Then we'll keep things simple. Thirty dollars on the table?"

She pulls out a fifty. "I don't have change."

Zane and I exchange a glance. He says, "I don't either but the bar could help."

The woman seems to consider something. "You know what? I'm on vacation. I'll bet the whole fifty. Who's my opponent?"

I feel bad for her. "I-"

Zane cuts in. "That would be me." He stands up, pats me on the shoulder. "Grab us another round, buddy?"

"Right-o," I say, and ask the woman, "Would you like a drink? It's on me."

"Sure, whatever the two of you are having. Thanks."

I'm turning away, cringing at the massacre about to take place at Zane's hands. Then I turn back. "That's Zane. I'm Adam. What's your name?"

She steps closer. She's only a few inches shorter than my six feet. Her striking eyes meet mine. There's a depth in them that holds my gaze.

She extends her hand. "I'm Evie Lawson. Nice to meet you."