CHAPTER THREE

GRACE

After a week of settling into Suitor's Crossing, I'm in love with the cozy little town. People are friendly, including my boss Jack Casey, Sr., which is a welcome change from my last job. My measly belongings are unpacked in the apartment I'm sharing with Elsie now that Avery moved in with her fiance, and it feels like life is affirming my decision to start over here.

Which includes my plans for tonight.

On cue, my phone vibrates with a text from Kayla saying she's waiting for me outside, and I hurry to finish getting ready. Kayla is married to Mr. Casey's son, Brandon, and when she asked me to join her for a girls' night, I couldn't refuse the opportunity to make friends.

Because, let's face it, socializing is not my strong suit. I've never been brave enough to approach strangers and strike up a conversation. That's why Elsie, Avery, and I are so close—we're three peas in a pod. Although Avery has emerged from her hermit shell since meeting Dominic.

But this move is meant to help me become who I've always wanted to be—a woman who ventures out of her comfort zone to experience new things.

A woman who puts herself out there.

The only downside to this evening is that Elsie and Avery can't make it. Because while I talk a big game about change, I'd still like the security blanket of my best friends.

After double-checking myself in the bathroom mirror, I grab a jacket, pet Shadow goodbye, and head outside to Kayla's idling vehicle. I'm not sure where we're headed, but I figure I'll be safe in dark jeans and a dressy navy tank with a silver zipper down the front. My hair rests loose and wild over my shoulders, since I gave up trying to tame the curls a long time ago.

"Hey!" Kayla greets me as soon as I open the side door of a gold Suburban. "This is Brittany and Lindsey. Girls, this is Grace. She works with Brandon."

I slide into the backseat and smile at the two women. They ask the basic questions of where I'm from and why I moved before reverting to their previous conversation: some spat with another mother on the PTA.

Settling into the leather seat, my attention splits between listening to their conversation and counting to ten over and over again to calm my nerves. It's been a while since I've hung out with people I don't know extremely well, and the unknown expectations are already starting to get to me.

"Before we show you the best spots around town, we're gonna show you the worst, so you know what to avoid," Kayla says as she turns into a crowded parking lot. "Welcome to The Ole Aces."

"Home of dirty drunks and filthy bikers who may or may not have done time in prison," Brittany chimes in.

"But they definitely have." Kayla smirks, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.

Um, what?

"If these guys are dangerous, why are we hanging out here?" Seems like a no-brainer to avoid this place. A warning would have been sufficient, and we could have skipped this whole scene.

Bars have never been my thing, anyway.

I was secretly hoping for a nice dinner out on Main Street.

Stop being a coward. It hasn't worked for you so far.

"Oh, they know better than to mess with one of us. Brandon's dad is a big name around here. The Casey family helped found Suitor's Crossing. They may have even originated the heart sparks legend."

A rundown of my bosses' background is unexpected and a little intimidating. I had no idea the Caseys were so influential. Avery hadn't mentioned it after redecorating the law firm's offices.

"Looks like a lot of Reaper's Wolves guys are here tonight," Brittany says, nodding ahead. Except for a gap allowing people access to the entrance, a line of gleaming motorcycles form a barricade in front of the bar.

The women's warnings have me braced for the overwhelming stench of alcohol and sweaty bodies packed into a dilapidated barroom, but the inside of The Ole Aces is anything but trashy or disgusting.

Couples two-step around a crowded dance floor while high tops and booths house groups of friends laughing and drinking. Country music blares from a sound system, causing me to wince at the noise—my eardrums will be cursing me by the end of the night—but other than the loud music, this seems like a fun place to hang out.

Wrought iron light fixtures add a modern feel to the rustic appeal, and it could be mistaken for a popular bar in any metropolis around the country.

"Here's a good spot!" Lindsey snags the last empty table along a wall in the back while my mind struggles to connect this Ole Aces with the one they described. We take our seats, though I'm far from relaxing, sitting ramrod straight in the high back chair.

Now is the time for small talk, and my flustered nerves are already shot. Especially since I'm not sure what I have in common with Kayla, Lindsey, and Brittany.

I'm not a mom, so the PTA is out.

And I'm not one of the country club set who sticks their noses up at a bar like The Ole Aces.

Suddenly, the welcoming embrace I received from them is reminiscent of a snake's chokehold.

Maybe I should have turned down Kayla's invitation, in favor of getting to know her casually at work first. Because now if things don't work out, my new job could become a very uncomfortable place. Kayla doesn't work at Casey & Sons, but she stops by frequently to see Brandon, which is how our paths crossed in the first place.

Either way, you were probably screwed. Kind of rude to turn down an invite from the boss's wife.

"The fun part is pretending you're watching a reality TV show. I bet we see two brawls and someone giving an MC member a handy on the dance floor. Tonight is the weekly line dancing event, so it's bound to get rowdy with people coming from High Ridge, too." Kayla sniffs in disdain.

The allure of coming here to diss the bar's patrons is lost on me. If this is how they choose to spend their Friday night, what's the big deal?

A man slips his hand up a woman's shirt at the edge of the dance floor, and snarky remarks erupt between Kayla, Lindsey, and Brittany.

"Alright, time to spice up our viewing party, we need alcohol! Since you're the new girl, round one is on you!" Lindsey points to me with glee.

Great.

As silly as it sounds, this is only my third time in a bar, and I've never been in one like this. My friends and I are coffee shop/book club people. The few bars we went to would be considered sedate compared to this place.

Grabbing my wristlet wallet, I make my way to the bar counter where two women and a guy are busy doling out a parade of drinks. I search for an opening but keep getting jostled back as others push to the front.

Suck it up, Grace. You're getting nowhere.

Gathering my courage, I shove my way forward as politely as possible until I catch the attention of one of the women. "Six shots of tequila, please."

Nice and simple. Who doesn't like tequila?

"Aren't you sweet? Hey, Jules, did you hear that? She said please !"

Jules laughs from her position filling pitchers of beer. I can't tell if she's genuinely thankful or sarcastic. Guess politeness doesn't get you very far here.

Being run over like an invisible mouse by other patrons should've been your first clue.

"Here you go, hun."

I pay and, with a nod of gratitude, attempt to beeline back to our table while balancing a tray full of shot glasses, but the small space I'd carved out on my way to the bar has been swallowed up again by a barrage of men. Somehow, I don't think they'd appreciate a please either.

Come on, you can do it. Stop being a mouse and move!

Head down, I weave a path through the crowd until a hand squeezes my butt. One jerk of surprise later, glass shatters as the fumbled shots hit the floor, and alcohol soaks my chest and stomach.

"Don't." A harsh voice growls behind me.

Is that…?

I spin around to confirm my suspicion. Wes has a hand around my perpetrator's arm, his eyes intense with a death glare.

Yep, that is definitely how he's getting those lines.

The overly handsy man shakes Wes off and retreats without a word. Probably because Wes is double his size and looks mad enough to draw blood. Unlike me, who clearly looked like an easy target.

"Thanks." My voice is barely above a whisper as I bend to pick up the broken glass.

"Leave it." He stops me with a hand on my shoulder, and I immediately move away, causing his arm to fall back to his side.

I know he's not trying anything, but I'm not used to being touched.

Let alone going from a stranger harassing me to the tingly spark Wes's rough palm on my skin elicited.

"You could cut yourself. Jules or somebody will sweep it up safely." His broad shoulders shrug in explanation as he continues to study me. He's wearing another black tee like the first time I saw him, and his beard is a little fuller like he's gone a few extra days without a shave.

Can't say it's a bad look.

Ignoring the electricity his undivided attention evokes, I focus on wiping the tequila off my arms. It's a sticky mess.

Twenty minutes into my first attempt at a new me, and I'm ready to head home, shower, and forget this night even happened. Kayla and I aren't on the fast track to becoming best buds. The agonizing I did over what to wear was for nothing since I'm soaked in alcohol. And to top it all off, the only attention I grabbed belonged to a pervert.

And Wes.

But really it wasn't me personally that drew him to step in. He probably would have defended any woman being bothered by a touchy creep.

"Look, Austin, the bar owner, has a room in the back with a sink and paper towels, so you can clean up." He gestures to a hallway where a sign for restrooms hangs overhead.

"Um… no, thanks… I'm g-good." I brush off the offer, too wired to be alone with him. My nerves are a frayed mess, and Wes coming to my rescue like a tattooed knight in shining armor already has me feeling tongue-tied.

"Seriously? I can see the drops of tequila on your skin, and unless you're planning on letting me take shots off you…" His voice trails off suggestively, his sable gaze a palpable caress over my body before zeroing in on my chest—specifically, the tight nipples poking through the cold fabric of my tank.

Flustered, I quickly cross my arms to hide them as my mind shuts off—fried from overload—and I squeak out something about needing to get back to my friends, whipping around to escape like the true mouse I am.

Wes was flirting with me.

That's what that was, right? But why?

I definitely don't seem like his type.

In a fitted shirt outlining his hard muscles, tattoos galore, and a don't fuck with me attitude, he fits in with The Ole Aces crowd.

I don't.

I'm too quiet, too strait-laced, even if I'm trying to be more outgoing. Even if his— interested? —gaze made my thighs clench in instant arousal.

"Hey, you forgot something."

"Hmm…?" Distracted by thoughts of Wes, I didn't realize I arrived back to our table—empty handed. Someone else is going to have to buy the next round of drinks, though, because I'm not braving the floor again.

A quick explanation of what went down tumbles out in one breathless go.

"You were right to refuse him. Wes Gallagher has a reputation around here," Kayla pauses knowingly. "Sleeps around. Gets in fights. He's even spent time in jail."

"Same as in high school," Brittany adds.

"You guys went to school together?" That answers my age question. Sneaking a peek towards the bar, I do the math to figure out he's only a few years older than me.

"Yep, and he's even worse now. I mean, look at him. We have our fair share of unkempt mountain men around here, but Wes looks like a fucking grizzly bear with the beard and long hair. Plus, he's friends with the Reaper's Wolves MC—a legitimate gang." Kayla leans back with a raised brow as if to say she rests her case.

A couple of bikers have cruised through town with leather cuts proclaiming their MC, so it doesn't surprise me that Wes knows them. He owns a body shop. They own motorcycles that require maintenance. It's not exactly a leap to connect the two.

Don't forget he looks like a raven-haired Charlie Hunnam, too—circa Sons of Anarchy .

Kayla taps a manicured finger on the table. "Trust us. Wes Gallagher is bad news. Born on the wrong side of town, he's never done anything to prove he's more than just white trash."

My gut tightens at the harsh label—a label I wouldn't be surprised to hear people call my family back home.

It's becoming increasingly clear that no matter how hopeful I was about tonight, Kayla and her crew wouldn't accept me if they knew my background. And, frankly, I'm not so desperate for friends that I'd condone their catty behavior.

I can be the new, outgoing me with Elsie and Avery. They've been enough for years, and they're still enough. Why do I need a larger support system anyway?

"He owns a business, though. Doesn't that count for something?" I'm not one for confrontation, but I hate the idea of being so weak that I can't defend someone who deserves it.

They all laugh at my statement. "How did you find that out? Dusty's ," Lindsey shudders at the name, "is some dingy old building where he and his friends hang out. I can't imagine that place earns a profit. He didn't go to college, doesn't know the first thing about running a successful business."

"It looked like he was doing fine when I was there. Sure, it could use some…" I stop when their fascinated horror registers.

"You've been there? Why the hell would you do that?"

"She didn't know better at the time, obviously." Kayla rolls her eyes, flipping her highlighted hair over a shoulder. "Ugh, this is boring. Can we stop wasting our time discussing Wes Gallagher? He's not worth it."

I wholeheartedly agree with the decision to end this line of conversation. It's unfair to keep insulting him when he can't defend himself, and their judgment hits too close to home. Like I'll be next if they discover my family's drama and financial troubles.

My gaze finds Wes again, a strange bond with the man twisting in my belly.

Looks like we've got something in common, after all.