Page 5 of A Ruthless Bargain
“Hey lady! Long time, no hear,” a voice blasted through the phone. Thank goodness I knew to use the speaker with my best friend, Sherry Blanton.
“Hi, Sherry, sorry I’ve been out of touch. Job searching.” It wasn’t a great excuse, but it was mostly true. After graduate school, my sole focus had been finding a job. I crossed my fingers and sent a wish into the universe that my background check cleared soon for my new offer.
“Understood. What can I do for you?”
I didn’t take offense at the immediate down-to-business tone. Sherry was a Sandy Creek police officer. If she was on duty, which I assumed she was, time was always tight, even in a small town, because our force was equally small.
“I know it’s last minute. Any chance you could meet for dinner or drinks tonight?” I asked. “Or both?”
“Believe it or not, I can do both.”
“Will wonders never cease?” I quipped.
“Right? It’d be nice to catch up.”
A frisson of guilt washed over me. I sucked as a best friend. It hadn’t been that long. Had it? “Yes, it would. Our usual?”
“Oh, man, that’s asking for trouble, but, sure, why not?”
“What’s a little trouble between best friends?”
Sherry’s laughter boomed through my phone’s speaker. “I can be there by six. A little late for happy hour.”
“We can make that work,” I assured her.
“I know that’s right,” she agreed, and I heard the smile in her voice.
I might have barely seen her since graduation six months ago, but it was as if no time at all had passed. That’s what being a roommate for three years did for you.
“I’ll see you at six at The Rusty Nail,” I confirmed.
“Stay out of trouble,” she said in response.
It was her usual way of saying goodbye, but my mind flashed to the alley encounter and my fingers tightened around the wine glass’s stem as a glimmer of desire surfaced.
ChapterThree
The Rusty Nailwas a rung above the dive bar its name promised. It somehow looked like a chain; bland, with lots of cheap art on the walls and tables crammed together. Plus, it smelled like beer, fried food, and lust. College students hung out there all the time for the cute waitstaff and strong drinks. And, oddly enough, the best guacamole in town. Sherry and I loved it. When we lived together, we went at least once per week.
“Hey Giant,” she greeted me where I waited just inside the front door, sweeping me into as big a hug as she could, given she was practically half my height.
“Hey Mini,” I responded, returning the embrace, engulfing her petite body.
Sherry had changed out of her uniform, but still somehow looked official in her purple blouse with khakis and brown cowboy boots.
A waitress at a nearby table pointed to some empty tables near the back. “I’ll be right there to get your order,” she said.
“Thank you,” we called back in unison before heading the way she’d pointed, already chatting about everything and nothing. The waitress arrived fast, took our orders, and disappeared again. Once the ordered drinks arrived, Sherry’s face became serious.
“Okay, enough with the small talk. What’s going on?”
I bit my lower lip as I considered how to answer, an action not lost on her.
“Spill. Now.” Her brown eyes flashed with worry.
After sucking margarita through the plastic straw, I placed both hands flat on the scarred tabletop. “I met this guy.”
She waved her hand at me. “Your face doesn’t fit that statement.”