Page 18 of Her Filthy Grump
Chapter Eleven
Layla
I wave at my best friend, Harbor Slater, from across the Whiskey Moon Bar. She jumps up and down and runs across the wooden floor to meet me. A couple of guys we graduated with laugh at her and dodge out of her way.
“I’m so glad you’re in town.” I wrap my arms around her.
“Me, too. It’s great to see you.” We hug for several seconds before we step back. She’s wearing blue jeans and a silk top with a long gold necklace and a locket pendant hanging between her breasts. She looks classy, as usual.
“Come on to the bar.” She nods her head toward the main bar area. “I saved you a seat.”
“Thanks.” I walk gingerly on my foot. It’s healed well over the last week, but I don’t want to tweak it and re-start the recovery process.
“Are you feeling, okay?” Harbor arches an eyebrow and gives me a quizzical look. The overhead speakers blast an old rock song, and some of the regulars rush to the dance floor.
“Shit.” I slide onto the stool beside her. “I forgot to tell you about my ankle.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Quit it.” I hit her in the upper arm with my elbow. “Don’t make it sound like I’m always hurting myself.”
“You are.” She motions the bartender with a flick of her finger.
The salt and pepper haired man with prominent wrinkles around his eyes grins and nods that he’ll head our way. Graham Nunez is neighbors with my parents, so I’ve known him my entire life.
“Ladies.” He slips a white cloth over his shoulder. “What can I get for you?”
“Graham, I’ll take a Blue Hawaiian.” Harbor tilts her head waiting for my order.
“I’ll take a Strawberry Lemonade Vodka.”
“Good choices, ladies.” He nods and heads over to the liquor bottles to make our drinks.
“Spill it. What happened?”
I fill her in on everything from the duck fiasco to the fire, and finally, to the twisted ankle outside the fire station, but I leave out how Mr. Grumpalicious makes my head spin and my heart sputter.
In the middle of my rendition, the bartender drops off our drinks and moves on to another couple.
“Wow. That’s quite a story.” She places her elbow on the table and leans toward me. “Now, tell me the good stuff.”
My heart skips a beat. “What good stuff?”
“The stuff about the guy. Kameron Willoughby. What does he look like? Has he kissed you? What does he look like without a shirt on? Do you have a phone number for one of his friends?” She takes a sip of her drink after her laundry list of questions.
I laugh and shake my head. She can read me like an open book. There’s no reason to pretend I don’t feel a zip whenever he walks by.
Except, he blew me off. Apparently, he’s not into the kind of girl that’s sweet and innocent. I sober. Yeah, he’s the kind of guy who likes his women fast and loose. And even if he was interested, my dad all but pissed on me to warn him off. It’s ridiculous. I’m an adult woman. I understand he wants the best for me, but I’m tired of being treated like a kid.
“He’s good looking. And no to everything else. I’m not his type.” I shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”
Her eyes flash in anger, and she slams her hand on the counter. “That’s bullshit. Why do some guys have to be such pricks? You’re a beautiful, amazing woman. He’s a fool not to see that.”
Harbor has a protective streak a mile long. If you’re her friend, she’s ready to fight toe-to-toe with anyone for you. I miss seeing her every day. When we graduated from college, she decided to get a job in San Francisco and stay. She claims it’s because she likes the fast pace of the city over the slow crawl of Meadow Bay, but it has more to do with Cole.
I enjoyed the city, but I’d rather be in Meadow Bay any day.
“Why don’t you think you’re his type?” She rests her elbow on the counter and cups her chin with her hand. “Did he say something, or did you assume?”