I start to tell him that I’m not meeting him because that isn’t something I agreed to do, and I didn’t agree, because every conversation I’ve had with him these last few days has felt a lot like foreplay. Before I can write him back, my cell rings. Not recognizing the number, I answer, holding my phone to my ear while digging my keys out of my bag.
“Hello?”
“April, it’s Tracy,” his familiar voice greets, and I smile.
“Hey.”
“Damn, girl, how have you been? It’s been fucking forever.”
“I know.” I open the door to my car and get in. “I’ve been good. I hear you’re better and that congratulations are in order.”
“Yeah,” he says softly, and I know just by his tone that he’s happy.
“So I guess, since you’re calling, you spoke with Frank?”
“Just got off the phone with him. He said you might have someone who’s interested in purchasing my bar.”
“I might,” I agree. “Are you interested in selling?”
“I am.” He sighs. “Iggy isn’t happy about us letting the bar go, but I know the right price will lessen the blow.”
“How is your brother?”
“Good, still Iggy. Forever single, with no desire to change that anytime soon.”
“I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”
“Me neither.” He laughs. “Damn, it’s good to hear from you. It sucked that we lost you when shit went down between you and Cohen.”
“Yeah,” I agree but don’t say more, because really, what is there to say?
“Have you spoken to him? He’s in town.”
“I have zero desire to talk to him,” I tell him honestly, then change the subject. “So my client who might be interested in purchasing from you is in town for the week. Do you mind if I bring him by to check it out?”
“Of course not. Stop by tonight; I’ll be there, which doesn’t happen often nowadays. It would be good to catch up.”
“All right, I’ll talk to him and see if that works for him. Is this your cell?”
“Yep, and it hasn’t changed, which means you deleted my number.” He laughs.
“Sorry about that.”
“Right,” he mumbles. “Text me and let me know when you’re going to be here.”
“Will do.” I hang up with him, then pull up my text with Maxim.
Me: Drinks at The Drop. Meet you there at nine.
I press Send, then start the engine, put it in drive, and head toward home. When I arrive twenty minutes later, I read the text came through from him.
Maxim: See you then.
Logically, I know there is no reason those three words should make me nervous, but there is something about them that puts me on edge, which is ridiculous, because I haven’t seen him since we were kids, and I imagine that both of us have changed a lot since then.
A few hours later I shut down the engine of my Corvette, and don’t bother checking my reflection. I know my makeup is on point, from my smoky eye to my red lips, just like I know my silk camisole makes it seem like I’m more endowed than I actually am. My jeans accentuate my hips and long legs with tiny glimpses of skin through the ripped material.
I slip off my seatbelt and grab my purse from the passenger seat as I open the door. I set one high-heeled boot on the pavement, then turn in my seat and heft my booty out of my ride, using my hip to shut the door. I make my way across the dimly lit parking lot toward the back entrance of The Drop, where Tracy told me to enter from. When I hit the metal staircase, I carefully maneuver my way up using the railing so that my heels don’t get caught in any of the holes lining the steps. At the door, I pound hard twice, and Iggy pushes the door open and drops his eyes to mine.
“April? Damn, girl. How is it possible you look even more fuckable now?” He grins, taking his appearance from slightly scary to straight-up attractive, which is why he has never had an issue getting women into his bed. The tattoos and bad-boy look reels them in, then one smile seals the deal.
“Iggy, still so charming.” I roll my eyes, listening to him laugh, and he tugs me in for a tight hug.
“I missed you, girl.” He lets me go and allows me to step past him into the dim hallway.
“Me too,” I say, finding Tracy at the end of the hall with his plaid-covered arms crossed over his chest, his beard and hair longer than I remember. Where Iggy was always the bad boy, Tracy had that rugged guy-next-door look about him.
“Hey, you.” He smiles, uncrossing his arms and walking toward me. As soon as I’m close, he hugs me, then leans back with a look that makes me tense.