Worth Every Cent (Worth It 2)

I backed my car out of the pathetic excuse for a driveway and sat across the street. I watched her dig through a potted plant of some sort on the left side of the house before she pulled out a key. Did she not even have a key to her own place? Was she living with someone again? I sat there and watched her, making sure she got inside okay. And the second her door closed, the one on the right opened.

And to my shock, a very inebriated Andy Prentice came stumbling out.

He slammed the door behind him and stumbled down the rickety brick steps. Every single muscle in my body locked up as I watched his drunk ass stumble over to his pickup truck. He slammed himself in and peeled out of the driveway, then drove off into the night swerving along the road.

A frown overtook my face as I grimaced.

Was Michelle back with Andy? And if she was, why the hell had they come out of separate doors? Was that house separated somehow into two spaces? It wouldn’t shock me in the slightest. Someone trying to scrape by enough money with an abandoned property inside the town’s limits. And even if they weren’t living together, why the hell would Michelle elect to live right next to her deadbeat good-for-nothing ex?

I sped off in the opposite direction for Anton’s house, blowing off steam as the wind whipped around my ears.

There was no point in me caring about what Michelle did with her free time. She wasn’t my girlfriend. She never had been. And I wasn’t sticking around the likes of Stillsville. I was here to sell Anton’s house, deal with his furniture, and restore that damn Chevy.

I had to keep my sights focused on the Chevy.

When I pulled into the driveway of Anton’s home, I slammed through the front door. I grabbed as many beers from the fridge as my hands could carry, then made my way back out to the garage. I popped one open and chugged it back, trying to rid myself of the night’s events and focus my remaining efforts and mental fortitude on the task at hand.

Michelle had been a simple distraction. Nothing more.

I tinkered with the Chevy all through the night, popping out dents and smoothing over the surface of the car. It needed a hell of a lot of work, and the superficial shit was the easiest to take care of. I worked on that damn car until almost four in the morning, then called it quits when the garage spun with my drunkenness. I stumbled into the house and fell asleep face-first, my body secretly looking out for a warm body to sl

ip in next to mine.

But when the sun rose and streamed heavily through my window, I was the only one in my bed.

I felt too hungover to cook breakfast, so I rolled out of bed and grabbed my sunglasses. I took deep breaths as I changed my clothes, then headed into town to find something to eat. I drove by empty restaurants and fast food joints that made my stomach curl. The only thing that sounded mildly appetizing was the town’s only diner.

They’d have a nice greasy breakfast to help soak up the rest of the alcohol in my system.

I walked into the diner and made a beeline for the back booth. I didn’t want to be bothered by anyone who came in, and the crook of the kitchen entrance shielded me from the main door. I flopped down into the booth and drew in a deep breath before I grabbed the menu on the table, and soon a very cheery woman with dark brown hair appeared at my side.

“Well if it isn’t Grayson MacDonald.”

Holy hell. I couldn’t escape anyone in this damn town.

I looked up into the eyes of the young woman, but I had no idea who the hell she was. Probably someone else waiting to beat me to a bloody pulp for my antics in high school. But when my eyes fell to her nametag, it jogged my memory.

Cecily Atkins.

The bitch who stood me up at senior prom.

“How in the world have you been?” she asked, as she slid into the booth in front of me.

I felt her foot fall against mine as I peered at her from beyond my sunglasses.

“Fine,” I said.

“You look good,” she said, as her eyes dropped down my body.

“You look nice yourself,” I said.

“Oh thanks,” she said as her smile grew brighter. “Always the flirt.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

She cleared her throat as her cheeks reddened.

“I’d like a stack of pancakes and some bacon along with a very strong cup of coffee,” I said.