“I’m good.” Her voice is strained, tortured even, and it pulls at me in the weirdest way. I’ve never felt bad for her—not once in my entire life. She’d had everything handed to her. A college degree, cars, brand-new clothes—you name it, she had it. Hell, she even went back to get her master’s. And, unlike me, has zero student loans.
The Turners are good people—kind. But that doesn’t ease some of the jealousy I carry over the fact that they never had to work four jobs just to support themselves. Especially when her being back might mean I lose my job and the last two years of work I’ve put into it.
“What can I get you?” Moe asks.
Kleo clears her throat and uses the drink napkin in front of her to dab at her eyes. “Whiskey, please.”
“Just whiskey?”
“Just whiskey,” she repeats, and Moe pours her drink. I don’t even realize I’m watching her until her gaze meets mine. Bright blue eyes streaked with red. She smiles softly, and I nod, looking back at my beer before she can engage me in conversation.
The last fucking thing I want is to engage in any kind of interaction with Kleo. Hell, the last time we spoke, I told her to take her spoiled ass home and leave me the hell alone. I’d tried to help her and ended up branded a loser for the entirety of my senior year.
And the worse part? She’s so damned beautiful I would have given anything to have her look my way—just once when we were younger. But that ship sailed when I got a look at the spoiled princess beneath the pristine surface. The matte beneath the glitter.
Happiest day of my life was when she walked the hell out of town even if it meant I’d had to pick up the pieces of what she left behind.
Moe sets my burger down in front of me, and my stomach growls. I skipped breakfast after my workout this morning, opting for a protein shake instead so I could get my mom’s sign up before heading out to the camp.
The Turners own a Troubled Youth camp they open every summer, and this is my second year running it since I took over for Kleo the night she bailed two weeks before the opening. They take applications, and the kids who are chosen get to attend at no cost to the parents. We receive donations here and there, but for the most part, the place is completely paid out of the Turners’ own pockets.
Our newest campers will be arriving just over a week from tomorrow, and while I have nearly everything ready to go, there are always last-minute things that need to be tended to before the counselors show up Monday for a welcome breakfast and a week of team-building while we get everything ready to go.
From what I understand, I was just holding the spot for when Kleo returned to take over. The camp is supposed to be hers, which is yet another reason I’m pissed the hell off. I’ve poured two years into that place, turning it into something I can be proud of. I’ll be damned if Kleo Turner is going to waltz in and run it into the ground.
Making a mental note to call Al, I dive into my lunch like a man starved, putting Kleo Turner out of my mind until a loud laugh breaks through and bursts into my happy place like a SWAT team kicking down the door to a meth lab.
Kleo downs her glass, and I look up at Moe, who’s studying her, brows drawn down.
“How many has she had?” I ask. I haven’t been paying attention at all, but based on the red flush of her cheeks, she’s been at the bottle.
“That’s four. Doubles,” he adds, and I raise an eyebrow, glancing around the bar to see if the sheriff is still here. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I’m not really sure which, she’s not. Turning back to Kleo and Moe, I’m treated to a lovely sight of her tits nearly spilling out of the top of her shirt as she leans over the bar.
“Another, please!” she begs, pushing out her full bottom lip in a pout.
“I think you’re good, hon,” Moe says softly. “Why don’t we get you some food? Have you eaten today?”
“Nope, no food.” She shakes her head. “More whiskey!” she yells, throwing both hands in the air, her shirt sneaking up further on her toned abdomen.
I hate that I find her so fucking sexy. Especially when she’s acting like such a brat.
“No more whiskey,” Moe says, and I know he’ll stand his ground despite her family. Few people here bow down to the Turner girl, though there are some.
“Please?” She pouts again, sticking out her bottom lip even further.
“Nope. How about we call your brother?” He reaches for his pocket, and Kleo gets to her feet.
“No brother.” She staggers, nearly falling if not for a perfectly manicured hand gripping the bartop. Mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, “He thinks I’m a screw up too,” She reaches into her purse and sets her keys on the counter before pulling out her wallet and tossing a handful of twenties on the bartop. When she reaches for her keys, I get to my feet and cross the room.
“There’s no way in hell you’re driving,” I say and snatch them from the counter before she can grab them.
Those baby blues narrow on my face, and she pokes me in the chest. “Give me my keys.”
I glare down at her challenging gaze. I have to admit, the fight in her—the fire—it’s new. And it’s fucking hot. Teenage Kleo was a tad bit softer than this and hated confrontation of any kind. Hence not standing up against Nerdean. “No. I’ll drive you home,” I offer.
“No. Thank. You,” she snaps, jabbing her finger into my chest with each word. “Give me my keys now, asshole.”
I shove the keys into my pocket for good measure. “I’ll be back to pay my tab,” I tell Moe, hoping to get her out of here before she makes too big of a scene. The lunch rush will be coming in any minute, and the last thing he needs is someone acting like an entitled asshole in front of his customers.
Turning back to Kleo, I hold out a hand and gesture toward the door. “After you, Princess.”
She shakes her head, crossing both arms beneath her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Give me my keys, or I’ll have you arrested.”
I bark out a laugh and, in one swift move, too quick for her to react, lean down and lift her, tossing her over my shoulder. She screams, kicking her feet and slamming both fists into my back. I glance at Moe, who’s watching me with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Let Al know I’m headed his way, will ya?”
A smile tugs at Moe’s mouth, and he grins. “Will do.”
“No! Put me down, you animal!” she roars. Hector jumps to his feet and runs over to hold the door open for me, looking like he’s rather enjoying the show as well. Chances are this particular story will be town news for quite some time, and I hate it for Al Turner. He’s well-respected around here, and Judson, Kleo’s older brother, is a good guy as well. Not sure what happened with Kleo.
She slams her fist into my spine, and I wince as I grip the handle of my driver’s side door and pull it open. I lean in and drop her on the seat, climbing in right after so she doesn’t have time to push past me.
She reaches for the passenger door, and I lean across her to hit the manual lock. Unfortunately for me, she turns at the same time and slams her head into my nose.
“Mother fucker!” I roar, grabbing my face.
“Serves you right, dickhead!” She reaches for the door again, and through tear-filled eyes, I hit the lock and crank the truck on, pulling out of my spot as quickly as I safely can.