The One You Fight For Page 13

  Taryn bowed her head and rubbed her eyes, emotionally exhausted. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

  Kincaid wrapped her arm around Taryn’s shoulders. “I do. We go straight to the hot guys who are getting us in shape. Your beautiful, busy brain is in serious need of a break. If you spend the night at home, you’re just going to drive yourself up the wall. Let’s go find some distraction. And after the workout, we’ll go have cake.”

  Taryn laughed and lifted her head. “Cake? Doesn’t that ruin the point of the workout?”

  Kincaid scrunched her nose. “What is the point of working out if you can’t have cake for your efforts? I work out for dessert, sugar. Let’s go.”

  Taryn allowed Kincaid to take her hand and pull her up from the bench. Kincaid’s gaze jumped to the wall behind her, and her smile faltered. Taryn squeezed her hand and turned to face the wall with her. “You okay?”

  Kincaid’s attention hovered on the same spot—maybe a group of names or a particular one. A little breath escaped her, making her blond bangs flutter. “Yeah, I’m all right. I just hate coming here. I see the names, and I can’t help but hear roll call from grade school, all the names I knew for so long. And I just… I don’t know. I think my mind sometimes tricks me into thinking these people are just living somewhere else, grown-up now and doing whatever they were supposed to do in this world. Like we’re supposed to be distant Facebook friends with these people by now and rolling our eyes over their constant pictures of their kids or cyberstalking our former crushes to prove that we are way hotter than the person they married.”

  Taryn smiled, the sadness familiar. “Guessing who got their boobs done.”

  “Yes!” Kincaid said, pressing the corners of her eyes before tears escaped. “I’m pissed that they’re not here.”

  Taryn bumped her shoulder into Kincaid’s. “Me too.”

  Kincaid brushed her hair away from her face and rolled her shoulders, obviously trying to regain her bright attitude. “All right, enough of this. Let’s get going. We both need to empty our minds for a while.”

  “With exercise and hot guys.”

  “Obviously. That is clearly the best course of treatment.”

  Taryn grabbed her purse off the bench. “You missed your calling as a therapist.”

  Kincaid put her hand to her chest with an exaggerated expression. “I know, right? Girl, I would’ve nailed that job. I’ve got all the advice.”

  Taryn laughed as they walked out, picturing Kincaid as a therapist—bossing clients around in sessions, hand on hip, finger wagging at them like a proper Southern momma. It was enough to get her mind focused on something else for at least a few minutes. That was the beauty of her wonderful friend.

  Kincaid could make her smile, even with all this going on. Maybe the woman really had missed her calling in therapy.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  “This does not look like an establishment that serves cake,” Kincaid said as Taryn stopped in front of the Tipsy Hound bar. “And if it did, I wouldn’t want to eat their cake.”

  “After that workout, I need something stronger than cake,” Taryn said, feeling grumpy after the grueling session that Kaya, the perky female trainer who was definitely not Lucas, had put her through. Taryn had not been feeling in the mood for a workout already, but when she’d found out Lucas was no longer going to be her trainer because he’d decided to take some night classes, her attitude had plummeted further. Kaya’s unending enthusiasm had not helped. If she’d said You can do it! one more damn time, Taryn might’ve pushed her in the pool.

  Kincaid glanced at the chipped paint on the sign by the door. “This place looks like a dive.”

  “It is,” Taryn agreed. “It’s perfect.”

  Kincaid gave her a skeptical look. “And it’s eighties open mic night. Are we really going to subject ourselves to that?”

  “You signed me up for something that involved trapeze and falling into swimming pools. I have earned the right to choose the next activity.”

  Kincaid relented and waved a hand. “Yep, you’re right. Lead on, and I shall follow.”

  “Thank you.” Taryn pushed open the door and was hit with the smell of beer and the sound of a Phil Collins song being murdered mercilessly by the woman onstage. “I’ve been here before. It’s got…some charm.”

  Honestly, Taryn had no idea why she’d decided to come back to the Tipsy Hound. There were plenty of other places in Austin where she and Kincaid could’ve grabbed a drink. Better lit places. Places where their shoes wouldn’t stick to the floor. But something about this bar had called to her again when they’d driven past. Maybe after watching her life’s work get flushed down the toilet the night before, she needed to remind herself that at least she hadn’t taken the path she’d originally planned and tried to be a songwriter. This would’ve probably been her future. Sticky-floored dive bars. She was still doing better than that, right?

  Kincaid fluffed her hair, somehow managing to look completely put together with just a five-minute gym shower and some quickly applied makeup. Taryn had done her best to look presentable, but all she’d packed in her gym bag were hair products, lipstick, and some mascara. Maybe it was good the place was dark.

  “Let’s grab a table and see if this joint can make a decent margarita,” Kincaid said, eyeing the possible places to sit.

  Taryn pointed. “The one in the back over there looks good. And it won’t be as loud.”

  “Hey, Jamez with a z!” a voice called from somewhere off to Taryn’s left.

  Taryn winced. She hadn’t considered that someone might remember her from the other night. This place seemed to do open mics every evening. She was just one of many who’d gotten on that stage, but the owner apparently had a good memory. She gave Kaleb a discreet wave, hoping Kincaid didn’t notice.

  But he didn’t take the hint. He stepped closer and flicked his bar towel over his shoulder. “Hey, do you do eighties, too? I hope so because, goddamn, we could use a good song tonight. The offerings have been bleak. This has been worse than karaoke night. And karaoke night makes me want to drink the hard stuff.”

  Kincaid turned around at that, doubling back. “Excuse me?”

  Kaleb smiled affably. “Oh, you brought a friend. Right on.” He put out his hand to Kincaid. “I’m Kaleb, co-owner of the place. I was just telling Jamez here that we could use her onstage tonight.”

  Kincaid cocked her head as she shook his hand, no doubt remembering the name Lucas had first called her at the race. Kincaid didn’t forget anything. “Right. Jamez. Onstage.”

  “Have you seen her play?” he asked, jabbing a thumb toward the front. The singer ended her torturous rendition of “Sussudio,” and a smattering of lackluster applause followed.

  Taryn put her hands up as if there were a way to stuff that cat back into the bag, but of course, there wasn’t. Kincaid’s attention flicked to Taryn, her eyebrows arching. “Play. Like an instrument. On a stage?”

  “Yeah, man. Good guitar player and has some pipes on her, too.” Kaleb grabbed his phone out of his back pocket. “What song you wanna do, Jamez? You can pick anything that hasn’t already been sung tonight.”

  “Oh, no, no,” Taryn said, waving her hand. “I’m just here to listen and have a drink tonight. I’m not up for performing.”

  Kaleb’s face fell. “Really? You sure? Could I entice you with free drinks for both of you in exchange for a song?”

  Kincaid perked up. “Yes, do you have marg—”

  “No,” Taryn said quickly. “Not tonight. Eighties really aren’t in my wheelhouse. But thanks.”

  Kaleb shrugged and his affable smile returned. “Ah, nineties to the end… I get it. Well, let me know if y’all need anything. And first drink’s on me anyway.”

  Kincaid put her hand to her chest. “Well, thanks, sweet thing.” She waited until h
e walked off and then looked at Taryn with a wicked light in her eyes. “For the drink and the information. Jamez with a z.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Taryn warned.

  “Like what?” Kincaid asked innocently.

  “Like I’m now the cake you were looking for. Can we just ignore that this conversation happened?” Taryn asked, stepping past her friend and heading to the table.

  “Um, no, we cannot, missy,” Kincaid replied, following closely behind, her high heels clicking on the floor. She waited until Taryn had taken her seat and then slid into the chair next to her. “That is not a conversation I can just forget. You play guitar and sing? Since when?”

  Taryn ignored her for a moment and ordered two margaritas on the rocks from the waitress. When they were alone again, she relented. “Since middle school, but I don’t do it anymore. The other night—the night after that bad date—I had a lapse in judgment, gave Kaleb a fake name, and ended up getting onstage here.”

  Kincaid’s lips parted on a gasp. “That’s why Lucas called you Jamez! You met him here? He saw you sing?”

  She shrugged. “He saw me freak out onstage and bail. Yeah.”

  Kincaid set her chin in her hand, a look of wonder and delight on her face. “It’s like I don’t know you at all. I need to see this singing Taryn. I need that in my life right this minute.”

  “Not happening. I’m retired.” Taryn accepted a complimentary bowl of homemade barbecue chips and her drink from the waitress and took a long sip, the sweet and salty liquid cooling her dry throat. “It was a stupid thing to do that night. It brings back…too much crap. That was the person I was in high school, before everything. It just brought back painful memories.”

  Kincaid frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Is that why you freaked out onstage?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Ugh,” Kincaid said, leaning back in her chair and grabbing a few of the chips. “Trauma sucks.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Taryn said wryly. “But at least we can sit here and listen to a sure-to-be-stellar rendition of ‘Billie Jean’ by that guy.”

  Kincaid looked to the stage where a very paunchy white dude with a biker vest was gearing up for some Michael Jackson. She groaned. “Oh Lordy, I’m going to need a lot of liquor for this.”

  However, to their surprise, when the biker actually started singing, he turned out to be pretty damn good. Good voice and much higher-pitched than anyone could’ve guessed. He was hitting every hee-hee with perfect pitch. Taryn found herself bopping her head to the music and enjoying the performance. But when he turned to the side, beer belly on full display beneath his T-shirt, and busted out his moonwalk, she and Kincaid almost lost it. Taryn put her hand over her mouth to stanch her laugh. “Oh my God, he’s so nailing it.”

  “I take everything I said back. I love this place,” Kincaid said, clapping and letting out a whoop. “It’s my new favorite.”

  They listened to the biker do a few more songs and enjoyed another round of drinks, but when the audience demanded yet another encore, Taryn had to excuse herself to go to the restroom. Kincaid waved her off, her attention still riveted to the stage.

  Taryn did what she needed to do, and when she stood in front of the warped mirror in the tiny bathroom to wash her hands, she found she had a smile on her face. The margaritas had given her a pleasant buzz, making her feel warm all over but not drunk, and the performance had made her forget about her crappy week for a little while. Just what she needed. This idea had definitely been better than cake.

  After reapplying her lipstick, she stepped out into the dark, narrow hallway to return to her table and not miss more of the performance, but before her eyes could adjust to the low light, she bumped into a wall of a person. An oof escaped her, and she raised her palms in apology. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”

  But when she looked up, familiar eyes were staring back at her, looking just as surprised as she felt. Lucas blinked. “Taryn?”

  “Lucas.” She frowned, taking in the full view of the man in front of her, her brain verifying that she wasn’t imagining things. “What are you doing here? I thought Rivers said you were taking night classes.”

  His wince was slight, but she caught it before he could cover it. He cleared his throat. “I am. They’re done for the night. I was just stopping in for a drink before I went home.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the main entrance of the bar. “My apartment is across the street. I’m kind of a regular here.”

  “Oh.” She chewed on that for a moment, her gut telling her there was more to the story. “Cool.”

  He tucked his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, making his pale-blue T-shirt pull tight against his chest. “Uh, how was your workout?”

  “My what?” Seeing him was making her thoughts scramble.

  He made a motion with his arms, mimicking lifting weights, which only distracted her more because it made his biceps flex. “The workout. Did you go?”

  “Oh. The gym. Yes. I did. It was brutal. And…enthusiastic.”

  “Yeah, Kaya’s got a lot of energy.” He shifted on his feet and glanced past her shoulder, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

  “Right. I’m sure you are.”

  His gaze jumped back to hers, obviously catching her tone. “What?”

  “Sorry.” She sighed, his behavior confirming her suspicions. “I’m not good at talking around things. Can we not do this?”

  He frowned. “Do what?”

  “Play pretend.” She pointed to herself. “Don’t forget I’m a psychologist…in forensics. You’re kind of terrible at this lying thing.”

  “I—”

  “Look, I was hoping we could get past the awkwardness of what happened the other night because I liked training with you, but clearly it’s still freaking you out. I don’t know if you actually have night classes or you just didn’t want to be my trainer anymore, but either way, it’s fine. You don’t need to lie about it or make a thing out of it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  He looked down at the floor and ran a hand over the back of his head, his hair falling forward. “Taryn…”

  “To be straight up with you,” she continued, the alcohol making her even more frank than normal, “I have enough drama going on in my life. I don’t need to create more of it. We made out. You weren’t a fan. Let’s move on.”

  His attention flicked up. “Not a fan?”

  She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I call it like I see it, and it’s fine. My ego isn’t that fragile.”

  “Not a fan,” he muttered, looking away. “Right. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  The words were low and almost to himself, but she heard him well enough. “Wait, what?”

  He looked at her and squeezed the back of his neck as if he were trying to choke back his words. “It’s not… Never mind. I’ve had too much to drink. I need to get home.”

  She lifted a hand and put it to his chest when he tried to move past her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. You can’t say that to a woman and then bolt. No way.” She looked to his face, trying to catch his eye. “You can’t stop thinking about me? What is that, Lucas? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Nothing,” he insisted, not looking at her. “Ignore me. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve been drinking.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. Not I didn’t meant it. And his excuse rang false, her truth meter buzzing. He wasn’t drunk. That much she could tell. I can’t stop thinking about you. The words and the pained way he’d said them wrapped around her and infiltrated her mind like a spell, eating through her good sense. Without evaluating the cost-benefit analysis of her next move, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him full on the mouth, shocking herself as much as him. Lucas stiffened, his shoulders like bricks beneath her palms, and he gripped
her upper arms. She braced for him to push her away. Out of line didn’t even begin to describe her actions.

  But instead of moving her back, after a second, he groaned and dragged her closer, her breasts pressing into his chest and his lips opening to hers. Everything inside her went off like a string of firecrackers as his tongue grazed hers and his hands tightened on her arms like he was afraid she would escape or disappear into thin air.

  She melted into the kiss, and her muscles went liquid as he took over. He turned them, pressing her against a wall covered with concert flyers and moving a hand to the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss, his mouth and lips seeking more, taking more. Never before had she been kissed with such urgency. Her fingers curled into his T-shirt, and the warmth from the alcohol was replaced with hot liquid need. She moaned and lost track of where they were for a few moments, falling into the sensation of it all. Lucas. Lucas. Lucas. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, have him carry her off somewhere, anywhere they could be horizontal instead of vertical.

  But a loud thwack cut through the erotic haze a few seconds later. Lucas straightened, instantly yanking his head away from the kiss, and cursed. “What the hell?” Another thwack. “Ow.”

  Taryn’s eyes popped open just in time to see Kincaid swing her heavy handbag at Lucas’s shoulder again. “Get your hands off her right now, or I swear to God I will Mace your ass!”

  “Kincaid!” Taryn said in shock.

  Kincaid gave her a look like Don’t worry, I’ve got this, honey and continued to hit him.

  Lucas lifted his hands as if the cops had found him and turned around, a scowl on his face. “What is happening?”