Call Taylor the CEO of poor timing because it’s at anal when she returns with our plates.

“Uh …” she mutters, searching for the right words before quickly placing our plates in front of us.

This time, Lincoln is the one covering his mouth to contain his laughter.

Chapter Nine

Lincoln

Damn, does it feel good, having the night off.

As much as I love the mental interruption the bar provides, a break is nice. A grip of disappointment squeezes at my core, though. I’m home alone with no plans and no one to make plans with. Archer is working, and my bet is, he’ll go to Georgia’s when he gets off.

Before my life fell apart, I had friends.

By the dozens.

Friends I partied with, traveled with, acted like spoiled rich kids with.

Fake-ass friends—most of them dropping me like flies when news broke.

A few were at my side during litigation, but after I was locked up, they were ghosts. No letters. No visits. No calls.

After my release, my mother threw me a welcome home party. Some of those friends came. I said my hellos, but just as they’d done to me, I wanted nothing to do with them. Hell, I hardly want anything to do with the old life I once had.

Loyalty—it’s a big damn deal to me.

If you’re not loyal, if I can’t trust you, then there’s the fucking door.

I’ve kept my mouth shut to remain loyal.

Got time for staying loyal.

If I say I have your back, I have your back.

I’m channel-surfing when my phone rings.

Cassidy.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hi, handsome,” she says, her voice casual as if this were a daily occurrence for us. “Whatcha doing?”

I scratch my neck, savoring the sound of her voice. It flows like an expensive ink, and I could soak up every drop. Cassidy’s voice doesn’t match her appearance, doesn’t match your typical sorority girl.

“Not much,” I reply. “Just chilling.”

“By yourself?”

“Why?”

She’s so nosy, and for some damn reason, I love it.

“Answer the question, Mr. Complicated.”

“Yes”—I chuckle—“I’m alone.”

“That’s my good future husband.”

The call ends.

The fuck?

Pulling the phone away, I stare at it in confusion. Just as I’m about to call her back to see if we lost connection, a FaceTime call comes through.

Cassidy.

I accept the call, and a zoomed-in Cassidy pops up on my screen—her face makeup-free, her blond hair swept back into a messy bun with stray pieces hanging loose around her eyes, and a knotted tie-dye headband pushed at the top.

“What movie do you want to watch?” When she shifts to make herself comfortable, her upholstered headboard comes into view.

I raise a brow. “Huh?”