Armed With Steele by Kyra Jacobs Page B

She would have kicked my butt if she knew what a recluse I’d become. And with Matt offering to play designated driver, I had even less reason to argue. So I’d consented and run off to my room to get ready.
    “That computer happens to pay my bills , Matt.”
    Jennifer shook her head and led me by the arm toward a cluster of our friends who’d congregated at Northside Bar and Grill. One of our regular Friday night hangouts, Northside was cozy, relatively clean, and more often than not fight-free.
    “So,” she said, leaning in closer. “How are you?”
    I shrugged. “Hanging in there.”
    “And Grace?”
    “Still the same,” I said, careful not to meet her gaze.
    She exhaled loudly. “I just can’t believe she’s, like, in a coma .”
    “Yeah, me neither. Oh! Can you believe I forgot to grab myself a drink?” I freed myself from her grip. From any further interrogation. “I’ll be right back.”
    My favorite bartender was working tonight—tall and dark with chocolate brown eyes. The kind of guy you could sit and drink in with your eyes all night long. Well, until closing time, anyway.
    “What, no Grace tonight?”
    I’d left the house to get her off my mind—a lot of good it’d done me. “No, Mac, just me tonight. Can I, uh, have my usual?”
    “Sure thing,” he said and handed it to me, having twisted the top off my beer before I’d finished my sentence. I was nothing if not predictable.
    “Thanks.”
    I tossed a few bucks on the bar and took a good, long drink from my beer. Then I headed back into the other room and did my best to blend in with the scenery. It felt awkward not having Grace there. Like I was missing my left arm or something. She was usually the one leading our conversations.
    Tonight, though, instead of leading them, she soon became the main topic of discussion. I knew our friends would probably bring up her accident. In fact, I’d fully expected it. But if I’d thought tossing out a few quick answers would satisfy their curiosity, I was sadly mistaken. Soon the entire group was humming with questions and comments about it.
    “I heard a deer ran out in front of her.”
    “A deer? That early in the day? No way, it had to have been a dog.”
    “You’re both wrong. I drove by there the next day and there was no sign of road kill.”
    Back and forth, round and round, the conversation rolled. I nursed my beer in silence, wishing they would hurry up and move on to another topic.
    Jennifer turned in her seat to face me. “So, what did the police tell you, Jessica?”
    Ten pairs of eyes zeroed in on me. I froze in mid-sip, then slowly lowered my bottle. The image of Officer Steele instantly came to mind, his brilliant blue eyes begging me to reconsider. “The…police?”
    Matt spoke up and saved me from my momentary social bumble. “That it was a freak accident. Nothing more.”
    My gaze met his, and he gave me a small nod. I hated that he was still convinced there was no other explanation. Hated even more the subtle don’t you dare bring up your harebrained idea look he was giving me.
    “Now, will you all please give this poor gal a break?” He smiled at the rest of the group and put a hand on my shoulder. “She’s had a rough week, and came out to drink away the stress she’s been under.”
    I blushed. “Well, I—”
    “Shots!” someone cried out. “We need a round of shots!”
    “No, really—” I stopped. After the week I’d had, one shot couldn’t hurt.
    So we all did a shot. And drank some more beer. And did some more shots.
    For the next two hours, people took turns sliding drinks in front of me. And not wanting to appear ungrateful, I drank what they gave me. Unfortunately, since I was usually the designated driver, my tolerance for more than a beer or two was virtually nil. By midnight, I’d not only forgotten my worries, but also how to stay upright on a barstool.
    “Come on, drunky-drunkerson,” Matt said, catching me before I slid completely off my