Honeytrap by CRYSTAL GREEN Page B

him? And now that I had, why did I feel like I’d dropped something along the way here and couldn’t find it?
    I went to my pickup before I could get any more curious about Micah and what he did to me.
    Curious was a luxury I didn’t have.
    ***
    The next morning, I needed to pump out some of the steam Micah had put into me last night. The sooner the better, too.
    I would’ve swum laps in the backyard pool if it’d had water, but instead, I hopped on the elliptical that had been banished to my room, putting on my earbuds and hooking up to my iPhone to crank out some music. Pharrell, Lorde, Eminem, and a bunch of other one-name wonders pushed me on that exercise machine, and by the time I was done, I was a ball of sweat in dire need of some breakfast.
    Mom and the live-in ladies—Frannie, Rainey, and Juanita—had dirtied up the kitchen last night; I was pretty sure that, after they’d gone over the books at work, they’d made good use of the cheap wine Mom had on hand when they’d gotten home from the café and, by the time I’d tiptoed to my room, they’d already been in bed. Luckily, I’d texted Mom on my way back from the party, so there was no major speech from her when I got home—not that she would’ve given her college girl much grief about staying out late, anyway. And she didn’t even have to know there’d been a keg at the party.
    As I tossed a couple of emptied wine bottles into the recycling bin, I found a stickie note from Mom among the crumbs from cheese and crackers.
    Milk!
    Crap.
I was a cereal fiend—it’s all I ever ate for breakfast—and I should’ve picked up milk earlier if I wanted it. Casa de Carson was basically a fend-for-yourself operation.
    Stomach grumbling, I took a quick shower, smacked on mascara and lipstick, then flew out the door and got into my pickup. The air was already getting humid, so I cranked up the A/C and drove to Kroger. As I pulled into a prime parking space at the curb of the store, I caught a flash of gray to my left and, cutting the ignition, looked over to find Jadyn Dandritch rushing into the coffeehouse next door.
    Small town, small world.
    I took out my keys and fiddled with them, wondering if I should say something to her. Heck, I shopped at her store—it was the only full-sized market in Aidan Falls—so I was bound to run into her again at some point. Should I get the awkwardness over with?
    Sucking it up, I got out of the truck and went to the coffeehouse, finding hardly anyone inside, except for Mr. Hernandez, the owner. He was at the counter with Jadyn, who was ordering a bagel and a coffee with cinnamon.
    Should I just stroll right up to her? And what would I say?
    Hey! Haven’t seen you since you dashed away from me yesterday like you were an Olympic avoider. What’s with the cold shoulder?
    Instead, I sank into a chair at one of the wooden tables with fiesta-colored paint streaks, surrounded by the roasted smell of coffee, along with old Loretta Lynn playing on the radio. What
did
someone say to an ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend slash fellow pariah?
    I didn’t have long to think about it, because after Mr. Hernandez saw me, he nodded and said, “Shelby.”
    It was a greeting that could’ve gone either way—
Shelby, you slut or, Hello, Shelby, welcome to my establishment.
    After I said hi back, Jadyn’s spine stiffened. She kept herself turned away from me, and all I could see of her was the gray jeans and cotton shirt she was wearing, along with the dark curls of her hair trailing down her back. Her cocoa-and-milk arms seemed to pale a little, even though I knew that was just in my imagination.
    I couldn’t stand this anymore. “Hi, Jadyn.”
    Her shoulders lowered, like she was letting out a strained breath, then she turned to me, her smile forced. “Hi, Shelby.”
    It struck me how beautiful she was, now that she