Page 10 of Claimed By Lock

Normal night. Normal noise.

Except I'm not paying attention to any of it.

I keep thinking about her. The way she kissed me back like she couldn't help herself. The fire in her eyes when she told me she didn't need rescuing. The way she pulled away, breathless, and saidI can'teven though we both knew she wanted to.

Josie.

And then she walked away. And I let her.

Because that's what she needed. Space. Time. A chance to figure out if this was real.

I know what it is for me. Knew it the second I saw her across that rally. Some things you just know.

She's not there yet. That's fine. I can wait.

But goddamn, the waiting is hard.

"You're doing that thing again." Rogue drops onto the stool beside me.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you stare into space like you're trying to solve the world's problems." He takes a drink. "Except I don't think it's the world's problems you're thinking about."

"Drop it."

"This about the woman from Ironwood? The one Colt was hassling?"

I don't answer. Which is answer enough.

Rogue grins. "I knew it."

My phone buzzes. I pull it out, expecting club business.

It's from Josie.

Hey. I owe you a drink. Dusty's on 9th. Tonight. 8pm. If you're free.

I read it twice. Something loosens in my chest.

Rogue leans over to look at the screen. "Well, well. Looks like she's not done with you after all."

I pocket the phone. Check my watch. Almost seven.

"I gotta go."

"Yeah, you do." He raises his beer. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves a lot of options."

"Exactly."

Dusty's is a dive on the edge of town — dim lights, sticky floors, the kind of place where nobody asks questions. Neutral ground.

Smart choice on her part.

I spot her the second I walk in. Back booth, something amber in a rocks glass, watching the door. Fitted top, dark hair loose around her shoulders.

There she is.