Free Mayday by Olivia Dade Page A

love of cycling almost immediately. Preparing for triathlons required a lot of riding, as well as swimming and running, and Wes had been glad to find an occasional training partner.
    When he called Chris, he usually wanted company for a long ride on their bikes. Not tonight, though. He needed something different than the soothing rhythm of pumping legs and turning pedals. He craved something loud and wild. Something all-encompassing enough to drown out the disappointment he couldn’t seem to shake.
    He needed a drink. A game of pool. Maybe even the company of a woman who didn’t shrink away from the slightest touch of his hand. At the moment, he didn’t have a preference, as long as it erased the hollowed-out feeling in his chest. Anything could happen tonight. He didn’t care.
    Because—as far as he could tell—Helen didn’t care either.
    Chris kicked at a pebble in the parking lot, and it skipped off into the darkness. “Why are we going to a place called Nice Rack? Is this a topless bar? Because if so, count me out, man. I love boobs as much as the next guy, but I’m not in the mood.”
    Not a surprise. Between his recent move from Rockville to Niceville, his attempt to open a new business, and the fallout from the whole my-girlfriend’s-screwing-my-best-friend clusterfuck, Chris didn’t have a ton of energy or desire to chase women.
    â€œNah,” Wes said. “It’s a bar with dancing and pool tables. Used to be called Dance, Drink, and Shoot, but the new owner named it Nice Rack as a joke.”
    â€œAh.” Chris nodded. “Because of the pool tables. And the location in Nice County.”
    Despite his rotten mood, Wes couldn’t hold back a smile. “Yes, those two reasons. Along with the fact that the owner, Tasha, is a lesbian who loves boobs. As much as the next lesbian, you might say.”
    â€œClever.”
    â€œYup.” He reached for the door to the bar, pulling it open and heading inside before he had second thoughts.
    He couldn’t seem to settle down. The roar of thoughts inside his head made it hard to hear. Hard to think. His body felt suffused with the energy born of intense frustration. And when he’d felt like this in the past . . . well, it hadn’t always ended in a way that made him proud.
    In fact . . .
    He let out a slow breath. The last time he’d felt this way, he’d taken an old classmate home. Fucked her. And in doing so, simultaneously fucked up any chance of a real relationship with her in the future.
    Helen. Goddammit, his mind always seemed to circle right back to her, even when he tried to set it on a different path. He couldn’t suppress the questions that kept tugging at his attention. Where was she tonight? Had she decided to stay at home and read rather than having dinner with him? Was she meeting her girlfriends at Sallie’s Diner? Could she be climbing into another man’s bed right this second?
    For the past two months, he’d spent every morning in the shower with his hand on his dick, fantasizing about a second chance with Helen. Thinking about uncovering every inch of her pale skin this time, rather than only removing the necessities. Considering how he could make her shudder under his touch. Remembering the tight, slick heat that had surrounded him so briefly.
    At this very moment, someone else might be living out Wes’s fantasies, and he had no one to blame but himself.
    The thought only added to the reckless energy pulsing through his veins.
    â€œI’ll get us a round,” he called out to Chris over the driving beat of an AC/DC classic. Chris acknowledged the words with a flick of his fingers before searching the room for a free table.
    Behind the bar, a pretty woman with short black curls stood at the tap. Her tight T-shirt had the bar logo on the front, and her name tag read “Tasha, Owner and Appreciator of a Nice Rack.” As soon as she saw him, she