The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Ava Claire

me again.
    Yet here you are, ready to let bygones be bygones...
    Ashton let go of the steering wheel, but her bitterness still edged her words as she turned off the car. “I’m just looking out for you, Cat. You know that, right?”
    We weren’t the friendship bracelet type, but we’d almost gotten matching tattoos before I chickened out. But I didn’t need any of that. I could hear it. I could feel it. She had my back back then, fielding emails, helping me pack. She had my back over the years when I’d call her up in the dead of night, crying over some picture I’d seen of him. She had my back now, trying to knock some sense into me before I made a terrible mistake and gave Lincoln a second chance to break my heart again.
    I hung my head and let out a jagged sigh. “I know.” I tilted my chin slightly, my next word peevish. “Truce?”
    She cracked a grin. “Truce.”
    We climbed out of the car, arm in arm like we weren’t yelling at each other a few minutes ago. The Bar was as unassuming as its name, a hole in the wall tucked in between a barber shop and a real estate agency. The wood paneled walls were covered with posters from epic musical events like Woodstock to Beyoncé’s I am World Tour.
    The rectangular bar stretched from just inside the glass door to the back door that opened to an indoor atrium. Slung on bar stools and surrounding tables that were squeezed into the remaining precious square feet, the patrons of The Bar were as eclectic as the music posters on the wall. They ranged from hipster types in suspenders and bowler hats and tattoos, students using laptops and textbooks as coasters, and working stiffs still in their work uniforms, the lines of a long day etched into their tired faces.
    Ashton tugged me over to the bar, an opening sandwiched between two frat guys in N.C. State garb, on what I was sure was round #4 from their volume level and the fact that they got more beer on the floor than in their mouths. There were two thirty-somethings on the other side, giggling like schoolgirls whenever the bartender looked their way. Any other night and I would have gotten the appeal. He had midnight-colored hair and even darker eyes and golden skin. His black V-neck and jeans broadcasted a toned, powerful body, but I just nodded at him with nothing in mind other than a drink, as soon as he could get to it.
    “Now that’s a man worth lusting after.”
    I gripped the edge of the bar, sure that this was the real reason Ashton wanted to go out for drinks. She wanted to play matchmaker.
    Ashton crooked her finger and the bartender froze like he got some sort of jolt, mid pour, mid-conversation, and whipped his head in our direction. His hair was a little longer than Lincoln’s, but it was a little too tailored to do anything for me. It was too deliberately messy.
    He nodded at us and finished pouring the drink, then hustled in our direction. The women to our right let out a sigh in unison when he grinned and two dimples winked in his cheeks.
    “Well hello there, stranger,” he teased.
    I leaned back, my arms locked like I was ready to plunge down and do a push up. Or push away from the bar. ‘Stranger’ was right. I glared at Ashton, but all I got was her side profile and a definite change in the air around her. There was this giddy, anxious energy that surrounded her like a perfume. Her voice was a few octaves higher than usual.
    “Hi Josh,” she breathed like she couldn’t catch her breath at all. When he looked at her like she was the only one in the bar, like hers was the face that would get him through his shift, I realized I had it all wrong.
    She liked this guy, and from the way he could barely get his sentence out, he liked her too.
    “Two, er, uh nights in a row. Things must be hopping at Meredith College.” Even in the dim light, the redness that rushed to his cheeks was plain as day.
    “Damn straight,” Ashton piped, scooting closer and leaning on the bar. The neckline that was