The Urban Dictionary defines a "soft launch" as "a photo preview of a talking stage before it becomes an official relationship on social media, i.e., taking photos of their dinner plate and their hands, half their face or their shoes as to allude there's someone special in your life."


all mistakes are my own.


Chapter ten

Isabella

He's surrounded by pretty blondes, one in particular. She's hanging onto him like a loved one, arms around his neck, a megawatt smile on her gorgeous face.

I don't know why I'm jealous of the twenty-one-year-old. Maybe it's the fact that she's exceptionally beautiful, or that she looks like a model for the Harley Davidson brand itself? She's got lithe curves, and she's decked out in maroon leather pants and a black Harley T-shirt with the logo in that very same color.

And yeah. The fact that yesterday, she was only twenty years old. See, that's the double standard we're living with. Guys can do that. They date the young and beautiful and nobody waves the red flags. Women date younger, and we're pathetic. We date older, and suddenly we're gold-digging whores. We never get anything except for labels and snide comments.

It's not like me to be jealous of a girl getting her needs met, yet now that she's got her toned arms around the guy I've been eye-fucking all night? Well, lets say I'm thinking some very unfeministic things right now.

I wish I had Belle's magic wardrobe right about now. With this decadently decent pencil skirt I look like fish out of water. Thank god for lace camisole's, right? At least my rack is bigger than Little Miss Barely Legal's.

After the millionth hug, Ed manages to sneak off, back behind the bar, his hands busy typing on his phone with a glare that could easily stop global warming in a heartbeat.

Nothing here is my business. But I decide to make it mine, anyway.

"What's up, sourpuss? Didn't your girlfriend like your present?" I try to sound jokingly chipper but he doesn't buy it. Instead, he keeps his frosty, green eyes on the screen on the device in his hands. I swear his knuckles turn white from the force of his typing. Let's hope Ed's got AppleCare. Or at least a great, thick, tempered glass screen protector.

"My help just decided he couldn't come in tonight." It's a little louder than a mumble, and way angrier than a grumble. At least this time his anger isn't directed at me.

"Ah damn, that sucks..."

"Four times!" Ed raises his voice a bit, looking at me now, shaking

his head. More locks of ginger and gold sweep his forehead until he brushes them back again. "I've asked him four fucking times if he was sure about bartending tonight. And now he made up some lame excuse about having to help out his dad with his taxes." Cabin Daddy's eyes

go from ice to red hot fire. Anger looks way too good on this man. No matter who it's directed at.

"Taxes?" My brows furrow. "That's the worst excuse, ever...is that person like an accountant or something?"

Ed huffs.

"He's the son of the hardware store owner. Twenty-two and doesn't have a clue as to what he'll do with his life."

"Ah, so daddy dearest needed his baby to fill in his taxes. That's weird, though if he doesn't have a clue as to what he'll do in life."

"He's actually in school to become a minister now."

"Like a man of faith, minister? Or in a 'you may kiss the bride' kind of way?" I ask.

"The faith one." He nods.

"And he wanted to help out at a biker bar?" I can't believe this. I'm picturing a pastor in patent leather pants.

"Yeah, I knew I shouldn't have taken him on his word. Part of me knew he'd do this."

"Well, if he's lying, the big G-O-D will most likely make him pay?"

"Silver lining," Ed mutters. It's the most civil we've talked. He sighs, swinging a towel over his shoulder. I swear he looks...sad.

It's not a good look on him. Instead of mountain man vibes, he's giving sad puppy vibes. I need to turn this frown upside down.

"I could help out, if you'd like? Then at least I'd be doing something useful." I shrug, my fingers playing with the string of my bracelet.

"Seriously?" Ed frowns, a deep groove in between his eyebrows. I still can't quite put a number on him, age-wise.

"Again, I'd be doing something useful."

"And I'd be owing you one, right?" A glimmer awakens his beautiful green eyes.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of it like that. But I guess so, yes."

"Then you can think about how I'm gonna fulfill that favor for you while you wash these glasses, kid."

He throws me a clean towel. It hits me right in the face.