Lucky Me Lucky You | Clyde Logan x Reader

Chapter 3

Friday inched by in a muddle of too much caffeine and too little sleep. You felt keyed up, yet your brain was full of sludge. You were still offended for Clyde. You were also exhausted from lying in bed and staring at the ceiling most of the night. You didn't know what to do or how to help.

It should've been a relief to clock out at five, but you even didn't remember doing it.

You sat in your living room with eyes glazed. You wondered if the police knew Agent Grayson was in town. Not that she was doing anything illegal. She was just sitting in a bar and talking to people.

And making a good man fall in love with her.

You had to tell him. It wasn't right.

You didn't know what to tell him, how to word it. Everything was going to come out wrong. You would offend him. Then he would defend Emmie's honor. He'd say you were wrong, that you were jumping to conclusions. He'd admonish you and tell you never to come back to Duck Tape.

That would break your heart.

But better yours than his.

You pulled your laptop to you and saved or screenshot-ed everything. You composed an email to yourself with everything in it. You'd show it all to Clyde tomorrow. Clear evidence was the only way to back up your theory.

On Saturday after supper, you changed into dark overalls and a West-Virginia baby-doll t-shirt. You would've liked something prettier, but laundry day was tomorrow and nothing was clean. You weren't going to the bar to impress, anyway. You just wanted to talk with Clyde.

Unsurprisingly, Duck Tape was busy. The lot was almost full, and you had to park in the gravel section at the back. There were people smoking and laughing on the porch. You didn't know any of them. By the door, you saw Earl. He recognized you and gave you a friendly nod. You returned his nod and went inside.

There were people everywhere—at the pool tables, the dart boards, around the jukebox, in every booth and at every table. Every seat at the bar was taken, too. In the middle of it all was Clyde. He seemed at ease, talking with customers as he made their drinks. There was a waitress with him, too, refilling red tumblers with pop for folks at the booths.

You wedged yourself between two groups of people to get to the bar. The waitress saw you first and came over, asking what she could get you. You told her you were here for Clyde. She frowned at that and looked over her shoulder at him.

"He's kinda busy right now," she said over the din of multiple conversations.

"I know. I'll wait." You realized you couldn't take up space at the bar without ordering anything. "I'll take a Guinness."

"Alright. I'll tell him you're here."

You exchanged a five-dollar bill for the beer. You told her to keep the change. You sipped at your drink, watching the television in the corner, while "Amie" by Pure Prairie League started playing on the jukebox. At a commercial break, you pulled your phone from the front pocket of your overalls. You launched the email app and opened the email about Emmie. Agent Grayson. Whichever.

Movement caught your eye, and you looked up from your phone to see Clyde approaching. He looked pleased to see you, the corners of his mouth curling up. You smiled back, phone almost forgotten in your hand.

He put his flesh hand on the bar in front of you. "Hey there."

"Hi."

"I heard you was lookin' for me."

You nodded and tucked your phone away. "I need to talk to you."

"What about?" He studied you for a second. "You okay?"