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Bailey and Drew. It’s been three weeks; you can use their names.
Except I can’t. And it’s only been nineteen days.
I know I was right. I know it. But I kind of thought being right would suck less.
Because this fucking sucks.
Guess I said that part out loud, because Beck nods and says, “I know, buddy. That’s the only reason Dad hasn’t banned your drunk ass from the bar.”
“Seriously?”
“Look around, Cooper,” says Beck. “You see anybody else in here crying into their beers night after night?”
I’ve had tunnel vision the last few weeks, I can admit it. I’ve been focused on salvaging any kind of following I can—that and deliberately not thinking about the two people I haven’t seen in almost three weeks.
Turns out it takes a lot of whiskey to focus on not thinking about them. That’s where living over a pub has come in handy. Because drinking upstairs alone would be sad.
“Rusty’s ain’t that kind of place, man,” says Beck, all matter-of-fact. “You’re lucky Dad likes you. I’d have kicked your ass to the curb ages ago.”
“Aw, come on, man,” I say, but Beck shakes his head. “You’re not kidding.”
“Not even a little,” he says.
“Well excuse the fuck out of me,” I say, annoyed and hurt. The hurt just blends into the vat of aching in my chest, though, so I stick to being annoyed, standing up and shoving my stool back into place. It’s all just part of the fucked-up scenery these days.
“Sit down,” orders Beck. It’s his military voice, all command, no room for argument. Don’t ask me how it works, but it does. Before I know it, I’m sliding back into my chair.
“I’m really not into power play,” I mumble. Beck snorts.
“Could have fooled me,” he says. Another customer calls to him from down the bar. Beck taps the bar in front of me. “Stay here,” he says, setting down a glass of ice water.
Any other time in my life, I’d be all about Beck’s unique brand of flirting. He’s certainly hot enough. Too bad my sex drive appears to have been broken sometime in the last couple of weeks.
Nineteen days. That’s how long it’s been since Bailey turned up at my door, when somebody told the whole world what we’d been doing. It’s been nineteen days since I slipped out of Drew’s bed and watched them hold each other in their sleep. Nineteen days since I left a note saying I’d be back to see them that night after work.
Nineteen days since I last woke up and was glad to see another day.
It’s so stupid. I’m so stupid. Everything is stupid.
“So here’s the thing,” says Beck, coming back to my end of the bar. This time he sets a cup of coffee in front of me. I glare at him, but decide fighting is what he’s after and I’m all about thwarting authority. I wrap my hands around the mug, just to warm them up. Maybe a sip won’t hurt.
“You’re in love with them, yeah?”
I choke on my drink, spraying coffee on the bar top. Beck arches a brow and hands me a towel.
“What are you talking about?” I manage, wiping up the mess.
“Bailey and Drew, isn’t it?” says Beck, lounging against the cooler behind the bar like he’s got all the time in the world. “She was hot.”
“Excuse me?” I feel my shoulders creeping up to my ears, my face warming.
“I met her that night at the gala, remember? Then she came by here that day a few weeks ago,” says Beck, ignoring my anger. “She asked about you before she went upstairs. Smoking hot, though I can’t say I ever had a thing for blondes.”
“Mind your own goddamn business,” I say, setting the mug down before I can throw it at him.
“She’s the kind you’d make an exception for,” says Beck, oblivious to the fact that I’m about to kill him.
“That’s enough.”
