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He looks at me then. “Funny. Considering you’ve been in here crying on my bar every night since then, I figured she was a free agent.”
Somebody else calls for a drink and Beck walks away, leaving me to stew in my own rage. I might still have to kill him, but he’s made his point. Bailey’s not mine. She and Drew are free to see other people. Or each other. Or any combination thereof. The thought makes me want to hurl.
“Drew, on the other hand,” says Beck, coming back like he was never interrupted at all. “That guy is exactly my type.”
“You’ve made your point,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“That ass,” Beck says with genuine enthusiasm.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Beck meets my eyes, his gaze level.
“Then maybe you get what I’m saying,” says Beck.
“I got it,” I say through my teeth.
“So why are you sitting here sulking in my bar and driving away my business?”
“Name on the building says Rusty’s.”
“Semantics.” The corner of his mouth turns up a little. I feel the last of my aggravation seep out of my shoulders and put my head on the bar.
“I’m an idiot,” I say, not bothering to sit up.
“I know,” he says. “But turns out that particular condition isn’t always fatal. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
I think long and hard before I answer. I’m still thinking about it twenty minutes later, when Beck’s long since stopped waiting for me to speak and is helping take care of a thirsty group of sports fans on the other side of the dining room.
Bailey told me she wouldn’t beg, that she was done taking scraps from men. I didn’t catch on at the time, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking about me, or even Drew. She’s had several serious relationships in the past, and while I don’t know much about why they ended, I do know that Bailey said she always felt unseen, like her boyfriends didn’t respect her enough to see her for who she really was. If that’s the case, me calling it off when things got hard probably just reinforced every bad feeling she ever had, putting me firmly in the camp with her exes.
That thought doesn’t sit well. At all.
Bailey deserves better. For the first time in nineteen days instead of being angry or sad, I’m proud of her for walking away. She deserves better than being flaked out on by some drunken asshole, even if that asshole is me.
Even Drew had the balls to stand up to his family and make them acknowledge her. He respects our relationship enough to put himself on the line in more ways than one.
Our relationship. The idea feels strange and new; every time I turn it over in my mind, I sit a little bit taller. The coffee cup in front of me somehow never goes empty, though I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve picked it up for a drink.
Drew deserves somebody who’ll stand up for him the way he stood up for us. They both do. So what if his family doesn’t approve? And so what if it costs me that contract with Sizzle? It hasn’t cost me my audience—at least, not all of it. I’m still making enough money to pay the bills, though lately things have gotten a little thin.
But so what? I built a career out of thin air before, just these last couple of years. I can do it again. So the TV gig door is closed. So what? It’s done.
Is it worth closing the door to the best relationship I’ve ever had? To the two best people I’ve ever met?
Not to mention the sex.
For the first time in nineteen days, my body stirs with interest, causing me to shift in my chair. Maybe not the best time for that, but it’s kind of a relief to know I’m not dead inside. Not dead at all.
“You look better when you’re caffeinated,” says Beck the next time he comes around the bar to top me off.
“Better than you, that’s for sure,” I quip. Beck does a double take, then smiles.
“You wish,” he says. I snort.
The man’s got a point. He’s seriously hot. If I weren’t taken—
But I am. And damned if that thought doesn’t bring a smile to my face for the first time in weeks.
