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Killian turned on his heel and walked to my front door. He pulled it open, stopped in the doorway, looked back over his shoulder, and said, “He told me it was a love song. Stupid, huh?”
Then, without another word, he walked out the door.
Thirty-Eight
Killian
THERE WAS NO way in hell I was going home after leaving Levi’s place. I figured if I had to be miserable anywhere, I might as well drown my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle at a dive bar I frequented with the guys.
Only tonight I sat at the bar alone, wishing like hell I could have a redo on today. But maybe that wouldn’t have made a difference, since Levi seemed pretty set on his decision to leave us completely in the past.
Such a stubborn fucker, I thought, swirling the contents of my fourth bourbon as I sat having a pity party for one. I’d tried to make it a pity party for two, but there wasn’t one person in the bar my dick had sat up and paid any attention to. Just my luck.
I swallowed down the rest of my drink and raised the glass for another. Just keep ’em comin’, I’d told the bartender when I sat down, and I had a feeling no matter how drunk I got, he wouldn’t cut me off. After all, I was Killian Michaels, and who would say no to me?
Fuckin’ Levi Walker, that was who.
Deciding I’d had enough of my own damn company, I fished my cell out of my pocket and called someone I knew would be able to commiserate with my shit luck. Or at least someone who’d get drunk with me and then probably tell me to shove my problems back up my ass.
Twenty minutes later, Viper planted his ass on the barstool beside me, where I already had a glass of whiskey waiting for him. He didn’t say anything as he drank, his eyes glued to the TV over the bar, where a rerun of Seinfeld played. Once he’d finished off round one and gotten a refill, he finally acknowledged my presence.
“Smacked the fuck down again. How’s it feel?”
“Fuck you,” I replied.
“Eh, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’m gonna pass. If Levi kicked you to the curb, you’ve obviously lost your touch.”
“I haven’t lost my touch.” I stared down into the amber liquor and gave it another swirl. “Shit, maybe I have.”
“You’re not surrounded by any enticing alternatives, so, yeah, you’re fucked.”
I shot Viper a glare. “Thanks.”
“Just tellin’ it like it is. Assuming that’s why you called me and not Slade.”
Ignoring that, I took a drink and then swiveled on the barstool so I could check out the new arrivals. Following my lead, Viper did the same.
As I scanned the room, I could feel the mounting disappointment—not one person in the entire bar did anything for me, and what that meant was nothing good.
“What about the ginger at two o’clock?” Viper said.
I frowned. “Too short.”
“They only need to be dick height, Kill.” When I shot him a look, he sighed. “Fine. What about… Ooh. Blond quarterback looking for a tight end at my ten.”
“Meh.”
“The fuck does that mean? ‘Meh’?”
“Not my type.”
“Full, dick-sucking lips isn’t your type. Right. Got it.”
“Just not interested.”
“You mean little Richard isn’t interested.”
“Jesus Christ.” I rubbed my forehead, wondering why I’d thought Viper had been the best choice to join me. “Maybe don’t name my dick little Richard.”
Viper let out a bellowing laugh and then turned back toward the bar to order us a round of shots. When the bartender pushed a couple of who-knew-what in our direction, I threw back the alcohol before Viper even had a chance to pick his up.
“You know what your problem is?” he said. “Why you’ve been on the prowl for God knows how long with nothing to show for it?”
“I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
He tossed back his shot and slammed the glass back on the bar. “It’s because you’re in love, you dumb shit. That was your first fuck-up.”
“How is falling for someone fucking up?”
“Because it means your dick isn’t gonna get hard for just anyone anymore. It’s fixated. Stuck on our preppie-ass manager who’s decided to choose the job over you.”
Fucking ouch. Viper’s arrow shot straight into my chest and hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t wrong. It was the truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Your second fuck-up—”
“Yes, please keep going. You’re making me feel so much better.”
“Your second fuck-up,” Viper said, “was pretending you didn’t give a fuck about Levi the day we were talking about him. Trying to be all secretive and shit.”
My jaw all but fell to the bar. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the asshole who spent the beginning of our recording sessions acting like a total dick because you were busy pretending you and the angel were just bandmates?”
