Did I forget to mention that I told August what happened, and he’s been calling me names ever since?
Add it to my list of fuckups for the week. “You say that as if I don’t already know.”
I try to wheel around him, but he steps in my way like the irritation he is. “You have to do something.”
“Like what?”
He slips the pencil from behind his ear, counting the kegs I’ve brought in so far and marking them down on the PO. “Like woo her, dumbass.”
Woo her? Seriously? What is this, Pride and fucking Prejudice? “The shit you say makes me want to punch you so hard.” Since I need him around, I decide against it. When the asshole decides not to get out of my way, I abandon the cart and head into the empty bar instead.
Even though the concrete floors have been scrubbed to a shine, the room still smells like stale alcohol. That smell never seems to go away.
August trails after me, clearly not getting the hint. “What’s stopping you?”
“I’ll give you one guess.” A guess he won’t even need because that was the stupidest question he has ever asked—and he onceasked me if the moon followed me the way it followed him. Granted, we were high at the time, but still.
He practically chases me to the other side of the bar where the keg for one of the local beers needs changed. “It’s been four years, Elliott. You need to move on.”
“I have.” I kneel down and unhook the kicked keg.
I’ve moved on many, many times.
“Sleeping with other women isn’t moving on. It’s fucking around. What are you waiting for?” He squats down next to me but doesn’t offer to roll the empty keg out of the way.
What is he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be moving something or taking stock? “I’m not waiting on anything.”
“Look, I loved Alice too, but she’s gone.”
“You loved her too, did you?” He might as well have just punched me in the damn stomach.
“You know what I mean,” he says with a wave of his hand. “She did a number on you, and you still haven’t fully recovered. It’s okay to admit you’re lonely as hell and crave meaningful companionship.”
Meaningful companionship?If I never hear those two words come out of his mouth ever again it’ll still be too soon. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
His hand falls to my shoulder, stilling my movements. “Stop making jokes for one damn minute, and you’ll see I’m right.”
So what if I’m lonely? Loren is too good to use simply to fill the void someone else left behind. She’s looking for someone to sweep her off her feet or take her rowing through a bunch of fucking ducks or hang off a damn ferris wheel for her.
I am not Ryan Gosling.
I’m the loser Rachel McAdams left behind.
The longer August stares at me, the more his brow furrows.
You know what? Enough is enough. He can finish changing the keg himself. I’m not even supposed to be working right now. I only came in to keep myself occupied.
I stand and head for the door, grabbing my sweatshirt from the back of a stool on my way out.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” he calls after me, coming to a stop by the end of the bar.
There’s no point keeping the rest of my reservations a secret. He’ll only annoy them out of me later.
I stop, take a deep breath, and turn around. “Loren moved down here for a guy.”
August scratches his head with the tip of his pencil. “And you’re afraid she wants to get back with him?”
“No.” Loren has made it clear that she isn’t pining over her ex, but the fact is, she’s on the rebound. Not only that: “She doesn’t seem to know what she wants.”
