Bile rose in his throat as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Sparks of anger and betrayal flared inside his chest and blazed through his pain. He was pissed. Pissed at her for not answering his texts, pissed at her for holding his dream against him, pissed at her for finding someone new, for getting pregnant, for not telling him…
But most of all he was pissed at himself for losing the one thing he cherished the most. He’d lived without her in his world for a year and it had been too much. How could he face the rest of his life without her?
Chapter 4
Clare
“Mozzarella sticks?”
Clare lifted her hand to indicate to the bartender the sticks were hers. If he gave away her fried cheese to someone else, she’d be forced to cause bodily harm. She’d do damn near anything for good mozzarella sticks. Apparently that included attacking a bartender.
“Thank you.” She offered a grateful smile as he placed the red basket in front of her.
“Sure. You want another?” He gestured at her almost empty glass and she nodded.
He crushed up fresh raspberries and squeezed them through a cloth bag to strain the juice, added Limoncello, vodka, and a simple sugar syrup before topping it off with Sprite Zero. As delicious as the cocktail was, he was pretty delish himself, and his delectable biceps flexed as he worked.
He was more muscular than she’d normally go for, and younger, probably too young in fact, but when it had been… Well, far too long since she’d felt the intimate touch of another human being. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He sucked his teeth as he handed her the glass. A reminder of just how comfortable she’d gotten being alone. Sucking your teeth wasn’t a crime, hell, it wasn’t even the worst of the bad habits a person could have. But the mere action made her want to grab him by the ear and twist like her mama used to do any time she caught her biting her nails as a child.
She thanked him and turned back to her book boyfriend. The men between the covers of a romance novel didn’t let you down. Or rather, they let you down all the time, but they also usually distracted you with washboard abs and exceedingly large penises that they all magically knew what to do with, giving their heroines screaming back-to-back orgasms at the drop of a hat.
She smirked. Nothing quite brought her stress levels down like a good smutty book. She turned the page.Praise,by Sara Cate wasn’t something she’d usually pick up. But Cat had read it andravedabout it.
At first she’d thought it was odd—perhaps even a little icky—that her almost-not-a-teenager-anymore was recommending filthy books to her, but she kind of liked it. Clare didn’t have a lot of free time, and whatever spare time she had, she didn’t want to spend it reading terrible books.
Cat was her willing pre-screener, and since she started taking her daughter’s recommendations, she hadn’t read a single book she wasn’t obsessed with. Her list of book boyfriends was growing week by week.
A loud tut pulled her attention from Charlotte and Emerson. A woman stood, leaning over the bar, a twenty clutched in her perfectly manicured hand. Clare focused on her book again, assuming the tut was one of impatience, and the woman wasn’t thrilled about having to wait a whole thirty seconds for service. But instead, the lady stared at her.
“Aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with…that?”
Clare turned her attention back to the tutter. “Excuse me?”
“Aren’t you embarrassed to be reading smut in public?”
Clare snorted. “You think this is bad?” She waved the book at the stranger. As romance novel covers went it was mild. Sure, the guy on it was hot AF and had his shirt open a bit, but at least he waswearinga shirt. It was only a semi man-chest rather than full frontal and his V leading to the Promised Land of Peen wasn’t even showing.
“Ha! You should be glad I didn’t bring any of my sports romance novels along tonight.” She dropped her voice like she was sharing salacious gossip. “The models on those ones don’t have a shirt on at all.” She gasped theatrically and clutched at her chest. “Scandalous.”
The bartender leaned across the bar. “I really liked that one.” He winked at Clare.
“Y-you’ve read that?” The woman’s jaw would dislocate if it hung open much more.
Clare hid a grin behind the pages of her book.
“I have. I totally think more men should read romance novels. I love anything that’s spicy as all get out, and if it has voyeurism in it…” He whistled. “And who doesn’t love a praise kink?”
He fanned his face with an open hand. “My husband and I take turns reading chapters to each other every night before bed. Keeps things fresh in the boudoir, you know?” He spoke to Clare like they were old friends.
Ugh. He read romance novels and spoke smut. It was a home run. But strike one for the teeth sucking. Strike two for the fact he was gay. Strike three for the fact he had a husband. She’d have to find someone else to fantasize about.
“My daughter loved it and said I needed to read it, so here I am.”
“But reading in a bar by yourself. Isn’t that a little…pathetic?” Tutter cringed like the word tasted gross in her mouth.
Bitterness bubbled at the back of Clare’s throat and she opened her mouth to respond, not really sure what she’d say. Shefeltpathetic, more so now she’d been called out on it for sure. But if she didn’t venture out into the world to sit among other grown adults—even somewhere like a bustling bar where she didn’t even talk to anyone but the bartender—she’d spend her whole life hiding alone in her house. Wouldn’t that be more pathetic?
