“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here,”I beamed, amusement lighting my tone.“Of all the bars in town, what brings you here?”
He took a mouthful of his beer, the foam coating his top lip, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from dropping to his mouth when his tongue came out to swipe it. “Felt like a beer. Didn’t know I needed your approval to come here.
I shrugged.“Free country. Anyone sitting here?”I asked, nodding to the empty seat opposite him.
“I thought you were on a date,”he replied, watching as I slid into the bootheventhough he hadn’t permitted me.
“I am.”
Ben’s gaze shifted, and I followed his line of sight, smirking when I realized he had the perfect view of the table I’d been at with Mike.
Interesting.
“Your date is a guy?”he said, returning his cold eyes to me.
My body tensed. I had no problem being open about my sexuality, but I’d experienced my fair share of homophobia over the years. It wasn’t something I particularly wanted to experience again, and not from Ben, who could make the rest of the monthveryfucking difficult for me.
I nodded, refusing to look away from him.“Yeah, isthata problem?”
One of his brows quirked.“Thatyou’re on a date with a guy?”
“That I’m gay.”
He held my stare for a whole ten seconds—I knew because I counted—before he took another sip of his beer.“Why would it be a problem?”
I relaxed a little. His tone held no indifference to how he usually spoke to me.“Some people have a problem with it.”
“That’s ‘cos people are assholes.”He glowered as he looked around the bar, and not for the first time, I wondered what he’d experienced to be so bitter toward the world.
“Not everyone,”I replied, shrugging.“Sure, there are some assholes, but there are some pretty decent people out there, too. Youjusthave to find your people and ignore the haters.”
The tiniest hint of a grin pulled at his lips.“Easy asthat, right, Bug?”
“Yep.”When his only response was to sigh, I asked,“What are youreallydoing here, Ben?”
His eyes met mine across the table at my use of his name for the first time, and he visibly swallowed.“Told you, I wanted a quiet beer.”
Something in my gut told me he was lying, but I couldn’t ignore the dismissal of his tone. The conversation was over whether I wanted it to be or not.“Right. Inthatcase, I’ll get back to my date and leave you to enjoy your quiet beer.”
I slid out of the booth, frustrated with myself. Every damn conversation with this man made me more intrigued about him, but only left me with more questions. I suppose I wouldjusthave to acceptthathe didn’t want to let anyone past the walls he’d clearly spent his life building.
Besides, what did it matter? In less than a month, I wouldn’t have to see him again, and he would once more become the faceless boss who was working my dad into an early grave.
About to head to the bar, I paused when Ben called.“Bug.”
I turned back, and I don’t know why, but a pang of hope speared me. Hope for what, though? I didn’t know.
Ben’s handsome features twisted into his customary scowl.“I don’t want any excuses tomorrow. If you drink too much and you’re hungover or late, I won’t be fucking happy. I expect you at my place at 7 am, and don’t forget, you owe me an hour.”
It took all my effort not to roll my eyes at the coldness in his tone. Pulling a broad smile on my face, I winked at him.“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. McScroodge. I’ll see you bright and early.”
The rest of the date sucked. By the time I returned from the bar, two of Mike’s friends had gatecrashed our table. I spent the evening making small talk with a guy whose name I’d instantlyforgotten, surreptitiously glancing through the gap in the crowd to the table where Ben sat. Every so often, our gazes clashed, and he’d be the first to look away.
He didn’t leave the table,justsat there nursing his one and only pint of the night. After several hours, he finished the remainder of his drink and left withoutevena nod in my direction.
I stayed for another twenty minutes andthenmade my excuses to leave, telling MikethatI had an early start—the truth—andthatI would call him—a blatant lie. I headed outside, pulling the collar of my winter jacket up around my neck.
Days in Henderson were still warm, but the evenings were turning colder as the month crept on. Every year, the weather forecast said we’d be in for a white Christmas, but for as long as I could remember, they’d always gotten it wrong.
