Page 92 of Effortless

Nope.

“And fuck Marty, too.”

Lou chuckled. “Someone’s thinking about causing trouble, Tom. Pretty sure you’re the one always telling us to stay the hell out of trouble.”

“Maybe, or maybe I just need to blow off some steam.”

Get out of this mood.

Get Camilla out of my head.

Move on.

“You got something in mind?” Lou asked. “Or do you trust me to take you somewhere good?”

Tom shoved his friend out of the office. “Fuck you for even asking.”

“Hope you like whiskey, man.”

Tom did like whiskey.

Quite a lot, actually.

He also tended to favor the cozy, homey feel of the small bar that Lou had brought him to. Sure, the tables were a little wobbly, and the leather stools had a couple of rips, but that gave the place its history. The dark wood paneled walls and neon lights that spelled out different drinks reminded Tom of a time when he hadn’t even been alive.

The bearded, massive man behind the bar liked to scoff when someone asked him for anything other than a spirit or a beer.

Understandable, really.

Nobody was coming here for specialty drinks.

Unfortunately, as much as Tom liked the place, and the top shelf whiskey burning his throat with every sip, it just wasn’t doing it for him. It, being thinking about something other than the fact Camilla hadn’t once tried to call him in three weeks.

That girl was under his skin something bad.

He just didn’t realize how much before.

Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to really think about it because of what it would mean in the end. That he had allowed himself to become attached to a woman who was in no way available. That he had somehow fallen in love with Camilla, and she couldn’t offer that back to him.

Fuck his heart for hurting.

Fuck his chest for aching.

Fuck his life for all of it.

Tom tipped up his glass and swallowed back the remainder of the amber-colored whiskey in his glass. It burned all the way down his throat, and he sucked air through his teeth in an effort to soothe the sensation as he set the glass back down on the bar.

“Another?” the bartender ask.

Tom nodded, and waved two fingers over his glass. “Double it, though.”

“You got it, man.”

The white bearded man topped Tom up, and then headed down the way to a girl in a too-tight dress standing on wobbly legs.

“Are you going to hug the bar all night, or what?”

The feminine voice came off sweet and yet concerned at the same time. Tom turned around on his stool to face a woman he had never seen before in his life.