Page 75 of Bastard Bartender

“I know. So, don’t turn into someone like that. If a man truly cares for you, he’d encourage you to make this move.”

I grimace because Tom’s right. If I had been given this offer two months ago, I probably would have taken it with a leap of faith. I’m young with no ties …

That’s a lie.

I realize that I don’t know if I’m ready to leave. I’ve found a nice niche here with work, and my friendships are strong. And, yes, if I’m being honest, Nic has wiggled his way into my heart.

“Maybe I don’t want to stay for him. Maybe I want to stay for me.”

There’s disappointment in his eyes. “If that’s the truth, then you have to do what you feel is right. We’re a package deal, so what you decide goes for me as well.”

I fall into my chair. I knew he’d presented us that way, and we are such an incredible team, but I hate the idea that his future is contingent on mine.

“New York is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When do we have to give them a final answer by?”

“I’ll send you the official offer, and we’ll discuss a counter. We’re in this together, right?”

I can’t share with Tom all the crazy thoughts running through my head. And the last thing I want right now is for him to try to talk me into it. I need to decide this on my own.

* * *

I’m sitting on my couch, watching the third season of Cobra Kai. Turns out, when you’re avoiding the bar scene, Netflix makes for a fine distraction. While my heart wants to be Team Johnny because it loves a rebel, my mind is telling me to root for Daniel LaRusso. Sure, he’s pretty much a douche bag the entire series, but he’s the levelheaded, stable one who manages to get his head out of his ass. And he has a sick house with a wife in a killer wardrobe.

So, I root for Daniel and sulk on my sofa. Because, yes, I still haven’t heard from Nic. It’s been two more days and nothing.

I guess I should be out in Vegas, perusing the bar scene in hopes of meeting my S, but I just don’t have it in me.

Marie and I were a pitcher of sangria deep when we came up with the idea of the alphabet experiment. I mentioned that all guys with names that started with B were jerks. She was adamant that S names were the best, and so the conversation started a months-long trial of dating men based on the letter of the alphabet.

The rules were simple. I have to spend a decent amount of time with the letter before moving on to the next. A date was preferred. An all-night conversation was sufficient. Sometimes, I made exceptions for disasters I was ready to move on from.

Of all the rules, the most important was to never, ever deviate from the system.

I broke that rule the moment I laid eyes on Nic. Sure, I got three more letters in while I knew him, but he was always the one I wanted.

And since I broke the rule, I’m now in my sweats, watching high school kids duke it out over a karate fight in a high school hallway.

There’s a knock at my door, which is surprising since I’m not expecting anyone.

I open it, expecting it to be Marie with an impassioned speech for me to get up, get dressed, and get my freak on, but I’m positively stunned to see Nic standing in my doorway.

“Hey.” His voice is deep and casual as his hands are buried in his front pockets.

“Can I come in?” he asks when I don’t make an offer for him to enter.

Instead of responding, I step to the side and hold my arm out. He walks in, and I close the door behind him, rubbing my arms as if I were cold.

“How was the retreat?” I ask.

“Awesome. We meditated and hiked. And there might have been a suspicious amount of hookah involved.” He’s grinning as he rocks back on his heels.

My eyes squint with a tilt of my head, and I shift my jaw in confusion on how casual he’s being.

“You’re mad,” he assesses.

“I’m confused.” Moving to the kitchen area, I place a hand on the counter and look back at him pointedly. “You said you’d call.”

“I was away.”