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“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been with a woman?” Rory asked when Sheena, the bartender, had gone off to serve other patrons.
I winced. His question had not been quiet. A few of the others turned away from watching the baseball game on TV to shoot looks of either sympathy or amusement in Rory’s direction.
His eyes were too crossed to notice.
“I’m not sure you’ll be able to be with one tonight either if you don’t slow down.” I pretended I couldn’t hear how slurred I sounded Halfheartedly, I pushed at Rory’s bent elbow. He was drinking White Russians like they didn’t make them in Ireland. Hell, maybe they didn’t. “You don’t want to make a fool of yourself.”
“Make a fool of meself? Why would I do that? Because I’m not some Lothario like the great Ian Kagan?”
I went very still. It wasn’t as if I expected to be recognized. I did not. I was far from my adopted home of LA, and I’d tucked my long hair under an Astros baseball cap I’d borrowed from Flynn. With my hair hidden, I looked like any other skinny chap in a pair of
weathered denims and a threadbare shirt. But all of a sudden, it felt as if a dozen pairs of eyes were on me.
Some friendly.
Some not.
“Mind keeping your voice down? I’m a stranger in a strange land.” Just in case, I slipped on Zoe’s sunglasses.
“Here I thought you’d like the extra boost with the females. Big deal rockstar, all you have to do is bat your big green eyes and boom.” He snapped his fingers. “A buffet of pu—”
I clamped my palm over his mouth. “Keep talking and you’ll go home with your hand tonight. Quiet.”
He bit me.
Laughing, I pulled my hand back and shook it out. “Do I need a shot?”
“Didn’t I just tell you it’d been years since I’d been with a woman?”
“Years? Christ, man. And I didn’t mean that kind of shot. Like tetanus. Or what’s that animal disease, rabies?”
“I do not have rabies or anything else. You’re an asshole. A pretty one, but an asshole nonetheless.” He leaned over and grabbed my head and kissed me dead on the mouth, hard enough to have my eyes rolling back.
Probably partly from too much alcohol. But still.
Before I recovered, he toddled off to the other end of the bar to get Sheena’s attention again. I looked up as Flynn took the seat Rory had vacated.
“You going to let him get to second base or was that a one and done?” With a smirk, Flynn signaled to another bartender and ordered a water with lime.
“Water? Jesus Christ, this is a party. Get a drink and get up on the table.” Did I just say that? Evidently. And now I was making good on my threat, grabbing my margarita and sloshing it toward my mouth. Then I climbed up on the nearest free table and danced to the Warning Sign song blasting from the speakers, just like Rory had done the night before.
Well, minus the Warning Sign song. I think he’d danced to Jet’s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl,” which was disturbing in a whole different way.
Flashbulbs popped in my eyes and in a heartbeat, I shot back to that first night onstage with Zoe. Her hat falling off and her indignant expression when I stole Matilda. How intrigued I’d been even then.
Her wild laughter on the beach, then again later as I’d slammed her apartment door and had her against it, driving into her as she cried out and broke apart around me.
That last night, when she’d held me and pushed me away, her eyes full of regret, her soft lips trembling against the tears she fought so valiantly.
I’d never been that strong.
It all crashed down around me, hammering into the base of my skull with a dull ache that made me waver on my feet. When I would’ve fallen right into the crowd of dancing, laughing girls who watched me, who wanted me—but who weren’t my Zoe—Flynn suddenly was there. He clamped a strong arm around me and lifted my ass down as if I weighed nothing. Held me up when I would’ve tripped into a puddle of beer and stayed there, just so I wouldn’t wake up to a world where I didn’t have my Zoe.
Would never have her again.
“Come on now. That’s it. One foot in front of the other.” Flynn shifted my arm over his shoulders and half-dragged me to the door before turning to shout something to Rory. The words jumbled in my head, tangling together.
I’d made my Zoe cry. What kind of man was I? And how dare I even wish I could have her back?
