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AUSTIN
The last timemy heart got broken, it wasn’t pretty. But hell, at least this time around, I know the fucking drill. Booze. Workouts. Women. Anything to distract me from the gaping wound in my chest from Jenn’s betrayal.
And since I’ve already run eight miles on the treadmill, driven everyone at Vital crazy with my micro-management, and have been propping up the bar at Mavericks all evening, there’s only one thing left on my list.
Good thing I’ve got an appreciative audience.
“… And then I hit that homer off of Rodriguez,” I finish telling one of my old baseball stories. “Boom.”
“Oh my God, that’s so cool!”
The group of girls crowded in the booth with me gasp and laugh in all the right places. “You know, I had a calendar of you, up in my dorm,” one of them coos, leaning in closer. She’s blonde and pretty, with big blue eyes.
“That charity one?” I groan. “That was so cheesy.”
“No!” she protests. “I mean, yes, but you were still cute. Mister February,” she adds, all breathy.
Under the table, she rests her hand on my thigh and squeezes. Clearly, she’s open to seeing the goods up close. It should be a no-brainer for me, just take her home tonight, and move on with moving on.
But looking at her, all I can think about is Jenn.
Splashing in the pool in Palm Springs, lit up in the dark. Wet hair, glowing with excitement. The way she would look at me, it made me feel invincible. Like there was nothing I couldn’t do.
Except find a woman I could trust.
“I… Need to see a guy about a thing,” I mumble, excusing myself. I climb out of the booth and head to the bar, because clearly, I’m not drunk enough yet, but I’m halfway across the room when a woman walks in with some friends, and I almost stumble into a chair.
Brown hair. Curvy hips. A knit scarf slung around her neck.
But then she turns, and my heart sinks.
She’s not Jenn. She’s another beautiful, curvy brunette. But not Jenn.
Then again, my Jenn also isn’t Jenn—at least, not the one she was supposed to be. And she’s not mine, either.
Not anymore.
Yep—I’m not drunk enough. Hakeem bailed after only one round, back to his domestic bliss. The man’s no wingman at all since he put a ring on it – and I can’t blame him. I’d love to be snuggled at home with the love of my life, instead of out on the damn town. Again.
“Another whiskey,” I tell the bartender. “Scratch that. Tequila. Shots. Plural.”
He pauses. “I don’t know…”
“What’s the hold-up?” I slap the bar. “C’mon, Eddie. Technically I’m the one paying your check.”
He looks past me, and waves at someone. A moment later, a hand lands on my back in a friendly slap. “Hey, buddy,” Dash says. “Let’s roll out.”
“Let’s get you some food, cowboy,” Seb agrees on my other side.
I want to be pissed, but I could really use some food. And to not wind up so drunk that I wake up in bed with Miss February.
“I could go for pizza,” I admit.
“Good man,” Seb says. “A Rossi’s slice on the walk home, like the old days.”
We head out, me putting up a great act at walking steadily while the guys joke around. It’s only when we arrive at Rossi’s and are placing our orders that I remember, I brought Jenn this pizza in her office on her first day. She looked up from her desk, so happy to see me. And man, I loved that—having someone to surprise with pizza, someone to talk to over dinner. The conversation was always so easy with her.
Was any of it true?
