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“Hmm.” The sound from deep in his throat has my body relaxing in a way it shouldn’t. We need to not be lying on the ground so close to each other.
I pop up, so fast the blood doesn’t have enough time to reach my head, and I waver as if already drunk. Only once I’m steady do I speak. “I don’t like drawing conclusions without doing the proper research. So to the bar we go.”
Chapter Seventeen
SUMMER
Cole chose the bar, seeing as how I’m still one step away from autopilot.
Plus, I’m not interested in going to a place where people know me. I’m not the normal, happy, helpful version of Summer. I’d feel the need to put in the effort to try and seem normal. I don’t have the mental capacity for that today.
Like I told Cole, I need the space to be miserable.
We grab stools at a worn wooden bar. Classic rock pumps in the background, loud enough to hear, but not too loud that we can’t have a conversation.
“IDs.” The bartender holds out his hand, waiting for our license to prove that we’re old enough to imbibe.
“I wonder which age I’ll be when they stop asking to see mine.” I pull the card from my purse, passing it over. After a brief scan, he nods and turns to pour my beer.
“You’ve got a while to go,” Cole intones, slipping his wallet out of his back pocket.
“You think I look that young?”
Cole shrugs, even as a smile tugs his lips. “Not young exactly. More innocent than anything.”
I snort. “Innocent? Maybe before I started my job. But spend any amount of time working in a public library and you’ll see a whole range of eye-opening things.”
“Like what?”
“For one, the staff has a running tally of how many people each of us has had to politely ask to please stop watching porn on the public computers.”
Cole barks out a laugh just as the bartender slides my drink across the counter. The guy accepts Cole’s ID, giving it a slightly longer search than mine before handing it back with a half-smile.
“Happy birthday.”
My muscles lock in place, the beer halfway to my mouth.
The bartender has turned away, and Cole is focused on sliding his ID back into his wallet. I can almost pretend that what I just heard was a misunderstanding. Something my imagination fabricated.
Almost.
“What did he say?” My voice comes out hoarse, and Cole doesn’t look at me.
“Nothing.”
“That wasnotnothing.”
“Nothing important.”
“Cole.” I set my beer down. Scratch that, I slam it down. “Cole Allemand. You look at me now, and you tell me the truth.”
His icy blue eyes snap up to mine, a hint of surprise in them.
“Summer, don’t.”
“This first one is on the house.” The bartender is back, sliding the stout Cole asked for across the smooth wood surface.
“Son of a biscuit! Itisyour birthday!” I stare at him, flabbergasted by this realization.
