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Mason stared too, solely at Andie. Hair in a ponytail, skin almost free of makeup. Soft looking, irresistible, as always. Jeans that molded to her fantastic legs and ass, tits bouncing slightly in a silky sleeveless top, and shoes that hadfuck mewritten all over them. Only the invitation wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t be, ever again.
Andie chose a seat facing away from him, leaving him with a view of her hair and shoulders. Not much of a fix when he’d been craving her so badly for over a week. The handful of pictures taken with his phone didn’t help, though he’d spent enough hours looking at them.
Every cell in his body screamed at him to walk over there. Claim her. Punch that undeserving prick, Scott, in the face. Or drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. Anything to have her back. His, for good.
Katie grabbed his hand as he signaled the bartender with his empty tequila glass. “What’re you doing?”
“Numbing.” He sure as hell wasn’t watching this cozy scene while sober. He tipped his head back and demolished another shot of tequila. The third was hotter than the others, making him wince.
“Better now, you big baby?”
A bit more beer to ease the heat in his gut. “Much. And I don’t want to talk about babies.”
“Hmm.” Katie signaled the bartender. “One more dose of truth serum for my brother, please.”
Another shot would carve a hole through his liver. “I will if you will,” he said with a loose laugh. Katie’d never go for that deal. But holy fuck, she was nodding. Shit.
Two stubby glasses appeared on the bar. Katie picked hers up gingerly, sniffed it and curled her lip. “Ew. You first.”
“Nice try, I’m not drunk enough to fall for that one. Together, on three. One, two, three…” Don Julio the fourth hit bottom and set fire to his stomach, launching an inferno that tore up his throat, straight to his brain.
Katie’s shot, on the other hand, came up as fast as it went down. Through her nose and mouth. Eyeballs too, in the form of tears.
She sputtered and gulped the rest of her water. “Why would anybody willingly drink that stuff?”
“Pain relief.”
After scrubbing all traces of tequila from her lips, she dug through her purse for gum and popped two pieces. “And…is it working?”
Either Katie was rocking back and forth on her stool, or he was well on the way to fucked-up. “Yeah, it’s working.”
“Good. Now what’s the story behind that baby comment?”
“No story. Just thinking of the last time I drank too much tequila.” He narrowly avoided his sister’s hug. They were not revisiting the Stacey and baby era, not a chance. “I gotta hit the can.”
Fuck sympathy or pity. In the men’s room, he splashed cold water on his face, braced himself on the edge of the counter. Getting drunk wasn’t helping him forget. If anything, it made things worse. Especially with Andie sitting across the room. He could be the one at that table with her and Dylan right now, if he hadn’t ended things.
He’d told Katie the breakup was for the best and he’d meant it. Best for Andie because he wouldn’t be in her way when she was ready to put her family back together. And she would. Seventeen years and a child together was a hell of a connection. The fact that she hadn’t gone on one single date since the separation should’ve been his first clue.
But no, he’d had damn stars in his eyes. While he was busy falling in love with her, mentally picking out wedding bands and building picket fences, she was dancing around any talk of commitment. Then there were the lies by omission when it came to the subject of kids.
Looking back, it made sense. She’d had no reason to tell him her medical issues. Because she didn’t love him. She had no intention of staying with him, let alone having a baby. She hadn’t reached out once since he cut things off. Not even to bust his balls for being a prick. That told him everything he needed to know, right?
Ending it was best for him too. His damn heart couldn’t take another slice down the middle. Better to get out while it was still a slow-bleeding nick.
The restroom door squeaked as it opened. He cranked the taps on and reached for some soap. Dylan’s eyes met his in the mirror, then turned away. The boy didn’t know him from the next guy. Mason was some random stranger using the john at a restaurant, nothing more. He’d never be more. For the best or not, the fact made him want to puke.
He dried his hands on a paper towel. He should leave, but instead pulled out his cell, pretending to read and answer a text. Inconspicuously stalking a twelve-year-old boy he’d never officially meet.
Dylan moved from the urinals to the sinks. The kid looked like his mom. Same eyes, same complexion. Whatever DNA Scott had contributed, it didn’t come through in Dylan’s appearance. Hopefully the boy didn’t inherit his father’s tendency to be a controlling asshole. Not that Mason had acted much better.
He ended the fake text conversation and followed Dylan out of the restroom. Mason made his way back to the bar, but kept one eye on Andie’s son as Dylan returned to the table. He wasn’t the only person watching Dylan. And Dylan wasn’t the only person being watched.
“Andie’s ex just made me,” Mason said as he sat next to Katie. He slid a credit card across the bar. “I’ll pay so we can leave.”
Now that the lone bartender had custody of Mason’s plastic, servers and customers streamed to the bar. Shitty timing, once again. So much for settling his tab and getting the hell out of there.
Katie’s attention was on her cell phone. His shifted between the Finches’ table and the bartender holding his MasterCard hostage. The buzz from the tequila shots was fading, leaving him twitchy to make an exit before Andie noticed him. Looking her in the eye might kill him.
