AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m vaguely aware that I hear Vincent’s voice behind me, but I ignore it, knowing that if I turn around, I’ll burst into tears or scream or throw that vase at his head.
1
Lauren
Islam the empty shot glass that was previously filled with whiskey down on the mahogany bar and gesture towards the bartender that I may have been halfway interested in if I were just a little bit further in my grieving process. I don’t know that I’m ready for no strings rebound sex yet. I’m still in phase one. Wallow in self-pity. Some self-loathing. Stare at pictures of me and Drew until I’m ready to throw up. Meaningless sex with a stranger doesn’t usually happen until phase three.
The bartender refills my shot and cocks his head to the side, giving me a smile and a small nod as if to sayI get itbefore heading over to the blonde at the end of the bar who is wearing a shirt that clearly shows she’s going braless every time the door opened. I contemplate calling Charley, but then I remember the reason I didn’t immediately call her and I’m instantly flooded with guilt. Charley is in wedding mode and is consistently in a full-fledged panic. She is getting her happily ever after, but that comes at the price of her sanity and an overbearing future mother-in-law.
I’d left my best friend just as the storm of her life slowly began to calm. A messy divorce involving an affair with her marriage counselor and a scorned husband that appeared not to want to let her go without a fight and an act of vengeance. It took a long year for Charley and Will to get to where they are now, blissfully happy with the most gorgeous baby girl and their nuptials coming up in just a few short months.
My blood runs cold at the thought.
Fuck.Now I have to see Drew and his new girlfriend there?
I huff indignantly before downing another shot.
A gust of cold air hits my back as the door opens behind me and, instantly, I shiver. It’s times like this I desperately miss Atlanta. Chicago only knows two temperatures, cold and colder except for the two weeks in June where it dances around seventy degrees. I miss spending days by the pool, and the perfect sun kissed tan that turned my naturally olive skin even darker. I let out a breath as my fourth shot in an hour hovers near my lips just as someone sits down directly next to me.
I am so not in the fucking mood for chit-chat.
“A shot of Jameson and whatever the Princess has been sucking down like a wasted girl at a frat party.” He points at the bartender before tapping my shoulder once.
My eyes snap angrily to the man who clearly is not reading my ‘fuck off’ signals and I’m met with smug baby blues. “Excuse me? Why are you here?”
“Are you having an existential crisis? Is that what this is? Likewhy are any of us heretype thing? Because…you should probably lay off the booze.” He taps the rim of the shot glass that I’m still holding. Some of it sloshes over the side and I glare at him as whiskey coats my fingertips. I set it down before sliding my fingers through my lips to suck off the remaining liquid. I’m so irritated by this interaction I almost miss the look in his eyes as he watches my finger disappear between my lips.Almost.
“Here. In this bar. Breathing my air,” I grit out.
“I saw you come in here an hour ago, and after you were blubbering in your office today, I figured I should check on you before you’re carried out in a body bag.”
“Charming.” I nod.
He cocks his head to the side and for a fleeting moment, I see genuine concern in his eyes and then something else as he rakes his gaze over me. “What’s going on, Michaels?”
“Why do you care? We are not friends. We are barely acquaintances.”
He shrugs. “I like being the first to know the office gossip. It makes for excellent leverage.” He leans against the bar on one elbow, giving me a cocky grin, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s flirting with me. To be honest, if I were in a better frame of mind, and he was literally anyone else on Earth—with the exception of someone that shared my DNA—Imightrespond to said flirting.
“You’re a fucking tool.”
“So, I’ve heard, but you’re getting piss drunk forty-five feet from the station; you had to think there was a chance someone was going to see you.”
“And it had to be you?”
“Right place, right time, I guess. I am a journalist, after all.” He slides his gray pea coat off and sets it on the barstool next to us before settling in next to me. “We taking these shots or no?” He holds up his glass.
“I’m not toasting with you over anything except your resignation. Or them firing you. I’m not picky.”
He doesn’t say anything; he just roams his ocean colored eyes over me. Eyes that have a hint of playfulness behind them before tapping his glass with mine and downing the shot. He leans forward, letting his forearms rest on the bar. Forearms that are exposed after he rolled his sleeves to his elbows. A tattoo runs up his arm in black script I can’t quite make out.
Fuck, I love a man with tattoos.
I take the shot, hoping that it’ll knock this lustful feeling out of me, but if I know liquor, specifically whiskey, as well as I think I do, it’ll only exacerbate the tingling sensation between my legs.
“Atta girl. Now you going to spill it?”
“I still don’t know why you care so much and if it’s just for gossip, then you’ll be pretty disappointed, it’s not really something the station will care about reporting.”
