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“While you’re there, you need to think long and hard about what you want. Because I am who I am, Sus. I’ll never be the man who can fit into your schedule. I have responsibilities, and I can’t take off on a whim.”
That gets her attention. She stops and turns to face me.
“You’re the one who needs to do some thinking, Corbin Tuttle. I’m tired of having the same old fights. We can afford for you to find another job. One that allows us to have a normal fucking life. If I’m the woman for you, you need to find a way to fit into my schedule.”
“I can’t do that,” I say.
“Then, what are we doing?” she asks.
“You’re going to the beach, and I’m moving on.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” she asks.
“No, you just broke up with me.”
She stomps over to the dresser and starts angrily throwing things into the suitcase. When she has it stuffed to capacity, she zips it and hoists it off the bed.
As she pulls it past me to the door, she looks over her shoulder and grins.
“I’ll be back in four weeks, and I bet you’ll be happy as hell to see me.”
She blows a kiss in my direction and walks out.
I find Langford and Weston seated at the bar. Langford called me about ten minutes after Susanna sped off and talked me into joining the two of them at the brewery for beer and wings.
The last thing I wanted to do was sit around the house and stew over Susanna, so here I am.
“You actually showed,” Weston says as he gets up and offers me his stool.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask as I take the seat and signal to the bartender.
“Because after a three-day shift, you’re usually too preoccupied with Susanna to come up for air and break bread with us,” Weston teases.
Maxi, the new bartender Reed hired, comes over and sets a paper coaster in front of me and raises an eyebrow.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“Woodford Reserve. Neat.”
She nods and walks off, and I turn my attention back to Weston.
“Susanna and I are on a break,” I inform.
“Since when?” Langford asks.
“Since about an hour ago. She’s on her way out of town, and I’m here to eat with you two assholes.”
Weston looks over top of me to Langford. “Well, that was easier than I thought.”
I look between the two of them. “What does that mean?” I ask.
Maxi returns with the bourbon and props her elbows on the bar. I give her a curious look, and she grins.
“I want to hear this,” she answers my unasked question.
“You want to hear about by girl troubles?”
“I’m a bartender. We stand behind this hunk of wood and listen to the woes of patrons who are burying their pain in the bottom of a glass. Besides, it’s all these two blabbermouths have griped about tonight,” she explains.
