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“Go talk to her,” Cam encourages Derek, tipping his head in Natalie’s direction.
Derek drains the glass that was in his hand, setting it on the table before he leaves us and makes his approach. We watch him, the way he strides right up to Natalie, his head bending toward hers, his smile slow, his hand reaching out to lightly touch her elbow.
She steps back, her eyes flashing, her mouth moving a mile a minute and that smile on Derek’s face fades.
Cam chuckles. “She’s telling him off.”
“He probably deserves it.” My attention returns to Joanna to find her watching me, but she looks away quickly, her cheeks turning red.
Busted.
“You going to approach Joanna?”
I shake my head. “And get a speech like Derek? No thanks.”
“Didn’t she already tell you off?”
I really wish I had another drink right now. “She’d probably take her opportunity to do it again.”
“Women,” Cam mutters, shaking his head.
“Right? They’re the worst.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Right now I do.” I grip the edge of the table, sliding off my chair. “I need another drink.”
“You should probably have some water first.”
“Stop trying to keep me sober. That’s not tonight’s goal.”
“Knox, come on…”
I walk away, not interested in hearing Cam talk about how he’s watching out for my best interests, and that while I’m allowed to be upset, I shouldn’t drown my sorrows in alcohol, especially when we have practice tomorrow.
I’ve heard this speech from him before, but it’s never been brought on due to these unique circumstances.
Approaching the bar, I smile when the bartender—a cute redhead—stops directly in front of me, a friendly smile on her face. “What can I get ya?”
“That local IP on tap and a shot of your best tequila.”
She grimaces. “You sure about that?”
What, now the bartender is trying to keep me from drinking? Is this some sort of conspiracy? “Are you really going to turn away business?”
Her friendly expression sours. “Tequila and beer isn’t the best combo.”
“I’ve got this handled.” I rap my knuckles on the counter. “You going to help me or not?”
She turns away from me, mutteringprickunder her breath, and I immediately feel like an asshole.
And I’m not that guy. I don’t care what Joanna says, or implies. I’m a decent human being.
Swear to God.
Within two minutes, the bartender is setting a tall glass of beer in front of me, along with a shot of tequila. I hear Derek laugh in the background, the sound of it making me wince, and I lean against the counter, tapping my finger atop the bartender’s hand.
“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” I tell her.
