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“Hello, Indigo. How are you?”
God, why does his voice have to be even more arresting than I remember?
“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
Oh God, what a genius question.
“What does one normally do at a bar?”
“I’d have thought a place like this would be beneath you,” I respond, throwing a glance around at the weathered wood and the low-key décor. “Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable hanging out at some obnoxiousloungeand sipping on ridiculous cocktails with moody lighting and progressive house music?”
God, please render me temporarily mute.
His lips twist up a little before he takes the bait. In truth, the reason I’m giving him shit instead of conversing like a grown adult is because of what Carrie told me about this woman who’s always on the periphery of his life, apparently waiting until they make it official or something. I mean, he’s single, I’m single, it’s allowed, but something about it makes my skin crawl in irritation.
We don’t speak in what feels like forever, my body buzzing beside him while Mr. Equanimity here doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t do one goddamn thing but stare at my face, which just happens to be completely bare of makeup after my swim, which also turned my loose hair into a wild mess of various shakes of pink, some bright magenta, some faded into rose gold.
The welcome arrival of the long-haired barman with the cheery smile has me turning to face him, the room tipping a little thanks to my buzzed state. I haven’t eaten for a couple of hours, and this vodka is already making me giddy.
“What’ll it be?”
“Hey. Um, two vodkas and coke.” I cringe at how unsophisticated that drink is. “A Mezcal, extra lime. Oh, and some potato chips. Three packets.”
“Coming right up,” he sings, forcing me to pivot to look at Grey again, if for no other reason than to cut through the overbearing tension.
“You’re here for the wedding,” I say. “Did you bring your date? I hope I get to meet her.”
Oh, Christ, Indie…
I regret the words as soon as I say them, but after that quickly downed double vodka, a drink I almost never consume, I’m not exactly in control of what my mouth is doing tonight, it seems.
He flinches as I say it, ire roughening his face, which is even more deathly handsome than I recall.
His eyes are the shape of almonds and their color a bright gray flecked with blue around the center, like an arctic ocean.
His angular cheekbones cut to a strong, straight nose and slice through his heart-shaped face, and his full lips frame a strong chin with a dimple in the center that suddenly begs for me to push my tongue into it.
For God’s sake,Indie. Day one of the chastity vow and I’m already salivating over an overbearing prick with a stick up his ass and some girlfriend on the side.
Well, in my defense, I haven’t had sex since Kohl, while simultaneously spending every night making myself come by thinking of this man.
Or most nights. Of late, I’ve managed it less, still chewed up by memories of my ex, made all the more challenging as once more, he managed to get hold of my number, and those messages have begun to come through again.
And once again, I find myself freezing at various times of the day as the thought of the events of my last day with him hit me, with sound dissipating to nothing, the scenes around me shuddering until everything’s a featureless blur.
As I remind myself to call the trauma therapist Rami recommended to me when I get back to the mainland, I vaguely see the barman putting a couple of glasses on the bar and as my vision unblurs, I find myself staring at the light-gray cotton of the lucky T-shirt draped over Greyson Everitt’s chest.
My gaze wanders up his strong neck, across the beautiful panes of his face to meet eyes dripping with vexation.
I glower back boldly, deciding dignity be damned. I’m going to ask him if he has a girlfriend, even if that makes me look pathetic and needy. I mean, he’s a big boy. He can decide if he wants to answer me or not.
“What did you hear about that?” he asks, a coarse bite coarsening his elegant voice.
So it is true…
My stupid heart sinks.
“Not much,” I shrug. “I hope I get to meet her.”
