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Again I signal Rich, because why the hell not? When's the last time I treated myself to a night without responsibilities? That's all life has been since Dad appointed me.
I don't resent it. I knew what I was getting into—but sometimes a man needs to let loose before he explodes.
I never used to have this problem, but then I wasn't exactly practiced in the art of self-restraint. Not when it came to enjoying myself. And throughout my twenties I did a lot of that. Maybe more than my fair share. So much so that at the age of twenty-nine, I feel old. Been there, done that. Jaded is the word for it. And tired.
Which is part of the reason why, when I catch Milo eyeing a curvy blonde at the other end of the bar, I grumble quietly to myself. All I wanted tonight was to bitch with a good friend and let off some steam.
I elbow him, hoping to bring the conversation back around. “I wonder if this is some kind of a test, after all,” I muse before accepting the next round.
Milo looks my way, confused. “A test? What kind of test?”
“You mentioned my old man. I wonder if that's part of what this is about. I wonder if they ever made things as difficult for him.”
“A bunch of small-minded assholes,” he mutters. The lights shining behind the bar illuminate his stony expression as he leans in to grab his drink.
“I swear, it's like some of them are from a different century,” I agree, and the two of us laugh. “I mean, you should hear the way they talk.”
“That's why I wanted to get the hell out of here and go to New York.”
“You should have—no, we both should have,” I decide. “They think just because they've got money, that makes up for a lack of education. You can't even have a proper conversation with half of the people around here. They think just because they live near New York, it gives them class.”
“Yeah, they're so cultured.” We both roll our eyes, laughing.
“Add to that a bunch of city officials who don't know their heads from a hole in the ground, and you've got Somerset Harbor.” We raise our glasses, laughing bitterly as we clink them together. Really, I have to laugh or dissolve into depression.
“I bet you could put the screws to them if you tried.” Milo decides as he finishes his drink in a hurry. His gaze keeps drifting back to the blonde, who by now has noticed us. I'd have to be blind not to notice the appraising look she gives me, the way her lips curve in a smile. Plump, glossy lips that might feel damn good sliding up and down my—
Nope. I need to quit that train of thought before it leads in the wrong direction. Yet another promise I made to Dad: not using the female clientele as a personal dating pool. He was pretty serious about that one. He didn't need to warn me, really. I tend to be a one-and-done sort of guy, meaning there's not usually any follow-up date once I've slept with a woman.
That's not stopping Milo, though, who picks up his drink and jerks his chin. “Come on. I want to meet that girl.”
“You're more than welcome to,” I mutter.
“I need a wingman. I would do it for you.”
He's right. He would do that for me. And the blonde is with a few friends who might appreciate a little attention while he takes all of hers.
It's going to be a long night.
