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My brother scoffs. “Obviously.”
* * *
“Birthday shots! Birthday shots!”
My laugh is drowned out by the noise around me, music pumping throughout the bar and everyone cheering as the bartender lines up and pours several green tea shots. A small, plastic silver birthday tiara rests on top of Tina’s head that Bianca insisted she wear tonight after we had dinner, and now because of it, free drinks are being given to the birthday girl—including this round of shots bought by some guy that is here with his group of friends.
I don’t want to get completely wasted, so I have been slowly sipping my second drink which is two parts juice and one part vodka, but it’s also been enough to warm me up and get me a little tipsy. It’s much needed, given the ice cold water I had been drenched in prior to coming out. Drinking tonight is also helping me forget my stupidity and lack of responsibility.
I forgot to pay the water bill, which almost never happens, and so after I had given Elaine her shower and had hopped in to take my own, the hot water had turned ice cold halfway through. It woke me up, that’s for sure, and froze the rest of me. I don’t know how I had forgotten to pay the bill, but when I looked at my bank account, I realized I couldn’t do it until my check came in tomorrow. Frustration had pricked at my nerves, forcing tears into my eyes, and I tried telling myself that shit like this happens. It’s not the end of the world. I was just lucky and grateful that the water hadn’t turned ice cold when Elaine was showering.
So here I am, drinking my drinks—only one of which I paid for—and desperately wanting to have a good time and forget about my stupidity.
I don’t argue when a plastic shot cup is handed to me, and after tapping it against everyone else’s cups, I down the shot and hope it makes me feel a little better. It warms me up, that’s for sure.
“Oh, I love this fucking song,” Tina exclaims as the DJ starts playing Queen’sDon’t Stop Me Now, before all but dragging Bianca and I towards the crowd to dance.
We form a little circle of three in the middle of the crowded dance floor, and I feel lighter as I dance with my friends, not caring about the bodies that bump against mine in the midst of it all. The heat from everyone around us seeps into my skin, and as more songs play and we continue dancing, I feel hands on my hips and fronts pressing into my back as men try to dance with me.
I’ll entertain them for a moment, enjoying the feel of someone’s heat, but then dance away and toward my friends. Fortunately, the guys get the hint and move onto the next girl, and as nice as it is to dance with someone, to feel their hands, I’m not drunk enough tonotpick out the differences between these strangers’ hands and Caden’s.
His hands that are bigger, more callused from playing years of football, hands that I know intimately well and that know me just as familiarly. I haven’t let another man touch me since I started sleeping with Caden—not because I don’t have the opportunity to, but because I simply don’t want to let anyone as close as I have let Caden. A part of me—a big part—just knows I will be disappointed because no one can possibly know my body better than Caden. The idea alone is laughable.
But still, I dance with some stranger, pressing my back against his front, and unfortunately for him, I pretend he’s someone else. Even if he isn’t as tall or broad or muscled as Caden, I allow myself to imagine. And it’s going well, until. . .
“Well,thisis a fucking sight.”
My head straightens, and it’s like I’m instantly sobering up at the sight of Logan standing in front of me amidst the bustling crowd. Tina and Bianca, both drunk, are still glaring at Logan as they stand to my left, while I’m blinking at Logan as if willing him away from here.
Before I can say anything, the guy behind me, with his hands still on my hips, asks Logan, “Who the hell are you?”
Logan’s scowl goes from me to the man behind me. I see him smirk a little before he tells the guy, “I’m her kid’s dad.”
My lips part, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth in annoyance because I instantly feel the guy let go of me and step away. “Not getting in the middle of this shit,” I hear him mutter before he disappears, and I shake my head as I glare at Logan. Trust him to ruin my fun.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demand, wearing a scowl of my own to match his.
Logan shrugs casually, as if his mere face doesn’t piss me the hell off. Instead of answering my question, he asks one of his own, “Shouldn’t you be with our daughter?”
I scoff, the sound lost in the music. So, he’s allowed to go out to bars and drink and whatever, but I’m not? The hypocrisy is unreal. “She’s with her uncle—which you’d know, if you ever cared to check in and ask about her,” I snap back, the alcohol in my veins firing up my blood even more.
Logan’s glare darkens, but he doesn’t intimidate me in the least. You lose all respect for someone after they show you their lack of interest in your daughter. “Watch it. At least I’m not the one setting such agoodexample of a role model for our kid,” he says, sarcasm thick and heavy in his voice.
I want to punch him in the face.
Anger pumps through my veins, electric and explosive, and I give Logan a cold smile. “Implying the mother of your kid is a slut isn’t such good role model behavior either,” I return coolly, ignoring the mild tightness in my chest.
Before Logan can say anything, Tina jumps in. “Yo, Logan, fuck off. You’re ruining my birthday with your ugly, scowling face.” She wiggles her fingers at him in the universal shooing motion. “Go away, asshole.”
Logan shoots her a glare, which Tina returns just as, if not more, fiercely. Then he looks at me and I keep my expression carefully blank, doing whatever I can to show how insignificant he and his opinion are to me. Theonlyreason I put up with him is because of Elaine and our custody agreement. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve punched him in the face a long time ago. I’d risk a broken hand, maybe, but if it meant a broken nose for him, I was willing to make the sacrifice.
He scoffs before turning to walk away, and when he turns his back on me, that’s when I see the Chicago Rebels sweatshirt he’s wearing. I purse my lips just as Bianca comes up to me, and in my ear, asks quietly and with a smile on her face, “Do you think he’d shit his pants if he ever found out you’re sleeping with someone from his favorite team?”
Pettily enough, Bianca’s words do the trick and bring a smile on my face, because I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t kill to see the look on Logan’s face if he ever found that out.
Talk about delicious karma.
* * *
