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“Come on, we have an apartment upstairs you can relax in.”
“I thought you were going to introduce me to the hounds.” Not that I’m interested in meeting them, but the thought of being taken somewhere I might be trapped is an even less attractive prospect.
“Now isn’t the best time to meet one of them, and the other is soon going to be far too distracted to talk.”
“And the third, if there is one?”
His smile turns sheepish. “Oh, the third? That’s easy. You’ve already met him.”
As he threads his way through the tables to the back of the room, I cast one last glance at the dark corner before following. “I have?”
He throws a grin over his shoulder. “Yeah, nice guy, but I might be a little biased. His name is Aden.”
12
KADE
One last fuck with the girl from the night before.
Knock back a shot of whatever liquor I left on the bedside table.
Wake the girl—whatever the fuck her name is—and tell her to get out. Or be thrown out.
And then sleep. Or drink again.
Eat when the growls of my stomach become too loud to ignore.
Rinse and fucking repeat.
Over and fucking over again.
Every day, week, and month is the same.
Boredom clings to me, no matter how hard I fight to pull myself free from it. To make myself feelsomething, it’s always fucking there, reminding me of this emptiness that never goes away.
Once someone came close to filling it. Almost, but notquiteright.
But close. Real close. Tantalizingly so.
Monica.
Mona
Nica.
Three different names for the same girl.
But she was ours.
Until she decided she wasn’t anymore.
No, what broke us was her liking one of us more.
I blink. Once again I’m reclining on a black couch in my usual spot at the Cerberus, my hand wrapped around a glass of a thirty-year-old single malt scotch. Loch Lomond. I take a sip and roll it around my tongue. There used to be a time I could pick out the fudgy sweetness, the crisp apple, the notes of vanilla and nutmeg.
Now it’s like I’m drinking tap water.
Tasteless. Bland. Just like every fucking thing in my life.
