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Henry laughs and claps me on the back again. “Have you really not fucked her yet? I keep waiting for you to come for my car, yet you haven’t.”
“You’re also supposed to make yourself look like a fucking fool in front of Marco. Don’t forget that.” I flag the bartender down and ask for a beer. She gives me a seductive smile I don’t return. Normally, I’d love fucking a hot bartender, but I’m a married man now. Marco—and more importantly, Emilia—would have my balls if I touched another woman.
And honestly? I don’t really feel the desire to. I just want to go back to Francesca and pick up where we left last night.
“We still have a bet, man,” Henry reminds me. “If you don’t fuck Francesca soon, I get your job. Don’t forget that.”
I turn to him, invading his personal space, which I can tell intimidates him. “And if I refuse to hand over my job to you?”
Henry shrugs. “Then I’ll just tell Francesca about our little bet and see how she feels about it. I don’t think you’ll ever get to fuck your wife, then. Which means you’ll never get to fuck anyone ever again.”
I clench my hands around the bottle, resisting the urge to land a solid hit to his jaw.
“Can I get you anything?” the bartender asks Henry.
He flashes her his blindingly white smile, which doesn’t seem to faze her. “Yeah, a scotch on the rocks. And make it quick, hon. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She rolls her eyes but gets him his drink anyway. She’ll probably spit in it, which amuses me.
I’ve never really noticed how Henry talks to women before. Mostly because I treated women even worse. But after Francesca made me make a new deal with her, about treating women with more respect, I have to do something about this.
“Ignore him,” I tell the bartender. “He’s just stupid.”
She hands Henry his drink and turns to me. “Yeah? Are you stupid, too? Or are you smarter than your friend here?”
“Oh, no. I can be pretty stupid, too.”
She leans in closer to me. “Not too stupid to get out of here? My shift is almost over.”
This would be the moment—the moment I went and fucked her and found a way to hurt her later. A few nude picks here, a call to the parents to embarrass her there. Man, I was a fucking asshole.Amstill a fucking asshole.
“I can’t,” I tell her, making her frown in surprise. “I’m married.” I wave my wedding band at her.
“Shame.” She turns to help another customer.
“Damn.” Henry whistles. “I didn’t think you had it in you to turn a woman down.”
“Maybe people can change.”
Henry chortles as he gulps down his drink. Once done, he stands up, giving me one more clap to the man that makes me grit my teeth. “You, my good friend, can never change.” He walks away, leaving me to contemplate everything as I stare down into my beer.
* * *
On the drive home,I’m confronted by the memory of the day I officially broke my mother’s heart.
I was sixteen, so close to getting out. I’d been watching my father beat my mother for most of my life and had become desensitized to it.
And then that day happened.
It was my dad’s birthday, and as usual, he came home drunk. My mom made him a birthday cake. I didn’t bother to help, even though she asked me to. I was busy with homework and texting this girl I had a crush on.
When Dad came home, he saw the cake Mom made, took one look, and sneered. “Fucking vanilla? Who likes vanilla? I asked for chocolate.”
I was at the kitchen table, watching everything unfold. Long gone were the days I stood up to my dad. By the time I was sixteen, I just stayed out of it and watched. He was my mom’s problem. Not mine.
Mom looked on the verge of tears. Dad had worn her down over the years until she barely resembled the woman I loved as a child. “I’m sorry. We could only afford the vanilla one. Chocolate was too expensive.”
“So, you’re blaming this on me?” He slammed his hand down on the counter, making her jump.
“No, no. I’m just explaining why—”
