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“Okay.” I shove my hands in my pockets as we follow our group from the bus into some new bar pumping with techno music and filled with a crowd so thick that people are dancing shoulder to shoulder.
“Vivi told me you were a heartbreaker,” she yells over the music. “What’d she mean by that?”
I sniff a laugh. Vivi says all kinds of crap. It doesn’t make it true.
“Who the hell knows,” I yell back, scanning the space for somewhere to sit down, but it’s so busy here all the seats are taken, and there’s a line at the bar. I suspect it’s the two-for-one tequila shots. “She was always trying to hook me up with her friends back at Syracuse. Whenever it didn’t work out, it was always my fault.”
“Did it ever work out?” she asks, leaning closer as we push our way through throngs of drunks.
From what I can tell, this place is somewhere between a bona fide dive and a dump. The brass placard outside proudly states it’s the oldest bar on the island, though I suspect it’s the buy-one-get-one shots that are luring people in like flies to shit.
Once again, this could have been avoided had we stayed put at the all-inclusive resort we paid out the ass for.
“Nope,” I tell her.
There’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes like she wants to continue this conversation. I’d rather not as I don’t like wasting time wallowing in the past, but I’d give anything to get out of this claustrophobic shithole that smells like cheap cologne, body odor, and beer farts.
I check the bar one more time before determining it’s going to be a lost cause trying to get a drink in this place. The line isn’t moving, and there are only two poor saps making drinks, both of them dripping with sweat as they mix and pour as quickly as they can. “I’ll be outside,” I tell her. Her brows knit as she studies me like she’s waiting for a handwritten invitation. “You coming?”
She nods and places her hands on my back as we weave and squeeze our way to the exit.
“That’s got to be, like, a fire code violation or something, right?” she asks once we’re outside. “Nothing about that seems safe.”
“Or remotely enjoyable.”
Next door is a quiet sports bar with a flickering neon sign proclaiming that they have LIVE AMERICAN SPORTS. Through the window, I spot the Yankees–Red Sox game playing on one of the TVs.
“You like baseball?” I ask. “Yankees are on.”
“Actually . . .” She follows my gaze. “I love baseball. And I’m more of a Red Sox fan.”
I wince and take a step back, feigning disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I tease. “Huge red flag.”
“Good thing we’re not on a date,” she zings back before heading for the door.
I trot ahead and open it for her.
While she’s right—we’re not on a date—I can’t help but feel like we are anyway. It’s a strange, unfamiliar sensation, like a pull in my middle and a lightness in my chest at the same time.
I don’t know what to think about it, to be honest.
If I could, I’d gladly blame it on the whiskey I had earlier, but I’m as close to sober now as a guy can get. I could walk a straight line and recite the alphabet backward if I had to.
“So tell me more about your failed college relationships,” she says ten minutes later.
We’ve snagged a high-top table for two next to the Yankees game, and she made sure to order two large waters with our drinks when the server came by.
“I wouldn’t call them relationships,” I say. “They were more like awkward double dates. She always wanted one of her friends to date one of Benson’s friends.”
Briar laughs. “Sounds like Vivi. She was always trying to set me up with her boyfriend’s friends in high school. She thinks she’s some kind of matchmaker, but she’s actually pretty terrible at it.”
“Right?” I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees it. “For a while, I thought there was something wrong with me, that I was the problem. Turns out she’s just terrible at determining compatibility.”
“How many friends did she set you up with?”
Our server delivers our drinks and waters, and I glance up at the TV to check the score. Yankees are up, which instantly elevates my mood.
I blow a breath past my lips. “Oh god. I don’t even know. Too many to count.”
Some of them are actually here tonight, though we all might as well be ships passing in the night.
Briar sips her chocolate martini, running her tongue gently against the sugared rim—a move that sends an unexpected stiffening to my cock.
There’s no denying she’s a gorgeous woman and, so far, the best thing about this whole trip, but I’ve got to keep my head on straight. Hooking up with—hell, hitting it off with—someone is the last thing I need right now. “There was one friend of hers, though,” I add. “We dated maybe four months. My longest college relationship ever. After a while, it fizzled out, ran its course. I broke it off, and Vivi took that very personally. She wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. Meanwhile, her friend moved on pretty much the next day. I don’t even think those two are friends anymore. But Vivi’s going to hold that against me until the day I die. She told me herself.”
