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IT’S EVENING. I’VEspent the day steadily drinking. After my delightful conversation with my baby bro, he kicked me out, but hey, this town was built for drinking, and there’s a bar around every corner. I didn’t have to go far to drown my misery.
A guy sniggers as I stumble, righting myself just before my face has the misfortune of meeting the cobblestones.
I flip him off. He can go and fuck himself.
My destination finally comes into view, and the lights blazing from the windows are a beacon, pulling me towards it, a lighthouse directing me safely through stormy seas.
I have to stop myself from pressing my nose against the window like a kid admiring all the sweets a candy store has to offer. I’m aching for just a sight of her.
My brain is slow—I guess that’s what happens after a full day of marination in alcohol—but it eventually catches up and processes what my eyes are seeing.
Bailey and…another man. They’re seated at one of her little tables, drinking coffee and talking. Seems innocent enough, but I have a clear view of his face, and his eyes—the way he’s looking at her tells me that whatever is on his mind is not innocent. Even my fucked up, alcohol-infused brain can see that.
Lucky for me, the front door is unlocked, which it shouldn’t be, seeing as it’s way past closing time.
“Is this what’s been going on behind my back?”
Her startled eyes meet mine. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on my wife.” I hiccup and hold my breath. Ten counts are what they say to stop them. I count slowly in my head, counting to fifteen instead, just to be sure.
“Quinn. Go home. You’re drunk.”
“Not so drunk that I can’t see what’s going on here. It didn’t take you long to replace me,” I sneer. At least, I think I’m sneering. Everything around me is hazy, and the world just won’t keep still.
“That’s enough. Don’t talk to her like that.”
The dude stands, and I peer up at him. Who is he? Have we met before? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s protective over her, and it makes me laugh. Bailey need protecting from me? The idea is preposterous, but then I sober, suddenly not finding it so funny anymore. I would never hurt her. Physically, that is.
“Is this the guy you were ‘networking’ with the other night?” I make air quotes with my fingers just to emphasize how ridiculous I think it is that a bookstore owner needs to network.
“Watch your mouth,” he threatens, but whatever. I can take him. Probably.
“Quinn, you need to go home.”
“But I am home. Wherever you are is home.” I’m whining like a kid, but I don’t care.
She shakes her head, and the look on her face has me wanting to cry. I did that. I put it there.
“Not anymore. I moved out, remember?”
“No.” I look around, pull out a chair and park my ass in it. She’s here, so I’m staying. “I’m staying right here.”
She glances at dude who the fuck ever, sending him a helpless look. Why the fuck is she looking at him? She should be looking at me. I snap my fingers.
“No looking at him. Look at your husband.”
He shoots me a look, and we have a silent stare-off until Bailey’s voice registers, pulling my attention back to her. Just for a second, and then it goes back to him.
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
She’s quiet for a bit, and it dawns on me that she’s on the phone.
“He’s out of his mind drunk, and I don’t want him to be alone tonight, so I’d appreciate it.”
Such a good wife, always caring about me.
“Quinn,” she says, snapping her fingers and drawing my eyes from the dude who’s still staring at me. His eyes are giving me a sort of violence that I’m down for. “Nathan’s at work, so I called Aidan. He’s on his way to fetch you.”
