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I approached the bar with a polite smile for the bartender. He was dressed in the same uniform as the other servers from the catering company, and I didn’t know him.
“Can I get an ice water, please?” I asked. “And a pink margarita? Thank you.”
The guy checked his liquor stocks then gave me an apologetic grimace. “I need to get a bottle of tequila from the back. I won’t be long.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling at the memory of fucking Will in the storeroom after he’d poured tequila down my throat. “No problem. I’ll wait.”
I leaned on the bar, humming happily, until a finger tapped my shoulder. Grinning because I assumed it was Will, I spun around—and my heart lurched painfully against the inside of my chest.
“Tristan,” I gasped before turning my back to him and snapping my eyes onto the stacks of clean glasses and liquor bottles behind the bar. My heart was beating again, but it was too loud and too fast, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to terror or rage.
“Hey, Abbie.”
Tristan stood beside me—too close, close enough for our shoulders to brush—and rested his elbows on the bar. “Long time no see, eh?”
I hadn’t seen this guy in almost ten years, and time hadn’t changed him all that much. His hair was a little thinner, and didn’t we all have a few more wrinkles around our eyes? But he was still tall and lean, still handsome in a conventional, predictable way.
And, apparently, he still made me want to throw up.
Rage, I decided.
“Yeah. Long time.”
“You still living in the Bay after all this time? Fuck.” He shook his head like he’d just found out I had a terminal illness. “That sucks.”
“It’s a much nicer place since you left,” I replied. “What are you even doing here?”
He shrugged. “A few of the guys decided to revisit the old stomping ground for this poker tournament.” He threw a contemptuous look over his shoulder towards the gaming tables. “Fucking waste of time. None of them got past the second round.”
“Time to go home, then.”
An ancient feeling of filth and shame burned the back of my neck, and I silently begged the bartender to hurry up so I could get away.
“Nah. I just won five hundred bucks at blackjack, so I might hang around a little longer.”
“And the crew hasn’t seen you?” I asked, and at his puzzled look, I added, “Josh? Isaac?” I swallowed. “Will?”
He snorted. “Not hard to avoid them. They’re no smarter now than they were ten years ago.”
No drink was worth this. “Well, I’d say it was nice talking to you, Tristan, but it wasn’t. Bye.”
I took a step to the side, and he grabbed my arm. “Where are you running off to, baby? You didn’t give me a chance to tell you how good you’re looking.”
My heart did that painful jump again, and this time, there was an undeniable flare of fear. We were in a crowded room. He couldn’t hurt me here, but my body didn’t know that.
“Get your hands off me, arsehole.”
He released my arm, raised his palms, and laughed. “Oh, still as miserable now as you were in high school, aren’t you?”
“I’m not miserable, you moron. I’m furious. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
He smirked as if my reaction amused him. “How about I buy you a drink, we go somewhere quiet and reminisce over old times?”
“Like the microscopic size of your dick?”
His eyes darkened, and he forced a chuckle as he touched me again. A light brush of his fingertips over my shoulder, then my cheek.
I don’t know why, but I froze.
