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“Darling,” Jax quips, raising his glass to me. “Of course. The two wretches that we are.”
The girls laugh dutifully. We’ve all done this before, gone through the motions.
My phone goes off.
I grab it faster than normal. Even now, some idiot part of my brain expects to see her name on the screen.
It’s only Greyson, though.
“Got a minute?” he says. “I’ve got news.”
“Sure,” I say, making an apologetic face to the others as I head back outside.
I could probably stay in the restaurant and take the call. It’s not like it’s super loud in here or anything. Just that at him saying ‘I’ve got news’, I want to have enough air to think it over, whatever this news is.
It can’t be about Emerson—he’s been golden since that overdose mishap. It can’t be about Dad’s will, either—that’s old news by now.
“Got any plans next week?” he asks.
I have to laugh mirthlessly. “You didn’t hear that my foreman quit? Right when the renos were finally starting to get somewhere. I’m going to be stuck at the club sorting out the mess practically 24/7 for the next few weeks.”
“Ah,” he says. “You sure you can’t get away?”
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“Just—Storm TV got renewed for a third season. We’re heading to Tahiti. I’m taking the whole family. Landon, Emerson and the others are coming too.”
“Shit,” I say.
“You could come,” he says.
“No,” I say, scowling. “I can’t. I want to, I just can’t afford the renos being any more behind than they already are.”
“Shit,” Greyson says. “I’d put it off, I just booked the flights and everything already.”
“It’s OK,” I say. “Maybe if I can get the construction crew working at a good pace, I could jet down for the last day or something like that. Though I doubt it.”
“You do what you have to,” Greyson says. “Business first, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Have you been in touch with her?” he asks.
“Who?” I ask, although my scowl already knows.
“You know who.”
The sidewalk I’m standing on is all rough and cracked. I’ve wandered only a block away from the restaurant, and yet it seems like I’m in another country, one where the pigeons striding down the center of the sidewalk own this place, and the dirty hobos gathered off to the side are their henchmen.
“No,” I finally say.
“You sure that’s for the best?” His tone is light, almost casual, but it still makes my fists clench.
“No, I’m not,” I say coolly. “You have something to say about it?”
“I don’t pretend to be some expert on love,” Greyson says. “Just—when you brought her over—”
“A mistake,” I cut him off.
“Maybe,” he says, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it. “You just seemed… happy.”
“And I don’t normally?”
“Not always.”
“Well.”
In the background, I can hear Harley humming along to some Beatles song.
It swipes at me with no warning: I wonder what Sierra’s doing right now?
Writing one of her articles? Dining with the twins? On a date with some guy who makes her laugh more than I did?
“Anyway,” he says, “I think you should talk to her. See if you can work things out. But you know me.”
“A regular old romantic,” I quip.
“Not before Harley,” he says, and he has a point. I remember the years when Greyson didn’t even have a serious girlfriend, let alone a wife. “There’s just some women you meet, who change you. You can’t let them go. You…”
“Aren’t you sweet,” Harley coos from the background. “I’m definitely making those cookies you like tonight! Naked.”
“Babe,” Greyson says. “Nolan can hear—”
“I support all naked cookie making,” I announce loudly with a laugh.
“Don’t imagine my wife naked,” Greyson growls.
“She was the one who said it,” I say innocently.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I appreciate the advice, big broski, really,” I tell him. “But trust me, if you’d been there, you’d know. It’s over between Sierra and I.”
“Alright, if you say so.” Greyson’s tone is the verbal equivalent of shrugged shoulders.
“Thanks for including me in the vacation plans, though I’ll have to pass,” I say. “Fucking renos.”
“Good luck,” he says. “See ya.”
“See ya,” I say, hanging up.
I head back to the restaurant before I can mull over what he said about Sierra and I.
Not that it’ll take much mulling.
Sierra and I are over. End of story.
Back inside, I stop at the head of our table. “Now, who’s up for shots at Benji’s?”
What I need for tonight is another blur to add to a swish of them. Get back on my game.
Another hookup. Another night to put between me and her.
The rest of the night goes more or less as planned. We hit up another club and then another.
The girls get drunker, we get drunker.
Except, when my girl starts dancing on me, I have to go get another drink. It happens the next time too.
Finally, I stalk outside. I go linger around some 20-something smokers, strike up a conversation for no reason.
