CHAPTER ONE
Durban
This night went to hell long before a tornado with sun-kissed skin walked into Bootleg Tavern. But babysitting the woman with chestnut hair so long a guy could wrap it around his fist isn’t cheering me up.
Behind where I’m sitting at the bar counter, Campbell Hawthorne whoops with some women who must be tourists. “Rack ’em up!”
Her sultry rasp goes straight to my dick.
Dammit, I came to drown my sorrows, dump a little alcohol on my pride, before I get back to business as usual. Not listen to vocal cords formed straight from every man’s wet dreams.
She’s not mine, she’s not for me, and I don’t want her to be, but as inconvenient as it is, she’s a beautiful woman with a voice meant for sin. That’s probably how she sounds when she recites her grocery list.
Before, I could ignore it. I was taken. I had agirlfriend, and it didn’t matter that she was two thousand miles away. But now, my brand-new single-guy status makes me aware of it—and irritated. I pinch the bridge of my nose as snippets of my recent phone conversation run through my head.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to each other anymore. I think we need to break up.”
“I’m sorry. The jokes are cute, but they’re distracting, and I can’t have that.”
“I know you don’t get what it’s like. College. Graduate school. Research. This program is the most important thing I’m doing, and I’ve got so much invested.”
“I knew you’d understand. You have that laid-back lifestyle. Easy breezy.”
Easy fucking breezy. And my jokes could not have been that bad of a distraction. I’d waited for Natalie for almost four years. She’d assured me she was ready for a long-distance relationship and we’d figure out the rest when it was closer to her graduation.
With her graduation imminent, I’d been asking about where she planned to find a job, if she’d like me at her graduation, and I’d reassured her that I’d give her transition time. Assuming her vague answers were from the stress of planning her thesis defense, I’d quit asking questions and started sending her jokes. Simple science ones to lighten her day.
Too simple. Too easy breezy.
Her words have been on constant replay since I hung up. Mostly, I can’t shake the sound of a guy laughing in the background. She might’ve been around friends. Is that better or worse? To get dumped in private like it was a long, agonizing decision? Or to get dropped while out for a good time?
Is he her study partner?
Why do I care?
Because I waited like an optimistic, proud-as-hell dumbass for four years so she could pursue her second PhD. I was just happy to be in her orbit. Now I’m not.
“Silas, another round,” Campbell calls.
I ignore the heat the sound of her voice sends curling through my veins. It’s frustration and heartbreak. Nothing more.
Campbell laughs and shimmies, the skirt of her loose dress swinging around her hips and tickling the tops of her cowboy boots. That woman does not need another shot. She’s had four since she arrived. I might want to go home and let her fuck around and find out, but my ass stays planted on my stool. Someone has to be responsible, and as soon as I saw her tonight, I knew it wasn’t going to be her.
Silas steps in front of me to line up three shot glasses with scratched images of a cowboy boot on them. His weathered expression is impassive as he selects the tequila bottle Campbell’s group has been drinking from all night.
“You should water them down,” I say. “At least hers.” One of the women Campbell linked up with only sipped her last shot, then gave it to Campbell to down the rest.
Silas doesn’t have to ask who I mean. “She can hold her liquor.”
Another whoop in her dulcet tones rings out. I cock a brow at Silas, and he shrugs. As long as the cops aren’t called, he doesn’t care. He also isn’t worried about cutting customers off or taking keys from them. He wouldn’t twitch unless they drove drunk right into the bar.
Silas slides the little glasses toward the open spot next to me. “Got yer order, Campbell.”
I hunch over my whiskey on the rocks. The half-melted ice gives it the mellow flavor I prefer, bringing out the vanilla and smoothing over the bite, but I don’t take a drink. A cloud of tequila and the sweet floral scent of huckleberry blossoms surround me.
“Thanks, Silas.” Campbell tries to gather them all at once and fumbles, almost tipping one.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
