Noah:Tell the cute bartender you’re married.
Shay:I’m only a little married.
Noah:Like you’re only a little drunk?
Shay:Now it says my car won’t be here for 75 minutes. This is bullshit.
Shay:It only takes 75 minutes to get somewhere in Rhode Island if you’re coming from Massachusetts.
Noah:Cancel the car. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.
Shay:You don’t have to come get me.
Noah:That doesn’t change the fact that I am.
Noah:Stay where you are. Drink some water. Don’t touch any axes.
Noah:Or bartenders.
chaptersixteen
Noah
Students will be able to enforce limits and issue ultimatums.
I could hearmy blood pressure in my ears when I pulled into the parking lot.
My wife.
At a bar.
With a lacrosse coach.
And a cute bartender.
Plus some motherfucking axes.
My headlights cut across a shabby building that was hardly more than a hole-in-the-wall, and not for the first—or fortieth—time tonight I wondered why the hell Shay was here. I killed the engine and stomped inside, damn near ripping the door off its hinges as I went. I didn’t care if I was being a bear. I really did not.
Shay was seated at the bar, her head propped on her upturned palm and a half-empty tumbler of something pink in front of her. Her jean jacket was on inside out and her lips were pressed together in a deep frown that made it look like she was seconds away from bursting into tears.
I wanted to gather her up and hold her close and promise to make everything better.
I also wanted to wring her pretty little neck.
Stepping up beside her stool, I said, “I figured you were exaggerating.” I swept a glance around the interior. “I was wrong.”
She turned her face up to me, her eyes red and glassy, her makeup smudged onto her cheeks. “How did you get here so fast?” She picked up her phone, peered at the time. “That was only fifteen minutes. Wait. Sixteen.”
Because my wife was alone and upset in a strange bar and speed limits don’t apply in those situations.
“You forget I know all the shortcuts here in the backwoods.” She watched as I waved down the so-called cute bartender and handed him some cash. “Does that cover it?” I asked him.
He arched a brow at the two twenties. “Yeah. We’re good.”
I wrapped an arm around Shay’s waist, eased her off the stool. “Let’s go,” I said. “You’re going to explain this situation to me in the truck.”
“There’s nothing toexplain,” she drawled as we stepped into the cool night air. “This part of the world doesn’t know how to make a decent gin and tonic and everyone forgets me. I guess I’m not worth remembering.”
