Taking another sip of my drink, my shoulders relax for the first time since I saw Monica, and I do my best to focus on the good things that happened today—seeing my sister, my parents agreeing to come to the city for Christmas, and getting the part I’ve always wanted. I was given my dream role, in my dream ballet, and he’s not going to tarnish this day for me.
I won’t give him any more of my energy because he’s not worth it.
A cold rush of air blows through the bar, causing me to shiver. Turning to see where it came from, the mug nearly slips from my hand.
Standing in the doorway is a tall man with broad shoulders. His brown hair sticks out under a backwards hat, and I watch as he unwinds the scarf around his neck, revealing his chiseled jaw that is covered with a short beard. I can’t see his eyes from here, but I don’t need to. I already know that they’re the perfect mix of brown and green.
He shrugs off his black wool peacoat, and I take him in. Under his jacket, he’s wearing a white hoodie and black sweatpants. He causally drapes his scarf and coat over his arm and then stomps his feet on the mat, kicking off the snow that has accumulated on his tennis shoes. Moving deeper into the bar, he looks over in my direction for the first time. Heat crawls up my neck when he catches me staring, and he lets out a low chuckle. His mouth breaks into a wide grin.
Lifting my hand into a small wave, I sip from the edge of my mug and watch as he moves directly for me.
The air between us is instantly charged and familiar. He’s the last person I thought I’d see when I walked in here tonight, but I’m not mad about it. There is something reminiscentabout me having a bad day and him showing up to help me forget about it. I feel instantly transported back in time.
“Hey, Sugar,” he says, his eyes blinking, trying to take me in, and it’s apparent we’re both stunned to be looking at the other. I swallow hard, unsure of what to say. It’s been a long time since I walked him to the door of my loft and said goodbye.
“Is it really you?” he asks, breaking the silence that hangs between us. His hand connects gently with my face, and his thumb grazes the apple of my cheek like he’s checking to make sure I’m real. Electricity pulses through me under his touch before he realizes what he’s doing and pulls away.
“I never liked that nickname,” I say, lifting the corner of my mouth into a smirk.
“Never stopped me from using it before,” he says, mirroring my facial expression.
I let out a small laugh. “You alone?” Peering behind him, I half expect a woman or a group of Crowns players to appear.
He nods. “Yeah. You? Or should I be worried Ulrich is about to walk out of the bathroom and kick my ass again?”
“He’s not here,” I grumble, taking a long sip of my coffee.
“No?” he questions, sliding on to the barstool next to me. The bartender walks over and places a beer in front of Everett.
“Thanks, Blake, but can I actually get a Coke instead. Not drinking tonight.”
The bartender nods and turns to grab the soda, placing the beer to the side.
“Is he coming to join you?” Everett asks.
“Fuck, I hope not. I’m here trying to forget he exists.”
A wide grin breaks across his face. The bartender returns with the drink, and Everett pulls out his wallet and flips it open. A small white piece of paper falls onto the bar when he slides out his card. In the center is a flower drawn with yellow and green crayon.
“For the Coke and whatever she’s drinking. You can leave it open,” he says, sliding his card toward the bartender.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to a small piece of paper sitting on the bar top. He picks it up and studies it for a second.
“My nieces like to draw me pictures. This one is a tulip and is supposed to bring me good luck.” His eyes become a little glossy, and his face falls slightly as he slips the tiny drawing back in his billfold and tucks it into his pocket.
“That’s sweet that you keep it in your wallet.”
I’m pretty sure I can hear my ovaries chanting, “Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!” and who could blame them? He’s sitting here in a backwards hat, black sweatpants, showing me his niece’s art that he’s saved in his wallet like some sort of perfect man, but I should know better. This is Everett. We didn’t work before, so why would we work now?
“I don’t get to see them often, and it makes me feel like I have them close by.”
“Does that mean you’ve become a big softy since I last saw you?”
Grabbing his glass, he takes a sip and shakes his head. His throat bobs up and down as he swallows.
A distant memory of me telling him to call me if he was ever in town plays in my head, and my heart sinks at the idea that he didn’t. Everett and I were hardly friends back then. We were good for one thing, and that was mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. My cheeks heat as I’m assaulted with a memory of us.
“Can I ask what happened?”
