Forever Girl:Sure.
Sure? What does she mean by that? If I’d called her, I could have heard the tone of her voice. Then I’d know if she was pissed or not.
Forever Girl:Let me know if you need anything. Seriously.
Me:Will do.
I won’t, but now that I know she’s not pissed, I think my headache is dissipating. A little, anyway.
* * *
My headache is back.
Yeah, I know. You don’t need to say it. I’ve let too much time pass between the last texts with Tayler and today. A week, to be exact. I know I told her I’d “talk to her later,” and I meant it, but the more days that passed, the more hesitant I was to call because I know she’s probably upset now. I would be.
So, I’ve been focused on the bar. Since Quinn hasn’t been around at all, I need to hire at least one more bartender. Adding a waitress to the mix would be helpful too but hiring someone right now will be difficult since the holidays are right around the corner. Students like to head home for Thanksgiving and for the three or four weeks off between the fall and spring semesters, so I need to find someone who’s gonna be around. My first thought is Tayler, but I’m not sure what her plans are for the holidays and I don’t want to go there.
When the front door to the bar opens, I look up and see one big motherfucker walk through the door on a pair of crutches. I recognize him immediately due to the fact that his girl, Quinn, is behind him. Not only that, he’s got the most fucked-up brace on his leg I’ve ever seen. Stepping around the bar, I hold my hand up to shake his. “What the hell, man?” I bend to get a closer look. The metal brace reminds me of scaffolding you’d see on the outside of a building. “That looks like the same kind of thing they used on the Redskins quarterback last year.”
“Aye,” he says in his British accent. “Same concept.”
“Shit.” It looks painful as hell. “Sorry, man.”
Our conversation is interrupted by “I’m here to get my check.”
I turn and see Quinn standing next to Cooke. Her lips are pursed like she’s tasted some lemons. I bet I’m the bad lemon in this scenario. “Sure. In the office. I’ll get it for you.” I attempt a smile, but it produces no response from Quinn, and I know why. This is all about Tayler. “You two want a drink?”
“Aye.” Cooke smiles as he places his crutches in one hand, then hops on his good leg up to the bar. “Guinness, lad.”
Lad?We’re probably the same age.
“Quinn?” She’s moved up to help Cooke. Once he’s settled, she sits next to him.
“Water,” she replies.
I grab her a bottled water from the cooler and pour the beer. Setting them on the bar, I excuse myself to get her check. I’m tempted to ask her what’s up with Tayler, but I have a feeling I won’t have to say anything. She’ll do all the talking. Quinn’s like that. She can’t keep shit bottled in. I respect that, even though I’m not really in the mood to get my ass chewed by one of my employees.
When I return, I set the check on the bar and wait. When she doesn’t say anything, I offer something from the kitchen.
“I could eat,” Cooke says, looking over at Quinn. “You hungry, love?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns her icy glare to me. “What the ever-loving hell is wrong with you, Luke Green?”
And there it is.
I shrug. “Lots of shit wrong with me, Quinn.”
“You tell our girl you want to give your relationship a try and then you don’t call her for a frigging week?”
I nod. What can I say to that?
“You can’t do that.” She turns to Cooke. “Would you do that? Would you tell someone that,sleepwith them, then not call?”
“Love,” Cooke says softly. “You know I wouldn’t. The second I get this blasted thing off my leg, you’re never leaving my bed.”
Okay. TMI.
I watch as Quinn’s face turns a bright pink color. I want to laugh, but I know that wouldn’t end well.
