“I’m sorry I ruined your night, cookie.”
“You didn’t ruin it. I’m actually glad I found out before I had a few drinks.”
“Are you still going to go for happy hour?”
I felt even less like mingling with strangers now, not to mention my feet were starting to hurt in these heels, but I knew myself—going home would only make it worse. “Yeah, I’m going to go for at least a little while.”
“Excellent. Maybe find some dork who works in a different department with a face made for radio and a body made for the big screen.”
“Why does he need to have a radio-worthy face?”
“Because men tend to only look in the mirror when they go to the bathroom, which means they just see their face. The homely guys forget they have a killer bod and feel like they have to work twice as hard in the bedroom to make up for it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re a genius or you just make this stuff up.”
“Only one way to find out. Bring a homely boy home and take him for a test ride.”
I shook my head. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.”
I stayed in the same spot for a long time, staring at the people moving along the sidewalk, yet not really seeing them while completely lost in thought. Then I did theinevitable—called up Instagram again to take a closer look at the stupid picture. The sparkling diamond on the hand holding up the sonogram hurt less the second time, but my heart still had a welt on it from the first wallop. Somehow, though, I managed to tuck my phone into my purse, force one foot in front of the other, and walk the next block to happy hour. Or perhaps now more appropriately calledgloomhour. Though a few buildings down from the entrance, my steps again abruptly came to a halt. This time, to watch a man open the door for a woman. Jagger put his hand on the tall blonde’s back—the small of her back—and guided her inside. My heart sank. They walked side by side to an elevator bank where they waited, then disappeared, all smiles.
My heart twisted in my chest, and I felt tears threatening. Which was absolutely ridiculous—seeing a man I’d met less than two weeks ago with another woman shouldnothurt more than seeing that my ex was having a baby with my stepsister. Especially since Jagger and I had never done more than a little flirting. Yet I couldn’t help what I felt. Disappointment left a deep pain in my chest, and I wasn’t sure what to do next.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed from my pocket. Needing a distraction, I pulled it out.
Miles: Just wanted to say how proud of you I am for not letting the jackrabbit ruin your night. Also, I hate my homophobic father more than ever because he wouldn’t let me try out for the cheerleading squad like I wanted to in fifth grade. Otherwise, I’d have pom-poms and would be waving them around right now because I’m your biggest cheerleader. Love you! XO
Damn him. I sniffled back the stupid tears that threatened. Now I couldn’t skip the bar, pick up a pint ofBen & Jerry’s Half Baked, and go home and eat the entire thing in bed like I was three seconds away from doing. I had to suck it up and do better. And I didn’t want to.Grrr.
Taking a deep breath, I managed to make myself walk the rest of the way to the bar on the ground floor ofwhat’s his name’s building. The last time I was at the Copa it was busy, but tonight it was packed. And I was pretty sure it was mostly Apex employees. I recognized a few faces as I made my way to the bar. Even if the last ten minutes hadn’t packed a one-two punch, I usually needed a little alcohol to take the edge off of mingling with strangers. A glass of wine made my inherent awkwardness feel slightly less clumsy.
Eyeing an empty spot at the far end of the bar, I made my way over. The same bartender who’d been working the last time I was here approached and put down a coaster. “How you doing? What can I get you tonight?”
“I’ll take a merlot, please.” The image of Jagger touching the tall blonde’s back flashed in my head, and I lifted my hand just as the bartender went to walk away. “On second thought, I need something stronger. How about a cosmo instead, please?”
He nodded. “Coming right up.”
I surveyed the crowd as I waited. A few minutes later, the bartender came back with a frosty silver shaker and martini glass. He shook before pouring red liquid to the brim.
“You here for the Apex happy hour?”
“I am, actually.”
“What’s the password?”
“The password?”
He nodded. “They give out a new one each month so we know who we should put on the running tab and who we shouldn’t.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize that. I just started at Apex this week.” I lifted my purse. “No big deal. I’ll just pay for it.”
I was still digging for my wallet when a hand touched the middle of my back. I knew it wasn’t Jagger because I didn’t have goosebumps and the little hairs on my arms weren’t standing up. But also because this hand placement was more innocent and not on my lower back—where Jagger’s had also been with his date earlier.
“Hey there.” Jack smiled. “Glad you decided to come.”
I forced a smile back. “Yeah, me too. Thanks for telling me about it.” I finally produced my credit card.
