Because you are.
“Leave.” Jamie clenched his fists to stop them from shaking, determined not to let William see how rattled he was. “Now.”
William stood motionless, jaw working beneath his skin, breath whistling through flared nostrils as though he were weighing his options. He didn’t have any.
Then something shifted. William’s posture softened, shoulders dropping as if strings had been cut. His face smoothed out, but his eyes remained winter-cold. He inched forward with palms up, like approaching a spooked animal. “Baby, we need to talk this through.”
“We’re done. Just go.” Jamie kept his voice steady despite his thundering pulse. The lamp waited behind him, but he didn’t dare look away from William, not even for a second.
“You shouldn’t have pushed me that far.” William spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.
“You’re blaming me for your actions?” Jamie’s mouth hung slightly open. Then he recovered. “Go, William. Now.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” His gaze frosted over. “I meant what I said.” His hand shot out, fingers curling around Jamie’s throat and squeezing. “If I catch you getting cozy with another guy, you’ll find out what I’m truly capable of.”
Jamie flinched as his muscles tensed, his breath coming out in quick bursts. All he wanted was for William to leave. They’d been dating for only three weeks, but William was acting as if it had been three years. Jamie couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened, the moment when William had gone from a man Jamie was simply dating to…this.
William leaned in to kiss him, but Jamie jerked his head to the side. The guy laughed and released Jamie’s throat. “I’ll call you later.”
As soon as he walked out, Jamie locked the door, pressing his back to the wood, wishing to god he’d never met William.
* * * *
Thirty minutes later, Jamie walked into Frothy Pine. Thankfully the temperature had cooled enough that he wouldn’t sweat in the long-sleeved jacket he’d worn to hide his bruised arm. His neck had been red from where William had grabbed it, but the marking had faded.
Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder at the tables, and even the booths were overfilled with people shouting to be heard over the thrum of a classic rock song.
The bar itself dominated the left side, a long slab of oak, stained with decades of spilled drinks. Behind it was Ash, the owner, a big, burly guy who loved to laugh and also put you out on your ass if you caused trouble. The only entertainment was a dart board. No pool tables. Not that Jamie played the game.
Ash was also entertainment, flipping bottles and sliding pints down the bar, wearing a huge smile like he was enjoying life. Jamie wished he could feel that carefree.
Sliding onto a stool at the bar, Jamie raised his hand to gain Ash’s attention. The handsome bartender sauntered his way, giving Jamie a warm smile. “What can I get for you, Jamie?”
A bodyguard. “Mojito, and make it a strong one, Ash.”
One of Ash’s brows arched. “That kind of night?”
That kind of life. “Stop trying to poke around inside my head. I’ve got laser beams to keep out intruders.”
Ash chuckled, a warm, rich sound that helped to settle Jamie’s nerves. “No bartender therapy. I’ll grab your drink.”
“Appreciate it.” Jamie was alone at the bar with his undiagnosed PTSD and some sticky coasters that smelled like old limes.
He slid the bowl of pretzels toward him, grabbing a few to munch on. The song “Don’t Stop Believing” played through the bar, but he’d stopped believing a long time ago. It was hard to hold on to hope when you’d been abused by your dad, bullied in school for being gay, and continually dated insecure losers.
Even so, life hadn’t been all that bad. Nick was a great roommate, and Jamie liked his job. He liked hanging out at Frothy Pine too.
He just had the worst luck when it came to men.
The crowd was three beers past sober and on the cusp of singing along to Journey. Laughter and clinking glasses filled any cracks in the soundtrack. Some guy in the corner was double-fisting his beer bottle, yelling at the dartboard. Two tables over, a woman in a neon-pink blazer stabbed her finger in the air as punctuation to a story Jamie couldn’t hear, but honestly, he was rooting for her. Anyone that emphatic deserved to be right.
Ash dropped off his mojito. “You want to start a tab or just go for broke tonight?”
Wasn’t that the question. “Let’s see how many I need before the painkillers kick in.” Jamie squeezed lime between his fingers. “If I drink three, will I finally be immune to drama magnets?”
“Depends on your definition of drama,” Ash replied, already moving down the bar to knock heads when two guys started arguing by the dart board.
Somewhere behind Jamie, a chair scraped violently against the floor, followed by a groan and the muttered curse of someone discovering their tolerance hadn’t kept pace with their ambition.
