If there were another option to choose from, I would just leave. But I checked. In this small town, the Rusty Ripper is the only bar in a twenty-mile radius that’s dark enough to sit and stew on my own.
And drown my grief.
When I look around to find the bartender once more, a chill runs down my neck, and my gaze catches on a ghost giving me the evil eye on the other side of the dimly lit bar.
Just perfect.
I try my best to ignore him, but man, it’s hard with that intense stare. The bartender finally sees me and walks over, hitting me with a gruff, “What’s your poison?”
“Two tequila shots, please?” I ask him, and he pours the liquid into two small glasses, making them nearly overflow. He pushes them toward me, the glasses nearly tipping as the bottoms catch on the tacky surface, and I nod in thanks, handing over some of the last of my money.
Don’t overthink this, Sloan.
Out of the corner of my eye, the ghost is full-on glaring now, and I have to clench my teeth not to ask him what his fucking problem is.
Seriously, tonight’s not the night to fuck with me.
I’m on edge and barely holding on.
“On you, Nan,” I whisper, tilting my head back and quickly taking both shots one after the other. The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat, and I can’t help but shudder and grimace at the strong taste. “Ugh.” I gasp, scrunching up my nose. But I can’t deny the feeling of the alcohol warming my insides is a welcome change from the icy numbness that has gripped my heart lately.
“Why do you drink that if you don’t even like it?” a deep voice filled with humor asks, catching me off guard.
I turn to see averygood-looking guy sitting next to me, sipping his beer and grinning mischievously. He wasn’t there a minute ago, and his striking blue eyes are fixed on me.
I feel a blush creeping up my cheek.
You’re such a weirdo, Sloan.
My heart races a little faster, not just from the tequila’s burn but also from the unexpected company. I’m not used to guys casually striking up a conversation with me, especially ones this hot.
“Not everyone’s a fan of bad beer,” I reply, trying to play it cool even though my voice shakes slightly. The warmth of the blush on my cheeks intensifies, and I hope the dim lighting hides it.
His laughter fills the air, and it’s a strangely pleasant sound. “How do you know it’s bad if you haven’t tasted it?” he teases, offering me his beer, his eyes not leaving mine.
I find myself smiling despite the turmoil inside. His presence is oddly comforting. It’s strange how a simple conversation can momentarily lift the heavy veil of loneliness and anxiety that has been suffocating me.
I look down at the beer and notice his tanned, rough hand holding the glass. Following the lines of his defined forearm, I take in the vibrant tattoos of boats, lobster, and fish. He’s wearing a snug navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves bunched up, showing off his muscles, probably gained from hard work rather than hitting the gym. He seems tall, and his oh-so-blue eyes sparkle with mischief.
He maintains that cocky grin, which only serves to deepen the dimples in his cheeks as my gaze finally returns to his. A few unruly strands of his brown hair peek out from beneath a black beanie, adding to his rugged good looks.
I notice how his gaze lingers on me with genuine interest, not the usual fleeting look I’m accustomed to receiving lately.
People tend to overlook you when you try to blend in hard enough.
His smile is disarming, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of something akin to excitement, a feeling I thought had long been extinguished in me.
“Go on, give it a try,” he urges, his voice carrying a hint of challenge and a touch of charm that makes it hard to resist.
I glance at him, biting my lip. The room is blurring a bit, and I’m definitely already tipsy. I’m not one to drink, but today is different. I need something,anything, to keep myself from drowning.
It’s been a year since she’s been gone, a year since she left me alone in this world. Alone with thegift, as she called it. The gift to see the spirits that walk alongside us, the gift to help the ones in need, to help them find the light.
With her gone, it feels more like a curse.
A curse that left me broken, traumatized, and alone.
An outsider in a crowd of people.
