Mike slaps me on the shoulder. “I’ll bring your burgers out in a minute,” he says, leaving me to walk over to the women who have been blatantly eye-fucking us as they waited.
Knowing Mike, he’ll move straight to flirting as he takes their drink orders, hoping to score a phone number. Doesn’t matter which one. He isn’t picky. Or if he’s luckier, he’ll be leaving with one of them tonight. Mike is six-three, blue-eyed, and talks with a deep Texas twang. Girls eat up his good-boy charm like candy.
After Amelia, I dated a little, drank a lot, and woke up more than a few times in some random woman’s bed not knowing how I got there. After the sixth time it happened, I knew I needed to get my shit together. Keep it simple. The women I now casually date know the score. I don’t do relationships. I don’t sleep around either. My bio dad did that and wound up with a bunch of kids he never wanted. No thank you.
Harper comes back out of the restroom, brushing her hands together, a huge smile across her face and her bright blue eyes twinkling under the low lighting. All the Montgomery siblings have the same color of eyes. Our father’s eyes.
She takes her drink back and hip bumps me in the direction of an unoccupied table. Even though it’s busy, we’re early enough that the place isn’t packed yet, so we take our seats at a table closest to the ceiling-mounted wide-screen television set that’s currently playing an old college basketball game between Baylor and U of H.
Mickey’s is your typical sports bar and grill. Requisite flat screens showing a variety of football, baseball, or basketball games, depending on the season. Pool table. Dart board. Small stage for even smaller musical venues for local bands, mostly country. Good, greasy, comfort food that fills your belly. But it’s the people that make this place. Mickey’s Bar is more like family for a lot of us who grew up around here.
I drink my fizzy water while Harper furiously types on her phone.
With a sigh, she places her phone face down on the rutted table. “She’s running late and will be here soon.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember the name of the woman we’re meeting tonight, but draw a complete blank. Someone she met at college, who just moved to town is all I can recall from our hurried conversation this morning before she left for work. Harper’s husband, Bennett, plays baseball for the Houston Lone Stars and is currently in Florida for their spring training; otherwise, he’d be here instead of me.
Mike walks over carrying a bowl of warmed chipotle-lime tortilla chips and fresh salsa, placing them on our table. I immediately grab a chip and shove it into my mouth, the tartness of the lime hitting my palette instantly. Mickey has perfected bar food. Everything he makes and serves here is delicious, even something as simple as tortilla chips.
Mike bends to my ear. “My new blonde friend wants to meet you,” he says, a stupid grin on his face.
Like any good wingman, he’s always trying to hook me up.
I glance over at the bar and sure enough, the blonde from the trio of girls is throwing her obvious interest my way. She bites her lower lip and dips her head, pretending to be shy when our eyes meet.
“Whose number did you get?” I ask him.
“The brunette’s.”
Figures. He has a type that he rarely strays from.
Mike nudges me a few times before he walks off, which is his way of telling me to get my ass over to the bar to talk to the blonde.
Turning back around to face Harper, I ask, “How much longer did you say your friend would be before she gets here?”
“You don’t remember her name, do you?” She rolls her eyes when I just blink at her. “It’s Dee.”
That’s right. I remember now. Harper never mentioned her friend Dee to me until recently, but apparently, they were tight in college, or so Harper proclaimed last week. As soon as Dee arrives, I’ll politely slip away and leave them to catch up while I go chat up the blonde. Hopefully, Mike won’t be the only one getting laid tonight.
Harper looks over toward the front door, a wide grin creasing her cheeks. “She just walked in.” She stands up and waves enthusiastically. “You’re going to love Douglass.”
Did she just say Douglass? I thought her name was Dee. The only girl named Douglass I know is—no fucking way.
“Oh my god! You look absolutely gorgeous! I’ve missed you so much!” Harper squeals, running around the table and giving her friend a huge hug in greeting.
Carefully rising from my chair, a sinking feeling in my gut takes root. At first, I don’t recognize her. Her dark auburn hair is longer, falling past her shoulders in loose waves, and she’s lost weight. She may be thinner than I remember, but her body still carries a sexy hourglass with curves and legs that go on for miles. My perusal flits to her face. Even though it has matured, her stunning hazel eyes are the same and so is her smile. Douglass has the most unusual color of eyes. Mixed with the color of evergreen, the hazel is more gray than brown.
Harper loops an arm around Douglass’s waist, not noticing the harshness that morphs her friend’s face in an instant when her green-grays lock onto me.
Douglass isn’t smiling anymore. Nope. I’d say she’s murdering me a million different ways with her eyes alone.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, but it comes out more like a hiss of accusation.
Harper looks between us, her brows furrowing with confusion. “Oh, sorry. Douglass, this is my brother, Jordan. You remember me talking about him, right?”
When her friend doesn’t answer, Harper looks at me. “Jordan, this is Dee—I mean Douglass. My friend I met at CU, who worked in the campus café that Bennett and I would go to every morning. She just moved back into town.” She turns to Douglass and playfully pokes her side in admonishment. “I still can’t believe you never told me you grew up here.”
If it’s even possible, Douglass’s death stare directed at my person gets more intense. I feel each and every cut of her narrowed eyes like tiny razor blades.
