I hand her a couple bills, telling her to keep the change, before refocusing on Kayla. “Always.”
“I think he still thinks about you, possibly still loves you, but for whatever reason, he’s not permitting himself to reconnect with you, but he wants to feel close to you, and that’s why the band requested me as their assigned reporter and why he drills me for info on you every time we meet.”
I can’t deny or confirm her statement, and I can’t talk about him any longer because it kills me every time. Kayla knows me inside and out, so she understands that, instantly dropping the subject of Ryder Stone.
We focus on enjoying the night, and when I leave the bar a few hours later, with Gus’s arms wrapped tightly around me, I toss all thoughts of my ex-love from my mind.
And, back at my apartment, as Gus thrusts in and out of me, I’m numb to everything but the pleasurable sensations he’s drawing from my body.
18
Ryder
“You look like you need something stronger,” Sawyer says, placing two glasses and a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of us. We left the stadium as soon as both our sets were finished and came straight to Just an Illusion. Scott didn’t join me after all. His wife, Linda, made a surprise visit. She finagled her in-laws into babysitting and flew out to spend the night with her husband, so they’re staying in some top hotel for the night, and we’re all meeting at the airport in the morning.
I drain the last mouthfuls of beer and lean back in the booth. “It’s that obvious?”
“You’re tense, man. Figured you could use it.”
I nod, watching as he pours generous measures into the two glasses. “Returning to southern California is always hard for me. Tonight, I just want to forget.”
Sawyer knows my backstory or at least the version the press reports. My true identity remains sealed, along with the true nature of my crimes, and the only other person who knows the truth, outside of those who were involved and the authorities, is Rod.
“I can get with that plan.” Sawyer grins, chinking his glass against mine. “You don’t miss it at all?” he asks a couple minutes later.
“I miss the weather, and I fucking hate the rain and snow in New York, but it’s my home now. I have a pad in L.A., but that’s purely so I have a place to stay when we’re here on business. The minute I don’t need it, I’m selling it.” I shove my feet up on the empty side of the booth, stretching out my legs. “Nice place Jordan’s got here, and business looks good.”
The large stage is the center attraction, as well as the sizable dance floor in front of it, currently occupied by an enthusiastic crowd, jumping around to the local band playing tonight. They’ve mainly stuck to playing covers, interspersed with some original stuff. They’re decent, and the crowd seems to agree. Oversized, cozy booths and sleek, leather furniture round out the décor in the space. There are two bars, one on the left and right side of the rooms, and both are mobbed with customers lining up for drinks.
“This place is a goldmine. Jordan’s a shrewd businessman even if you wouldn’t think it looking at him.” Jordan’s tatted up like Sawyer, but he’s shorter and stockier, and in his black shirt, worn jeans, and scuffed boots, he looks more like a customer than the owner. “Most everyone underestimates him, and he has a lot of self-doubt, but he’s done good with the place,” Sawyer adds with a note of pride.
Just then, the gorgeous female bartender approaches our table, fixing Sawyer with a look that would get most guys in trouble if they tried it. Her generous tits are almost spilling out of the tight-fitting corset top she’s wearing, but she’s still got nothing on Zeta. And, of course, my mind goes there again. It’s been worse today because being back in Orange County always reminds me of her.
“I’ll be back,” Sawyer says, sliding out of the booth and shooting me a knowing look.
I unscrew the cap on the bottle of whiskey. “Take your time, man. I’m going nowhere.”
“You could always join us,” the pretty bartender says, eye-fucking me without shame.
I’m smiling as I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, sweetheart, but I’m good right here.”
I don’t want to fuck anyone in the mood I’m in. Tonight, I just need to drink myself into oblivion. To blank all thoughts and memories from my mind.
I’ve drunk half the bottle by the time Sawyer returns, and I’m well on my way to achieving my goals. His hair has that just fucked look about it, but he doesn’t look overly happy. “She a shit lay?” I ask, quirking a brow in surprise, because that woman looked like she knew how to show a guy a good time. I pour him a double, because he’s got some catching up to do, and he takes the drink from my hand, knocking half it back.
“Sasha’s a great fuck, and we tend to screw whenever I drop by the bar, but I’m just not feeling it tonight.”
“I hear ya.”
We don’t talk for ages, and I get a sense Sawyer’s got a lot on his mind too. We sit in companionable silence, drinking and listening to the music, slowly getting smashed.
“You ever been in love?” he asks me, a while later, completely out of the blue.
Reporters love to ask this question, and I always lie, but Sawyer’s a buddy, and it’s not like we usually sit around and talk about this shit, so I give him an honest answer. “I was in love once.”
“What happened?” He crosses a leg over his knee, slouching a little.
“Fate fucked me over.” I pour another shot of whiskey and knock it back in one go. The room spins, and I close my eyes for a second.
