“Ladies,” he says in the same cocky voice he used on me last time. “What can I get the three most beautiful women in Manhattan to drink tonight?”
Barf. Thank God he didn’t use that line on me. I would have socked him in his pretty mouth.
But it works like a charm on them. They coo and fall all over themselves as he makes them sugary cocktails, tossing the bottle up in the air and catching it with ease, performing to his adoring crowd. As he works, I study him. His smooth moves, his outgoing demeanor, that gleam in his eye that tells the world how sure he is of himself. He might have been apologetic and restrained with me just now, but that’s only because he’s afraid of Cory. I’ve already seen his true nature, and I’m not sure I like it.
The girls do, though. They can’t tip him enough, and one even reaches out to touch his tattoos, asking him about them. As I watch him flirt, I get a flashback to when I met Mark in a bar downtown, all those years ago. He was a hotshot bartender too. He made me a margarita and I asked him about his tattoo, flirting with him until he asked for my phone number. We were married six months later, and while I didn’t love watching him flirt with women as he worked, I knew it was part of the job and I figured it was harmless. Besides, I trusted him.
That was my first mistake.
I’ll never forget the first time Mark cheated on me. I caught him kissing some girl in a booth at the bar one night when I surprised him with a visit. I guess I probably should have walked away then and there, but we were young and we hadn’t been married long—and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be another divorce statistic like my parents—so we talked it through and Mark promised it would never happen again. He quit bartending and moved into real estate shortly after and I was relieved, to say the least. I put it behind me and for years, things were good. No—they were great.
That’s the thing about liars, though. They lull you into a false sense of security, then pull the rug out from under you when you least expect it. Suddenly you’re lying face-down in the dirt, wondering why you didn’t see this coming from a mile away, and swearing you’ll never let it happen again.
I reach for my glass, crunching on an ice cube. It’s been four years since our divorce and as much as I hate what Mark put me through in our marriage—and what he’s put me through since—he helped me learn something fundamental about life: at the end of the day, you can’t trust anyone but yourself.
Actually, that’s not true. Because I’m the idiot who chose to stick around with him for all those years. So I can’t even trust myself, either. This is why I need my dating rules, otherwise I’d keep making the same dumb mistakes.
Anyway, something good came out of it all, because without Mark I wouldn’t have my store.
I laugh bitterly into my empty vodka glass, the events of the afternoon replaying in my mind. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I always meant to move, one day, but I never did. And now that I’m in debt and can’t afford to move, I’m screwed. In some ways it makes perfect sense that since Mark helped me get my store, he has the power to take it away from me, too. After all the years of hard work I put into building my little business, it feels like I never really had it—like all my work was for nothing. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself; maybe this whole time it was never really mine. And now that I could lose it, just like that, I’ve never felt more powerless.
I heave out a breath, crossing my arms on the bar in front of me and lowering my head. I’ve never been the type to feel sorry for myself, but right now I’m struggling to fight back the rising tide of self-pity. Because this sucks.
“Hey, sis.”
A hand ruffles my hair and I lift my head, giving Cory a bleak smile. “Hey.”
Concern etches into his brow when he sees my face. “You okay?”
I shake my head, holding my empty vodka glass out. “Another. Please.”
He nods, quickly making me my usual. Then he crouches under my stool to pat Stevie, before hauling himself up onto the stool beside me.
I look at the bar around us with a frown. It’s getting busy now. “Cors, it’s okay. You should—”
“Hey,” he says gently, reaching an arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze. “Myles can handle it, plus Eddy and Josie are here. Now, spill.”
I reach for my drink with a grumble. “Mark’s raising my rent. A lot.”
“Oh. Shit.” Cory wipes a hand down his face.
“I tried to talk to him, to see if he could wait for a bit until I can figure it all out, but he said it’s time, and it’s not personal, blah, blah, blah.”
“Fucking jerk.” A muscle ticks in Cory’s jaw.
Despite everything, a small smile touches my lips. Ever since Dad left when we were kids, Cory’s been the one to look out for me. He can’t help it. He might go through women like I go through vodka, but when it comes to the people closest to him, he’s the most fiercely loving guy I know. He understands better than anyone what Mark put me through, and after the nasty incident in Brooklyn last year, he’s been more protective than ever.
“What are you going to do?”
I shrug, taking a deep swallow of vodka. “Drink.”
“No.” He reaches for the glass but I hold it behind my back. “Seriously, Cat. We can figure this out. I can loan you some money until—”
“No way.” The last thing I’m going to do is take money from Cory. He built this place from the ground up without taking a dime from anyone, and while Mark might have helped me out in the past, I want to do this on my own now.
“It’s no big deal. I’d be happy to loan you—”
“No,” I repeat, setting my glass down. “No, I need to figure this out by myself. But I don’t think there’s anything to figure out. I can’t afford what he’s asking and I can’t afford to move—at least not anytime soon. I’m screwed.” My eyes land on Myles down the bar, twirling his bottle for another group of women. “You think I could pull off bartending?” I ask Cory, only half kidding.
