I press the side button to put the phone to sleep.
The screen turns dark, something inside of me shutting down, too.
And as much as it breaks me, I don’t call.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why are you here?”
The door to the bar slams shut, choking the sunlight that illuminated through the bar for a brief second. Heavy boots slap against the concrete floor as Cain Michaels, the president of The Sinners motorcycle club, stomps in my direction.
To everyone else, Cain is one scary motherfucker. But to me, he’s just Rosie’s husband.
“What’s it look like?” I sass, turning back to push a bottle of brandy onto the top shelf.
“It looks like you’re working on your day off. Rosie said you had a thing with your brother today. So I’ll ask you again—why are you here?”
Because this bar is my life.
Because if I go to dinner with Dylan, Gareth will be there, too.
And if I see Gareth, I might fully shatter.
“Because I have time to kill,” is what I opt to tell Cain, shrugging nonchalantly as I grab another bottle of booze and put it on a shelf. For a few seconds longer than I need to, I keep myback toward him, my thoughts lingering on seeing Gareth as I spin my ring.
Ialwaysspin my ring when I think about him.
“You know, there’s more to life than your job.” He takes a seat on a barstool, reaching over to pluck a maraschino cherry from the jar I just refilled. “What was up with that guy I saw you with a while back?”
My heart stutters, freezing me in my tracks for a second before I readjust my carefully constructed mask. I roll my eyes. “Not you too.”
His shoulders lift. “Seemed like there was something there.”
Spinning on my heel, I reach for another bottle in the box. “Cain, if I wanted to divulge my love life to you, I would have done it by now.”
“Yet my wife went to a baseball game because of your love life. Seems like I know some of the details already, so you might as well fill me in. Maybe a man’s perspective would help.”
I’d rather choke down this entire bottle of vodka in one breath than talk to Cain about my situation with Gareth, but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I plaster on a wide grin.
“That’s kind of you, bossman, but really there’s nothing to tell. And Iamabout to get out of here, I just wanted to get this box unpacked.”
“Hot date?”
“Psh. You know I don’t date, Cain. I use men for the one thing they’re good for.” I wink at him playfully, and he wrinkles his nose.
“No surprise there. You know King’s been hoping to get a taste of that attitude of yours, right?”
“King can keep wishing.”
“Oh, he will. I’m sure of it.”
King’s been laying it on thick for weeks now, and every time I tell him I’m not interested. I roll my eyes. “I don’t know howmany different ways I need to tell him he’s not my type, but I’ll keep trying, I guess.”
“What is your type?Baseball player?Where’s he taking you tonight?” He reaches across the bar again and grabs another cherry.
I glare at Cain with a look that has him lifting his hands in surrender. “Dinner with my brother, if you must know, you nosey ass.”
Cain laughs, then slides off his barstool, rapping his knuckles against the wood grain of the bar a couple of times. “Have a great time, Indy. And stop coming in when you’re not scheduled. You deserve a break.”
