“Thingsweregoing great.”
“I take it things aren’t going great now?” Brek hooked a hip on the counter-height bar top.
“What gave it away?”
“You’re here drinking bourbon, looking like someone shoved their boot on your heart.”
That was an aptly appropriate, yet sucky assertation of how things were going.
He’d reran the night before over and over in his head and, aside from the whole prostitute thing, everything had gone fine.
That was the thing with his family dinners—they were never fine. The night was so fine it creeped him right the fuck out. They’d had a perfectly normal celebration for the news of his little niece or nephew and everyone got drunk on mashed potatoes. Everyone but Heather.
And Roman got it. That feeling Sadie had had in the elevator at the hospital when she saw the picture of her nephew for the first time. Yeah, he got it.
The problem with a totally fine family evening was that it ended totally…fine. Sadie got in her car and drove away. He got in his and drove away.
The guy two barstools down lifted his tumbler. “I’ll take the crouton thing.”
“Bourbon.” Roman raised his glass—the drink of a man trying to figure out emotions and failing miserably.
“Ever wonder what the hell brought you to this point in life?” the guy asked.
All the fucking time.
He glanced at his bar mate. Stockbroker type. Suit, tie, and the look of lost love.
“You look like you’ve been spit out,” Roman said.
The guy nodded and tapped his index finger against the glass Brek had filled, a solemn expression across his face.
Brek turned his back to them, mixing a batch of drinks for one of the waitresses.
“Figured,” Roman replied.
Stockbroker Guy focused on the fluorescent Coors sign on the wall. “I found her because of a joke. I lost her because I’m an idiot.”
“Been there. Done that.” Roman scowled at the surface of his amber liquid. Not the joke thing, but the rest of it, sure.
“Where did it all go wrong?” the guy asked.
Roman couldn’t tell if the guy was asking the Coors sign or him. Didn’t matter. Roman shook his head. He knew where it all went wrong the first time—that was on him. He just couldn’t figure out what had gotten whacked this round.
The only thing he could hope for was that the future wouldn’t keep being a dick and second chances wouldn’t be optional.
“Too much time at the desk,” the guy mused. “Spent too much time paying into the future when I wasn’t taking care of the present. So the present marched right down to the courthouse and filed for a separation.”
That sucked. Wasn’t Roman’s story, but it sucked all the same. Any story that ended with two guys hanging out at a bar, wishing they were with the girl... Yeah, it sucked.
“The worst part?” The man continued musing. “I’m fighting her for the stuff and time with our kids, but what I really want is her. I met her. I fell in love with her. Now it’s all screwed up.”
Roman felt for the guy.
“What’s your story?” the guy asked.
Roman swiped at the condensation on his glass with the pad of his thumb. “I thought I wanted something else. Played the wrong cards at the wrong time.”
“Who knew love was a poker match,” he replied. “We pick a partner, play the wrong cards...”
