I wheel in through the door, taking in the dark wood and stained glass as I hitch myself onto a barstool. Fuck, I promised Des I wouldn’t drink on my own again. Is drinking in a bar okay because you’re around other people, even if they’re not technically with you? I’m sure that’s not what he meant.
The bartender jerks his chin at me. “What can I get you?”
“Jack Daniels, thanks. Double.” That should do it.
He nods.
Who did Des think I was going to drink with, anyway? I have very few friends outside of my relationship with Jane, and I’m the head of the team at work. I have no one to call in New York, no one who’d understand. Except perhaps Jo, and she’s heavily pregnant and my boss. Not exactly a prime day-drinking candidate. I can’t get drunk with someone from the office either.
Although … maybe …
Sadie.
I groan to myself. But something about living together and bonding over Mr. Karen … she’s become a friend, even in such a short time. The guy comes back with my whiskey, and I take a sip, heat burning down my throat. Would Sadie be willing to sit with me for half an hour while I calm the fuck down? She said she was good with secrets, after all. No one needs toknow I had a couple of drinks in the middle of the day. It’s not exactly unheard of in Manhattan. I fire off a text.
Could you come and meet me?
Is everything okay?
Yeah. I just need you to come and meet me.
Like, where?
I peer down the bar to where the bartender is cleaning some glasses. “Hey, what’s the address here?”
He lifts his head and walks back toward me. “It’s 115 Broadway, but if someone’s coming here, tell them Cedar Place because that’s where the entrance is.”
Pfft. Why don’t I just share my location with Sadie on Google Maps?
I’ve shared my location with you.
Sweet.
I knock back the rest of my drink, rendering myself speechless for a handful of blissful empty seconds.
“Another double!” I say to the bartender’s retreating back, and he turns and raises his eyebrows, but pulls the bottle from a shelf above the bar.
I’m nursing my third whiskey in my hands when Sadie walks through the door, wearing a loose shirt over smart black pants, her startling gray eyes and caramel-colored hair piled on her head. She looks amazing. I wave at her, and she tilts her head toward me as she makes her way over.
“Hey, James,” she says, sliding onto the barstool beside me. “What’s the occasion?”
“Death,” I say, and her eyes go wide. I hold my hand up, leaning forward to whisper, “Death of a relationship.”
“Oh, okay.” Some of the color returns to her face.
“What can I get you?” I say as the bartender appears next to us.
“An orange juice, thanks,” she says.
“Just warning you, this guy’s had three doubles already and I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“No problem,” Sadie says, surprisingly steadily.
I slap my forehead. “You don’t drink,” I say.
“No worries. I don’t mind watching other people drink. I’ve done it often enough,” she mutters, and I examine her for a second. She has? Is that asshole I met in the lobby a drinker?
“So day-drinking?” she says. “Not something I would have automatically associated with James Royce.”
