I whip around. A guy is slouching there next to me—thirtysomething, eyes shining with booze.
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“I insist,” he slurs, dragging his stool closer.
Great. I’m on a hot date with a hot mess.
I sip on my beer, studiously ignoring him.
You wanna buy me drinks? Knock yourself out, man. But that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me. I’m definitely not in the mood to play.
I should give him a heads-up—warn him that when I swipe, I go in with my fists.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“Tina Turner.”
“A little fiery tonight, huh?”
Don’t make me glass you.
He laughs. “The name’s—”
“I don’t actually give a fuck,” I snap.
“That could work.” He nods. “I’m passing through for the night—quick fuck, no names needed.”
I place my beer down on the counter and turn to him slowly.
“You know, on a scale of ‘shittiest nights ever,’ this one was about an eighty. You just got that up to ninety, and if you don’t stop busting my balls, you’ll get to see what happens when it hits a hundred.”
I focus back on my beer, tightening my grip on the glass when I hear him mutter under his breath.
“Bitch.”
Whatever you do, don’t hit him—don’t do it, Amy.
When he finally slinks off, my mind circles back to Lewis Conley, master ghoster. All those doubts I had tucked away at the back of my mind have come flying out with a vengeance. I was kidding myself, and now I have no choice but to face the cold, hard facts—he only ever comes to see me when he needs to get his rocks off, and while that’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s not enough for me. It’s not what I expected from this.
I scramble for excuses. Maybe I’m getting it all wrong. Maybe there’s a valid reason for why he is the way he is. It doesn’t matter which way I stack it, though—the truth is, I’ve been kidding myself since day one. When we hook up, it feels like so much more than sex, but I’m starting to think that’s all in my head.Fuck. Why is this so complicated?
“Same again.”
I’ve had way too much to drink, but I’m past caring.
“This one’s on me.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me…
This time, I swivel to my left, and it’s not the drunk from earlier. It’s something worse.
“Esteban…”
The shitiness scale just hit a hundred.
“Good night?” He perches on the stool next to me. “Looks like your new friend is a quitter.”
He nods over at the drunk guy and orders himself a beer.
