Her mouth gaped. “But…it’s date night.”
“And you’re telling me that all of your dates are perfect? That there are none you wish wouldn’t last longer?”
She grabbed her drink, only to realize it was empty. The bartender slid another glass in front of her without her asking.
“Thanks,” she smiled.
I had to admit, this woman was gorgeous. Not my normal type, but still beautiful. She had natural curls that kind of went crazy around her face and bright blue eyes that stood out even in the dark. In fact, she sort of reminded me of someone.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Ellie,” she said, holding out her hand.
Ellie. Ellie. Why did that—Oh shit. “Uh…” I cleared my throat, taking her hand. “Ryder.”
Her smile fell instantly and she snatched her hand back. “Oh my God! I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Yeah,” I winced, wishing I could take back the last five minutes and sit beside someone else.
“Ryder Lawson.”
I nodded.
“Ryder Fucking Lawson,” she added.
“Yeah, you don’t have to say it with the fuck in the middle. It’s not my middle name.”
She scoffed, taking a long sip of her wine. “I can’t fucking believe it. I heard you were back, but I didn’t think I’d end up sitting next to you in a bar. What’d you do to end up back here?”
I really didn’t want to talk about why I was back in town. “Look, about when we were kids?—”
She barked out a laugh, grabbing her purse. “Yeah, don’t bother.”
“Ellie, seriously, I was a kid.”
“A horrible kid.” She got to her feet to leave, but then turned and glared at me. “A horribleperson. You know, when you’re in high school, you’re no longer really a kid.”
“Technically, you are until you’re eighteen.”
“That excuse doesn’t fly with me. You know, you tormented me for years!”
“That was then. I’m actually a pretty decent person now,” I argued.
“I hated you! God!” she nearly screamed, drawing attention from nearly everyone in the bar. “And to think, I was actually drawn into the whole charming Tuesday/Thursday thing. What an idiot.”
“I wasn’t trying to be charming. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m here.”
“Am I supposed to ask why? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Why did you even come home?”
I sighed and finished off my beer. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
“Don’t bother. I’m going.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s a free country. I can leave if I want to.”
“Not if I leave first!”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
