Page 40 of Hard to Love

I was counting on you to help me out and last night was proof that you were the right person for the job.

“Okay. Should I get you another one then?” She tips her head to my half-empty glass.

“Nah. I have client meetings I need to get to. Phone calls.” It’s not a lie, but the last thing I want to do right now is work. “I should get up to my room.”

“Okay. Well, best of luck with them.” Another round of yelling goes up and she stands on her tippy-toes to look and see but shrugs as if she can’t see anything.

“At least someone’s getting lucky,” I murmur.

She laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “I hope whoever she is, she’s worth this misery you seem to have found yourself in.”

My smile falters. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve been doing this for over ten years. I know a man in misery over a woman when I see one and you, sir, are the perfect picture of just that.”

I open my mouth to refute her but leave it be.

It doesn’t matter to her.

But hell if it doesn’t matter to me. I slide some tip money across the bar with the intention of heading up to the new room I booked last night. The one that gave me a little more space from her so that I could clear my head and prepare to call Carson.

The call I made but the confrontation I didn’t have. Why didn’t I ask him if Gabe was right and that he set this all up?

Isn’t that the question of the fucking day?

Is it because I was afraid the answer would be yes or because regardless of the answer, there’s an undeniable attraction and chemistry between us?

Even now, I’m fucking thinking about her.

“I just don’t think we gel well, Carson. Last night was a fluke and she pulled it off, but I’m not the right fit for her.”

Right fit for her my ass.

But it was my excuse. My reasoning.

And it’s a damn good one to smother how I feel about last night. The look on her face. The one captured by the camera and spread around the world.

Stevie is falling for me, and I can’t have that.

I quit because of her.

Not because of how I feel at all.

“Thanks.” I smile and rise from my seat, drink still in hand, as a chant breaks out that I can’t quite make out.

Of course, I look.

Anything to take my mind off my current misery and avoidance is clearly welcome. And lucky for me, the crowd chanting in a circle is in the direction I’m headed.

But it’s only when I get closer that I notice it’s mostly men stretching on their toes and craning to see, with phones held above their heads to record whatever’s happening.

It’s only then that I catch on to the chant.

Ste-vie!

Ste-vie!

I catch a glimpse on one of the phone screens being held up. I know that head of blond hair.