Page 108 of The Rules of Dating

“Thanks.”

I knocked back the tequila shot and made a face that probably looked like I’d just sucked on a lemon.

The bartender snickered. “I thought so.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a regular thing for you, is it?”

“Definitely not.”

He leaned an elbow on the bar. “You want to talk about it?”

I looked him over. He was probably in his early sixties, wearing a tucked-in plaid shirt and a pair of jeans with a towel slung over his shoulder. “You married?”

He held up three fingers. “Third time’s a charm.”

It hit me for the first time that if I married Billie, she wouldn’t be my first wife. She’d always be number two, and she didn’t deserve anything but being a one and only.

I lifted the glass of tequila and sipped. “What happened to the first two?”

“I’ve been sober for six years. Can’t really tell you what went wrong the first couple times because I don’t remember most of those years. But I’m guessing it had something to do with me being a raging alcoholic. I’m not a happy drunk.”

“You’re in recovery and you work at a bar?”

“Own it. Not much else I know how to do except run a bar.”

I nodded.

The bartender held out his hand. “Name’s Stan Fumey. Nice to meet you.”

“Colby Lennon.” I shook.

“So what’s your story?” Stan asked. “Wife giving you a hard time so you’re in here trying to forget she exists?”

“Something like that…”

“How long you been married?”

“What time is it now?”

Stan looked over his shoulder at a Budweiser clock on the wall. “It’s just about five o’clock.”

I nodded. “About an hour then.”

His brows pulled together. “You’re shittin’ me.”

I sipped more tequila. “Wish I was. Got married at four o’clock.”

“Where’s your bride?”

“Getting run over by a bus, hopefully.”

The bartender chuckled. “I have two words of advice for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Walter Potter.”