Page 41

There wasn't much variety, besides the clear stand-out of himself. Among them was a woman adorned in diamonds who looked like she could have owned the place, and a man whose suit probably cost as much as Ethan's monthly rent.

Everyone seemed to be teeming with excitement, laughing heartily at each other's jokes, and conversations flowed effortlessly amongst them.

These people fit here: well-dressed, attractive, and entirely at ease with themselves.

Ethan felt like an imposter.

A sheep among wolves.

He pushed his palms into his eyes and cringed at the thought, wondering how often Jake and the others had come to this very same bar.

The bartender's voice cut through the noise, pulling Ethan back.

“What can I get you, sir?” Even the bartender's voice was dripping with a posh veneer.

Ethan looked around for a menu, scrambling to think of something. The last time he'd been to a bar was after his Dad's funeral. He'd drowned himself in whatever was put in front of him that night. His sister found him the next morning, asleep on the rooftop of their condo.

He swore off drinking after that and had actually stuck to it. Being in control was too important to him. But tonight, maybe he needed to loosen that grip a little.

“Uh... whiskey?” he asked. The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and his throat tightened a little.

Dad's drink.

Ethan remembered watching him pour it for himself after long days at work, the amber liquid catching the light as they looked out at the New York City skyline together. He’d never actually ordered one himself, though.

“Sure, sir. Neat or on the rocks?”

The hell? Oh god.

Ethan's mind went blank. Despite watching his Dad drink it a hundred times, he couldn't remember how he took it or what the typical response was.

“Uh... rocks. On the rocks.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, and Ethan could already feel his cheeks burning. “Any preference on the whiskey, sir?”

Ethan half-smiled and nodded, begging internally for the conversation to end. “Whatever you recommend.”

“Coming right up, sir.” The bartender's mouth curved tightly, stifling a smile.

Really smooth, dude.

As Ethan waited, his eyes scanned the other patrons at the bar. It was practically full, with only a few empty seats between him and everyone else.

He made eye contact with a woman seated opposite him. She smiled and nodded.

Instead of responding like a normal human being, he smiled through clenched teeth while his stomach did flips. It clearly wasn't the right move because she averted her eyes immediately. Strike one.

Steeling his resolve, he tried ignoring the heat that crept up his neck. The bartender returned, setting down a glass of amber liquid with a large sphere of ice sitting in the center. Ethan thanked him and lifted the glass to his lips, hoping it would ease some of the anxiety.

The whiskey hit his taste buds immediately —vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of smoke. It burned going down, but it was better than he'd expected.

Ethan traced his fingers along the condensation forming on the rim, catching his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Christ, he looked nervous and tense.

Chill out. Loosen up.

He'd ticked one item off his list already, one drink, he thought. Ordering a drink was the easier part. But the last goal, the most anxiety-inducing one, remained. Going up to a stranger and talking? His stomach twisted, and the warmth of whiskey wasn't doing enough to ease it.

Beautiful women and men stood to his left. Should he just walk up, integrating into the crowd like he was one of them? He shook his head as he fidgeted with his hands. It may not be the best move to enter a crowd like that right off the bat.