Page 7

I don’t have a lot of local girlfriends. Bunny and the nurses in my clinic are terribly sweet. They are always encouraging and thoughtful, remembering my birthday each year by bringing in a potluck and a cake. Yet, they are more acquaintances and coworkers than friends. Other than Lilly and Georgia, who are both still in college, my girl tribe is primarily out of town. Alas, they live too far away for an impromptu drink on a Friday night. And as accommodating as Claire is, Zoom drinking simply isn’t the same.

I order a glass of Pinot Grigio anyway, staring down at the illuminated screen as if through sheer force of will I can make Kat call back and declare a miracle has occurred. That Nick magically walked through the door early and rescued her from the trenches. Instead, a shadow falls over me, cutting off the ambient light of the bar.

“Well, well. Sorry to interrupt your deep and meaningful evening with… oh, yourself,” a deep, rich timbre vibrates right through my spine.

I jolt in surprise. Both at the uninvited snark as well as my immediate response to it. My hand twitches violently, knocking the base of my wineglass. A heavy splash of pale yellow liquid sloshes over the rim, soaking the front of my cream silk blouse. “Dammit!” I gasp, grabbing a napkin as the cool moisture hits my skin.

My head snaps up, steam practically pouring from my ears, ready to obliterate the taunting stranger who startled me. But the moment my eyes lock onto the smirk towering overhead, my breath catches in my throat.

Sam. And just when I didn’t think this day could get any worse.

He looks exactly the same, only more devastatingly handsome, if that’s possible. Broad shoulders filling out a dark jacket, messy hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed, and those azure blue eyes that used to make my stomach do backflips when we were kids. Now, they just make my blood boil. He’s still wearing that same effortlessly infuriating, charismatic confidence that used to make my heart race.

Before it broke me.

I hold the damp napkin to my chest, my eyes narrowing into slits as I glare at him. “You owe me my dry-cleaning bill,” I bite out, dabbing furiously at the spreading translucent stain on my silk blouse.

“Always a pleasure to see you too, Queen P.” The sound of that awful nickname drawls out of his perfect big lips, making my jaw clench. Sam slides onto the vacant barstool right next to mine without waiting for an invitation. He signals the bartender with a casual flick of his wrist. “Macallan, neat. And put a fresh Pinot Grigio on my tab for the lonely lady. Clearly, she’s had a rough night.”

Ugh. This condescending blowhard. Of all of the places for him to be tonight. Like I haven’t had to deal with enough egotistical men.

I spin to face him, wishing my glare could vaporize this arrogant asshole. “I was having a lovely night until you decided to sneak up on me like a bad hangover.” I toss the ruined cocktail napkin onto the bar and cross my arms, holding myself rigid. “What are you even doing here? Don’t you usually frequent places with VIP ropes and bottle service? I would’ve thought a trendy suburban eatery would be below your station.”

There’s a subtle downturn of the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting, but I caught it. Yet there’s no time to decipher what it might mean when he hits me with, “I like to mingle with the common folk every now and then.” He smirks, turning his body toward mine. His gaze drops lazily to my chest, where the wet silk is clinging to my skin, before flicking back up to meet my eyes, appearing unimpressed. But then again, when it comes to me, he’s always been unimpressed. “Besides, I saw a woman sitting here all alone, looking like her puppy just died. I thought I’d offer my benevolence.”

As if. “How philanthropic of you.” I roll my eyes so hard they practically orbit my own skull. “I don’t have a puppy. So you can take your scotch and go bother someone else.”

“Ouch. That hurts, Dr. Patterson.” He leans in an inch closer, the warm scent of oak, fresh earth, and expensive whiskey washing over me, causing that familiar tingle to stir low in my belly. Okay, lower. The two-timing harlot. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

An old friend.

The words hit like a low blow, dragging up memories I’ve spent years trying to bury. The boy who used to sit amongst the vines with me on the property that connected my family’s land with his, pointing out constellations and sharing our dreams, has been replaced by this charming, careless playboy who turned his back on me without an explanation.

And the worst part? My heart is thumping against my ribs like the foolish teenager of long ago. A traitorous sizzle of heat zips straight down my spine, making my skin prickle under his intense gaze. I hate him for it. The dickhead.

I hate that after all these years, after every heartless thing he’s done to solidify his reputation, he still has this unbelievably magnetic pull over me.

“We stopped being friends a long time ago, Sam,” I blurt. “And you have no one to thank but yourself. Now, you’re simply someone I wish I could forget.”

My words are harsh, but true. He’s hurt me enough. I’m not going to let him continue tearing pieces of my heart like confetti beneath his feet.

The bartender sets his scotch down, along with a fresh glass of white wine for me. Sam doesn’t reach for his drink immediately. Instead, his smirk falters for a fraction of a second, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he smoothly masks it with another easy smile.

“Come on,” he hums, picking up his glass and tilting it in my direction. “We survived childhood, bad haircuts, and high school art class together. Surely, we can survive one drink.”

“I’d rather drink drain cleaner,” I mutter, pushing my glass away, even though I’m longing for a long, brain-numbing sip.

“Liar.” He chuckles, leaning his elbow on the bar, looking at me like I’m the most interesting puzzle he’s ever tried to solve. “Admit it. You’ve missed me.”

“I’ve missed you the way a person misses a migraine,” I snap. “You, Samuel Lee, are proof that evolution occasionally takes a step backward.” Turning toward the bartender I push up from my seat. It’s clear this day is no longer worth saving. I just want to go home. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it, Queenie.”

I whirl to face him. “Let’s get this straight, asshole. I want nothing from you. You walked away from our friendship and proceeded to make my senior year in high school a living hell. I was hurt in the beginning, but now I’m just annoyed. Frustrated, I was a good friend who you treated like a mealybug beneath your feet. Now it’s decades later, and you have nothing better to do with your time than continue to bully me like you did all those years ago. I feel sorry for you, Sam. You’re pathetic,” I snap. But as I grab my clutch from the countertop and look into those infuriating deep blue eyes, my pulse betrays me again with a heavy, uneven cadence.

Damn him. When will he stop having this effect on me?

Chapter Four