Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
I turned to the woman I assumed was the hostess. “I’d like a seat near the bar.”
“Right this way.”
She led me to a red velvet sofa and placed a narrow cocktail menu on the white marble table. I glanced over the options and when a server arrived I ordered something called a Caribbean old fashioned, delighted when it arrived quickly.
I sipped the spiced drink, letting the rum and sugar work their way toward my frayed nerves. My phone buzzed and my mother’s name flashed on the screen. I sent the call to voicemail.
Part of me wanted to tell her about meeting my dad, because she, more than anyone, knew what I’d gone through with him. But another part of me was pissed.
How could she have gone my entire life without ever mentioning that he’d remarried? Had I known my dad had a new wife, the possibility of him also having other kids might have crossed my mind, and I might not have wound up sitting in a bar at age thirty blindsided and hurt.
It wasn’t my mom’s fault. But my emotions were a little hard to manage at the moment, and I didn’t want to take my shitty feelings out on her, so it was best to avoid her for now.
I was just beginning to unwind when a feminine laugh caught my ear. I followed the sound and my gaze collided with a familiar set of gunmetal grey eyes.
Shit. My shoulders tensed.
Barrett—with another blonde bombshell plastered to his side—stared back at me. This was not the ambiguity I was seeking.
His easy expression darkened as his brows came down. I dropped my gaze and fiddled with my cocktail napkin. No chance he’d figure it was normal for me to travel across the city alone and drink at a place like this midafternoon.
He’d assume something was up, and then he’d alert Hale before I had a chance to get my thoughts together. Not that I wasn’t allowed to be there. I could go wherever I wanted, but not without Marty.
My flight or fight instincts kicked in and I felt the urge to flee again. I wasn’t sure where this hunger for defiance came from, I just knew I needed to feel untethered for a moment so I could be alone with my thoughts. This obviously wasn’t the place to do that.
Chugging back my drink, I threw a few bucks on the table and headed toward the restroom. A quick pee and then I’d move on to a different watering hole.
But as I exited the bathroom I came face to face with Barrett. “Meyers.”
“Hi, Barrett.”
“You alone?”
“In the bathroom? Yes, that’s usually how that works.”
He frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as everyone else. Drinking.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes. By myself. I am of legal age, which usually means I can do so without other people’s permission. Did you want to see my license?”
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why don’t you join us?”
I glanced past his shoulder to the ninety-pound woman with lips the size of bike tires. She somehow managed to send flirtatious glances at Barrett while also giving me the stink eye.
“No, thanks.”
He looked back at his companion and she smiled, sweetly, cocking her narrow shoulder out.
“You’re sure?” Barrett asked, appearing reluctant to let me pass.
“Positive. I was just leaving.” Before he could stop me, I said, “Have fun on your date.”
Walking past him, I reached the elevators and paused. Barrett returned to his table, but he didn’t sit down. He said something to the woman and she pouted. Then he was coming toward me again.
“Come on,” I hissed, poking the call button of the elevator. But Barrett got there first. He stood silently at my side and I looked up at him. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you.”
“Aren’t you on a date?”
He shrugged. “I told her we’d reschedule.”
The elevator arrived and we each stepped in. Neither of us said anything on the entire journey to the ground floor. When we hit the sidewalk he kept pace silently at my side.
“You didn’t have to come with me,” I said, annoyed by his company. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.” But I still wasn’t hungry. This no appetite thing was uncharted territory for me.
“I know a place up here.” He led me around the corner and we popped into a bustling pub.
The blue lit restaurant was simple with brick walls, a varnished bar, and beers on tap. The air smelled of burgers and fries so I didn’t object when he asked for a table for two.
“We’ll start with a round of shooters,” he told the waiter. “Bring us your best tequila.”
“You’re feeling ambitious.”
“I don’t feel like playing guess the mood. In my experience, tequila’s the fastest way to get a woman bitching about her problems. And you look like you have something on your mind you need to bitch about.”