Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
They appeared to have a good selection of beers and liquor here. That boded well for me.
Sebastian furrowed his brow, as if he was trying to read me, but I was empty tonight. Or rather, I was a book he didn’t wanna open. It wasn’t pretty inside.
“Any preference on the tequila?”
I shook my head and shrugged out of my jacket. Tonight I’d drink cat piss if it got me wasted.
He returned with my drinks a hot minute later, and I wasted no time.
Happy birthday, sugar. I miss you.
I threw back the first shot and grimaced at the intense flavor. The second shot went down as quickly, and then I took a swig of my beer. Shouldn’t be too long now before the numbness set in.
Sebastian kept busy, glancing my way every now and then, and I buried myself in my phone to avoid the looks. I scrolled through pictures of Rosie and the boys, and I realized, for the longest time, my dogs had been the only constant that didn’t make me wanna chase that numbness. In every other aspect of my life, I’d played things safe for as long as I could remember.
I could be the center of attention at a party one night, only to slide out the back door when the sun rose and never go back to that place again. Never see those faces again.
Noticing that my beer was gone, I set my phone on the bartop and lifted my gaze. A couple had left, a few more had arrived. Sebastian was at the other end of the bar, and the guy he was talking to looked a little too interested.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Bartender,” I hollered.
Sebastian exchanged a couple more words, perhaps telling the guy he’d be right back—what the fuck did I know—and then he made his way back to me.
“Another beer, please,” I requested. “Wouldn’t mind a nice bourbon either.”
“All right.”
I watched him work. I watched his forearms and his hands as he picked a bourbon from the top shelf, how he poured it into a glass, and then how he grabbed a new beer glass from under the counter and walked over to the nearest tap. This was mindless work, and he made it look easy. Graceful, almost. Being a bartender wasn’t his passion in life, so he probably didn’t go the extra mile to know a million cocktail recipes, but whenever someone gave him a job to do, he did it well.
When he handed me my drinks, he also removed the empty glasses, and then he was gone again. The fucker returned to that other guy, and either they were flirting or they knew each other well enough to sport grins and slip back into conversation as if they’d done it many times before.
The bourbon became a soothing medicine to fight the bitterness that flowed through me.
This was his fucking fault. Sebastian had made me feel too much. He’d shattered a wall of detachment around me and brought me out to where life hurt you.
How far would he go with me around? If that guy leaned forward, would Sebastian go for it? Fuck, I could see it in my head. I could see how they both leaned in and met in a kiss over the bar.
Jealousy and nausea churned in my stomach.
Maybe I’d see the moment Sebastian slipped him the tongue too.
Motherfucker.
Anger started brewing under the surface.
I swallowed the rest of my bourbon and let it trail heat down my throat. “Bartender.”
Sebastian straightened and came my way once more, the smile he’d had for his new man gone. On the way, he removed a couple glasses from the bar.
“Gimme a drink,” I said. “Maybe something that takes an hour to mix.”
Sebastian’s forehead creased. “Is this your dinner? It’s a little soon for you to be lit already.”
“I ain’t lit. Just quit keepin’ tabs on what I eat and do your job.” I pushed the empty glass across the bar and grabbed my beer. “You can talk to your new boyfriend over there after you’ve clocked out.”
They could go on Sebastian’s goddamn four-wheeler and move the party to his beach house. To his bed.
Fuckers.
Sebastian became stone-faced and picked a bottle of vermouth from the shelves. “Since when do you care about who I see?”
“I fucking don’t.” I chugged half my beer and wondered why the hell he was bringing out a martini glass. Did I look like a martini guy? “Better him than me. Hell—if anythin’, I feel sorry for the guy.”
Who didn’t stand a chance. He was gonna fall victim to Sebastian’s hippie voodoo next, and he’d become an anxiety-ridden mess of emotions and doubts. I knew what I was talking about.
Sebastian set the glass in front of me with a little too much force, then dropped a cocktail onion in it before stalking away.