“Positive,” I say and look to Royal for help. She’s better than the rest of them, but even she makes comments about how she would feel if it were her who was being harassed for no apparent reason. There’s a reason, I’m sure. There must be a reason. Of course there’s a reason. Just not one that Detective Capriotti or the rest of us can figure out. After I’d freaked out on Lydia—and I still maintain I had every right to blame her—Jameson took me to the police station where we filled out a report. The detective was kind enough, but he seemed to have bigger problems than ours.
“Another beer?” I ask. I shift on my bar stool and wait for Hennessey’s answer. Since Jameson is on shift right now, he elected Hennessey to keep an eye on me. He’s enacted some kind of martial law and convinced everybody that I can’t be left to my own devices. Not that I want to be left alone. If Jameson isn’t with me, then one of his brothers or Royal are. He even got Claire in on it, but I’m usually with one of the boys. One night he had his dad walk me home, and another afternoon my dad got a car to pick me up from an early shift. These security measures made Detective Capriotti happy. Not that he seems like a man who is happy often. I couldn’t figure it out, but for some reason the good detective and the Hayes boys seem to have underlying issues.
“You still haven’t given me an answer,” he says imploringly. I signal to the bartender for two more beers, just assuming he wants another one. I’m stalling. “Melanie . . .”
“To what?” I ask. He hasn’t asked me anything lately, but I know damn well what he’s talking about. I’m just buying myself a few seconds’ time to formulate a fair response.
“I asked you out.” His voice is firm, and he’s staring at me expectantly. “But I’m getting the impression that you’re avoiding giving me an answer.”
“Perceptive,” I say with a nod. “I like you. You’re a good friend.”
He nods with a stern jaw and focused eyes. The bartender, Ernie, brings two fresh bottles and sets them in front of us. It’s enough of a distraction to keep his mouth busy as he takes a drink. I blow out a breath and decide it’s better to be totally honest than to half-ass it and risk hurting his feelings even more than I already am.
“But I love your brother.” Crap. I said that aloud. Jeez. I didn’t think it would feel so weighty and important once I said it aloud, but it does.
“Saw that coming,” he says with a discontented laugh.
“Do you really think you have feelings for me?” I ask, because I doubt that he does.
“You’re really asking me that?”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re always telling me about the last girl you hooked up with and getting my opinion on whether or not you should ask them out again. I just think if you genuinely liked me, you wouldn’t do that stuff.”
“The truth?” he says.
I elbow him in the side and laugh. “Absolutely.”
“I don’t like to lose to Jay. Yeah, I like you but it’s mostly like . . . you somehow encourage me to be a better person. Like fucking around all the time with women I don’t even know isn’t always going to be enough.”
“I represent a stability that you seek but have yet to figure out how to obtain. Makes sense.”
“Okay, Dr. Mel, did you decide to go to medical school when I wasn’t looking?”
I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know that I will, but it’s an idea. I was leaning more toward social work, but therapy pays better, and I know plenty of people who have serious issues and too much money to spend. I just don’t know if I could make a career out of listening to other people’s problems.
A group of guys who look beat and are wearing their house’s shirt walk in and meet Hennessey’s eye. They must have just gotten off shift. Hennessey gives them a nod and raises his beer.
“Go talk to your buddies,” I say and wave him off. He gives me a guilty smile. I cut him off before he can ask if I’m sure, because I am. I don’t really want to keep talking about Hennessey’s fake feelings.
“Okay, I’ll just be across the bar.”
“I’m not going to run off, Dad.”
“Ouch. But listen, maybe you can help me figure out how to be a better guy?”
“I can put you through a ‘Don’t Be a Douche’ camp if you want,” I say with a contemplative smile. His eyes slide across the bar and fall on the new bartender, a curvy woman with black hair wearing a short-sleeved black mock turtleneck. His eyes soften, and it’s in this moment that I realize there’s a motivating factor in Hennessey’s sudden desire to not be a womanizer. I don’t even know her name, but I’m determined to now that I know she matters to him.
I clear my throat and catch his attention. His eyes widen just slightly before a flirty smile slides across his lips and he says, “Shut up, Kincaid.” He walks over to his buddies at a table in the corner and starts chatting. I turn my attention back to the female bartender. I wait until the Ernie isn’t paying attention and then call her over.
“Hi, I’m Mel,” I say in my friendliest voice. I’m being a creeper, but I don’t care. I just have to meet the woman Hennessey wants to change for. She nods her head.
“What can I get you, Mel?”
“Your name, perhaps?” I’m feeling a little shyer than a moment ago. Most people respond in kind when you offer up your name. But not this woman. No, she squints her eyes for a second before smoothing her face out and forcing a polite smile to her face.