“So let me get this straight – you waitress to pay the bills, but your dream is to publish books? And you’ve already got a tonne of rejections for your first two manuscripts?” The guy I’ve been drinking with for the last hour struggles not to slur his words as he recounts what he’s learned about me so far.
I drink what’s left of the vodka in front of me. “When you lay it out like that, it’s almost depressing, but yes, that’s me in a nutshell.” The feelings of inadequacy I’ve held onto over my rejected manuscripts resurface and my soul shrivels a little more.
Will I ever succeed?
I’ve been writing since I was a teen and am currently working on my fourth book. I never submitted my third to anyone for fear the rejection would finally cripple me. As it is, I go to battle with myself every day. Between the constant back and forth of ‘I’ve got this’ to ‘You’ve got no idea what you’re doing’, the mind whiplash feels like a beating I give myself day in and day out.
The guy – I’ve long forgotten his name – nudges me. “Life is depressing. Don’t feel like you’re the only one who has that covered. It’s why I drink.” He raises his beer at me before taking a long swig.
Geez.
So negative.
This guy is not the kind of guy I need to be spending any time with.
Taking a step away from the table, I signal my intent to leave. “Thanks for the chat.”
He frowns. “You’re leaving? The night’s only young.”
“I’ve gotta get up early for work tomorrow.”
As I attempt to leave the table, he places his hand on my arm and halts my progress. “Stay.” His voice takes on a darker tone, as if he has no intention of letting me leave, and concern slides through me.
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I argue, “No, I really have to get up early. I’ll be wiped if I don’t get to bed soon.” I’m suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more sober than I did five minutes ago.
His grip on me tightens and his eyes flash with determination. “Sweetheart, I’ve just spent an hour of my time talking to you and buying you drinks, the least you can do is give me some of your time and attention.”
My mind swims with confusion.
I’m sure I bought all my own drinks.
How the hell do I always pick the dickheads?
I seriously need to consider celibacy as a life option.
“The lady has made herself clear. Let her go and get the fuck out of my bar.”
Luke.
I catch sight of his face as he forces his way between me and the dude, and my breathing slows at the anger I see there. I’ve never seen him so mad.
The guy lets me go and raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, man, I didn’t realise she was taken.”
I don’t know where he got that idea from, but I’m not going to correct him.
Luke’s shoulders remain tense and his eyes don’t leave the dude. He jerks his chin at the door. “Leave.” He utters one word only, but holy mother of God, everything about that word screams ‘don’t fuck with me’.
With one last scowl the guy stalks out of the bar while Luke tracks his movements before turning back to face me. His shoulders remain tense, but his features soften a little. “You okay?”
My tummy flutters at the concern I hear in his tone. I nod and try to put his mind at ease. “Yes, I’m all good. Thank you.”
He takes that in and then says, “I’m taking you home now. I had another woman complain about that guy earlier and I don’t want to take any chances that he’s gonna come back looking for you.”
“I doubt he will, Luke. You were pretty forceful, and besides, he thinks you and I are together. He wouldn’t chance pissing you off.”
“I know guys like him. They don’t give up easily when they want a woman. Take my word for it, he’ll be back.”
“You don’t have to take me home. I know you’re busy tonight.”
“Fuck, Callie, can you ever just let me help you?”
I stand straighter and take a deep breath. I’ve managed to frustrate him yet again. It’s like he’s got a short fuse with me, but not with everyone else. “When I need help, I’ll ask for it, but you’ve got a bar to run and I am capable of getting myself home.”
He bends his face closer to mine and takes charge like he’s never done before. “I’m all out of patience, so get your ass outside and in my car.” His bossy tone hits all the right spots and desire shoots through me, lighting me up with a need I’ve never known.
I don’t even hesitate. I do as he said.
As I move through the crowd in the bar, Luke places his hand on the small of my back and guides me. People talk to him as we walk, but he hardly responds, and instead, keeps directing me towards the front door of the bar.
When we finally arrive at his car, I’m so freaking turned on I can barely concentrate. He unlocks the doors and I slide into the front seat of his BMW. I’ve never been in his car and it’s not at all what I would have expected him to drive. Luke is not a flashy guy and I didn’t think he was wealthy, but his car leads me to now assume otherwise.