“Don’t blame you.” And he will, too. My brother is already overstressed and tired. He can’t keep running like this much longer. At least he has a direction to move in now, something I’m sure he’s glad about. The worst part is not knowing.
“So…thanks. I know this isn’t in your plans, but I really appreciate you helping me out with the bar. Hopefully we can find a new partner soon and you can go back to working part-time hours or whatever you want.” The appreciation in his voice is clear, and a bit more of my tension fades.
“No prob. Glad to help. I could use a distraction anyway.” Shit, I didn’t mean to admit that. Kinda slipped out.
“Hm.” Xander doesn’t say much more, but he doesn’t have to. I know he’s figured out I’m not exactly happy right now. “When you wanna talk…”
“I’m good, thanks.” While I needed to unload the shit about Dad on his shoulders so we could figure it out, together, I don’t need to whine about what’s happening with Lauren. “I’m gonna go. See ya tomorrow at the bar.”
“Okay.” There’s hesitation in his voice, but he doesn’t push. “Later.”
We hang up. I exhale hard, trying to loosen this knot in my chest. It aches to not turn to my best friend. But I have to start distancing myself from her, have to stop leaning so much on her, because it’s clear she’s never going to love or want or need me the way I do her. This is so one-sided it hurts.
There’s a wall between us now. And I don’t know if that can ever be fixed. All I know is it’s going to be a long, long time before I can go back to being just friends with Lauren.
“Can I get two Bud Lights?” a brunette in a tight tank top asks. She’s a few years younger than me, not a day over twenty-two, but her smile is wide and her appreciation clear as she eyes me. “My friend and I both had a shitty day at work, and we’re ready to shake it off.” She gives a little shimmy as she speaks and flashes her teeth.
“No problem. It’s definitely been a Monday.” I pop the tops off, and she pushes me a ten.
When I go to make change, she says, “Keep it.” Her wink is broad and flirty. She’s definitely not trying to be subtle. She sashays away, beers in hand, her ass bouncing left and right.
I’m a guy. It’s hard not to notice. But it’s not sparking anything in me other than a base interest.
I pull my gaze away and serve other customers. It’s been a surprisingly busy Monday evening. Xander and Dad have been in the back office for two hours now. I’ve been tempted more than once to crash back there and demand they tell me what’s going on, but this isn’t my business—literally and figuratively. So I’m busting ass with the other bartender behind the bar and keep things running while they hash out their issues.
The Bud Light woman sits at a table about twenty feet from me. Every once in a while, I catch her eyeing me. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t shy away, maintaining eye contact to let me know she’s interested. Her friend, a thin, tall blond, shoots looks between us, a crooked smile quirked on her lips.
I give them both a friendly nod—Xander drilled in me the importance of being as nice as possible without crossing a line as a bartender—and start washing glasses in between serving beers.
Women have been interested in me before. Hell, I’ve even hooked up on occasion. My feelings for Lauren were one of those things I knew would never come to fruition, so if I found myself attracted to another woman, I tried to see if we could make it work.
None of them could compare to her. Not even close. The desire they lit in me was a small candle in comparison to the sun. Still, I tried.
Last week, I thought I was finally going to have the sun.
The brunette comes back up to the bar—she has a server for her table, but I guess she decided to not wait for him. I have a feeling it’s less about his service and more about flirting with me.
“So, what’s your name?” she asks me. Her eyes are golden and they flicker in the light. She’s really pretty, now that I look at her.
I force myself to smile wider. “Cole.”
“You in the service?”
I glance down. My dog tags are hanging out. I tuck them back in. “I was. Retired.”
“Thank you for serving,” she tells me, and the genuineness in her voice makes me give my first real smile of the night. “My dad was in the marines, and I think he would have stayed in forever if he could have. He was a career serviceman.”
“Good for him.”
The brunette presses herself closer to the bar, the bottoms of her breasts brushing the bar surface. “My name is Eleanor. I know, it’s super old-fashioned.” She pulls a face and laughs. “I got called ‘Roosevelt’ so much as a kid.”
“I think it’s a nice name,” I tell her. “Nothing wrong with old-fashioned. They’re classics.”