“Well, you’re sort of right.” Dash was a notorious flirt. “But the last time you saw me, I was with a woman . . . and a man.”
Blood rushed to her face. “Oh. Um . . . well, yeah. I remember him. How are . . . they?”
“Beats the fuck out of me.” Dash hitched up a shoulder and looked away. “Blake decided she wanted to go monogamous and talked Felix into moving out with her.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dash offered her a crooked smile. “This is one of the reasons I like men—they tend to be a little more straightforward and they don’t go back and forth so much. You females just can’t make up your minds.”
“Shows what you know.” Marin sniffed. “I’ve known—and dated—several guys who couldn’t decide on a pair of shoes for the life of them.”
Dash chuckled.”Love’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Her heart gave a hard, demanding pang, reminding her of the man she’d left sleeping the day before. She had to go back out and talk to him—soon.
She knew that, but she wasn’t ready.
“Just who has you looking so blue?”
“Nobody,” she said and the second the word left her lips, she knew she’d been far too quick to respond. She should have just laughed it off.
“Hmmmm.” Dash braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward, studying her with shrewd eyes. “Not buying that. Let me think . . . I haven’t seen or heard anything about you seeing anybody. You must be keeping it under wraps.” Dash leaned back, head cocked. “The only thing anybody is saying about you is that you’re often seen traveling out to visit our beloved, and much missed, golden boy.”
“Oh, bite me.” Determined not to let him see that he was anywhere close to the truth, she jabbed a finger at him. “You know, you could go visit him occasionally.”
“And risk getting eviscerated? Thanks, no. I’m well aware just how that toxic his mood has become. The one time I called him, he almost ripped my throat out through the phone lines.”
Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Are you implying he doesn’t have a reason to be . . . toxic?”
Dash opened his mouth, then closed it. After a few seconds, he said, “I believe I’ll go with no comment.”
“He got into a fight that led to a man’s death. He blames himself for the death of his former girlfriend. He sees himself as completely disfigured,” Marin said concisely, ticking off some of the things that had rambled out of Sebastien—always when he was drunk, because he wouldn’t talk when he was sober. “He thinks the life he’s busted his ass for is over—”
“Alright. Ease up, Marin.” Dash looked sheepish. “He’s had a rough go, I get it. I just . . . Hell, I think it’s easier for a lot of us to stay away because looking at him makes it too hard to think about what we might have done. Would we have gone for that knife? Would we have stepped up?”
Marin shifted her gaze away. “You would have. You’re that kind of guy, Dash. Look, I know Sebastien’s not always easy to be around, but that doesn’t mean people need to just shut him out.”
“He makes it kind of hard not to, from what I’ve heard.”
Brow arched, she looked back at him. “Been talking to JD or Zach?”
“I keep my ear to the ground.” Dash stroked his jaw. “Speaking of Sebastien . . . I’ve been wondering . . . are you two serious?”
“We’re not anything,” she said firmly. “There’s nothing there.”
“Certain?”
“Yes.” She put just the right amount of annoyed emphasis.
“Good . . .” Dash grinned at her and reached over to touch her hand. “Maybe you and I could have dinner tonight.”
She automatically wanted to say no, because Sebastien’s face came to mind.
But then she stopped herself. His face came to mind all too easily, just as it had for the past year . . . longer.
But hers wasn’t the face he saw at night. She hated that he had nightmares, but at the same time, she couldn’t keep wishing for a guy who was still in love with somebody else. Especially a woman who was no longer alive. Ghosts were very hard to compete with.
If she said no now, was she going to say no to the next guy?
Because of Sebastien?
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
***
He woke up smiling.
That wasn’t normal for him, at least not in a good, long while.
He also woke up with a miserable headache and a taste in his mouth that was too familiar. That was normal. Except . . . he hadn’t had anything to drink in . . . hell, a week? He tried to think back, but his pounding head made it hard.
He’d stopped drinking, though.
He’d decided he was done.
Clearly, he’d slipped.
“Okay,” he muttered. “So I just straighten myself up and start over. First, by dumping the booze.”
His voice sounded unusually loud and he swept out his arm, half expecting to find somebody there with him.
That would have been . . . nice.
Yeah. That would have been just fine.