Page 2 of Where You Left Me

“You sure you weren’t being your usual dickish self?” Maverick quips.

I glare at him. “You know I wasn’t like that with her. Ever.”

“Oh, I know. She would’ve never given you the time of day. Mia was way out of your league.”

“Not helping,” I grunt.

The door of the bar opens and tension pinches across my shoulders while a group of women file inside. I exhale a shaky breath and take another sip of my soda.

“Did she at least give you an explanation?”

“We didn’t really have a chance to catch up. I had to get over here to open and she had to get back to Base Camp.”

The group of women distracts me as they make their way to the bar. I recognize one as someone I hooked up with at last year’s fall festival. She wanted a relationship. As usual, I didn’t.

“Doesn’t matter, though. Whatever her explanation of disappearing on you. You’ve moved on. You’re co-owner of a bar, and you’re in your first healthy relationship since Mia left. You don’t need her bullshit excuses.”

“Uhh,” I say, rubbing at the back of my neck. “I broke things off with Sabrina.”

“Fuck. Seriously?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You know I’m not a relationship kind of guy.”

Maverick looks like he’s going to argue but gets interrupted by an attractive blonde pressed up against the bar, her tits falling out of a slinky black dress, and a flick to her hand to snag my attention.

And damn, she’s got it.

“Excuse me, bartender,” she calls, her full pink lips in an adorable pout.

I abandon my best friend. “Hey, beautiful. What can I get for you?”

She smiles at the flattery. “Tequila shots. A lot of them.”

I nod. “You got it.”

“And maybe, you should throw in one for yourself too.” She lowers her voice, “That is, if you’re interested in celebrating with us.”

My grin is immediate. “What are we celebrating?”

“My girl, Grace, just got accepted into medical school.”

This is followed by a loudwhoopand cheering by the group of women. The blonde nudges the guest of honor closer to the bar. She stumbles forward. Black hair, big smile, and eyes dark as sin.

Grace. The woman I hooked up with last fall.

Her smile vanishes as recognition sets in, and those sinful eyes gloss over.

“You work here?” she asks, disgust dripping in her voice.

I clear my throat. “I own the place.” I leave out the part of only being a partial owner. That doesn’t feel relevant.

“We’ll go somewhere else,” she blurts, spinning around.

“Please don’t,” I find myself saying. “Stay. Celebrate. The first round of shots is on me.”

The blonde’s smile grows, and she pumps a fist in the air. “Hell yes! We’re staying.”

“Fine. But you’re not joining us.”

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