Page 28 of Baby Maker

Chapter Six

Calliope

"Would you like another, miss?"

I glance up from my phone, nodding at the bartender, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. I might as well get drunk. Good and stinking drunk.

That way, I can feign amnesia regarding the blatant pleas I just sent to Keegan, begging him to join me. And hopefully, drink enough to eradicate the mental image of him fornicating with some model type.

"I'm shocked," the bartender states, leaning against the bar, "that a pretty woman such as yourself doesn't have a date tonight."

Thanks for that extra blow to my ego, Mack. "I did."

"Ended already? That good, huh?"

I offer a nod, grateful when a customer interrupts our chat. Mack doesn't need to know the details of my evening. Hell, I'd like to forget them.

My date—if you could call it that—was terrible from the start. The man seemed like a lovely enough person, but all I could do was look at him while playing a mental comparison to Nigel.

And to Keegan.

It's ironic because Nigel and Keegan are polar opposites in every sense of the word. Nigel was light—physically and emotionally—with a dry wit and calming manner. Keegan is dark, arrogant, and a bit on the brooding side.

But both men stir something inside me.

Sadly, my date did not.

We survived dinner, but immediately afterward, both proclaimed to have this laundry list of chores that needed to be completed right that very moment. It thrilled me he was as underwhelmed as I was about our meeting. Now that’s saying something.

I even went home, but as I walked Domino, I realized I wasn't ready to face that empty house again. Not yet. I needed some padding between me and the loneliness. Liquid padding.

Now, here I sit in the king of all dive bars, trying to ignore the local patrons' lewd stares and sucking down whiskey that I know I'll regret tomorrow.

Isn't life grand?

"This seat taken?"

My head flies up, a smile crossing my face. Keegan.

He came.

I motion to the row of empty seats at the bar with a bitter laugh. "They're all free."

"This suits me just fine." He settles onto the stool, motioning to the bartender. "A vodka gimlet, please."

"What are you, Bond or something?"

"Eh, eh, eh. He drank vodka martinis. But, I think I have the other qualifications." He blows on his fingers, dusting them across his chest with a smirk.

"You have the humility on lockdown, at least."

"Dare I ask how your date was tonight?"

A guffaw escapes my lips. Where to begin? “How do you think? I'm alone in a dive bar downing whiskey. It was not a banner evening."

"But now, you're not alone." He clinks his glass against mine, taking a sip.

"Not anymore." I tear tiny pieces off the bar napkin, feeling a bit foolish that I begged him down here to keep me company. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

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