Page 27 of Over You
“I hoped you’d see fit to date him. But I don’t blame you. He acts like a dog with two dicks.”
Wanting out of that conversation, I grabbed the bar towel and scrubbed at a spot of dried mayo when I noticed a plate of steaming chips on the ledge between the kitchen and the bar. The ticket beside the dish read: table sixteen. No one ever sat at table sixteen in the back corner.Wandering tourist.
I grabbed the platter, studying the stranger as I ambled across the pub.
Long-sleeved black shirt. Jeans. The bill of some grungy Gucci cap hid his face from view. When I placed the plate on the table, I took the empty drink from in front of him. “Did you need another. . .” My sentence trailed off when my gaze went from the black and white checkered Vans to the bright tattoos creeping out from the sleeve of his shirt.
His head lifted. I coughed. My heart fell into a staccato rhythm that couldn’t sustain me for very long. Spencer’s blue eyes burned right into my soul. For a moment, the world stopped. The sudden shift in the universe gave me vertigo. Over the past year, I’d convinced myself I was almost over him, and that one look was enough to send that crashing down. Spencer was Sodom and Gomorrah, and like Lot’s wife, I was just waiting to be turned to ash. The background noise of the pub faded into the hum of blood pulsing through my ears.
“Damn,” he breathed, then stood.
And though I willed my feet to move, they remained firmly planted in place. Warm, calloused fingers brushed my arm. I staggered backward, right into the empty table. I would have been less shocked to see Jimi Hendrix’s ghost than I was him. And a ghost would have been more welcomed. Staring into the eyes of the man who was once my life was a hard pill to swallow. Within a matter of seconds, a whole lifetime flashed in front of my eyes. The good. The really good. Then the horribly bad. My mouth went dry. Swallowing, I took another step back while my sadistic heart pleaded for one more touch.
He stepped closer. The tiny scaracross his nose thatRolling Stonehad edited out was visible under the halogen lights.Cardamom. Memories.
“What are you doing here?” I barely managed.
“Looking for you.”
Part of me sighed,finally. Part of me screamed,run. His pupils were wide, and the way he ground his jaw didn’t go unnoticed.Two days ago, he had streaked down Rodeo Drive out of his gourd on God knows what. I grasped at anything to make the longing budding in my chest wilt and die.
“You weren’t at home,” he said.
“You went by my house?”
“Yeah.” He plucked a fry from the plate and tossed it into his mouth while panic tore through me. If Lottie was at home—Oh, God.
“Was anyone there?”
“No.” He frowned. “Good thing, because had a guy come to the door. . .”
“Really?”
Taking his drink, he placed it to his lips and took a sip. “You can’t blame me. You are still mywife.” He stepped closer, dipping his chin until his lips were so close I could feel their electric charge.
My eyes fought to close, my body slowly inclined toward him while my breaths went ragged. I knew what it felt like to have him love me, and I knew what it felt like to lose him.It will hurt less if you leave now.Somehow, I did just that. I spun around. On step three, his calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist, and, much to my horror, I froze.
“Hey.” His nose was right by my ear, his chest close enough that I could feel the heat from his body against my back. “Don’t do this. Let’s talk. Please.”
He was dangerously close. I’d worked too hard to move past this because he hadn’t worked hard enough to stop me. “Sign the papers, and then we can talk.”
With a sigh, his fingers uncurled from my wrist, and I wasted no time making a beeline to the bar. I spent the next five minutes washing glasses that didn’t need cleaning. Tom stormed in with an angry, red handprint on his cheek.
“Holy crap, Tom! Why’d she slap you?”
“I called her a trollop.”
Fergus laughed while downing his drink. The glass hit the bartop with a thud. “You’re daft as a bush.”
“I learned from you.”
“Lies.” Fergus reached over the counter and grabbed my hand. “Don’t listen to a word that knob says. I taught him to treat ladies with dignity and respect.”
“Kirby’s not a lady.”
They went back and forth, and I finally bit the bullet and glanced at table sixteen again. Spencer was gone. The plate of chips still full. The drink, of course, empty.
The Peacock wasvacant by midnight. The floors swept and chairs stacked on the tables by fifteen after. As soon as Tom locked the door, a beer bottle shattered against the facing of the pub. I jumped. Tom spun around. “For fuck’s sake,” he groaned.
