Page 38 of Denim & Diamonds

“You’ve had enough.”

Bill Foster’s brows jumped. “What are you, the Budweiser police?”

I pointed to the door. “Go home to your wife.”

“Seriously?”

I glared at him and leaned over the bar. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking?”

“Jesus Christ. Who pissed in your damn Cheerios?” Bill pushed back from the bar and spoke to the guy he’d been sitting with. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a bar on the other side of town where the owner actually wants to sell drinks.”

Hank watched the two guys leave, then got up from the stool he’d been sitting on for hours and walked behind the bar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I growled.

He took out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila and poured. Holding one out to me, he shrugged. “Being a friend. Don’t know what crawled up your ass. Don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. But drink this. It’ll help take the edge off.”

I hesitated, but eventually I slugged back the shot. February had never mentioned that today was visiting day, and we’d spent the entire afternoon together yesterday. She certainly hadn’t mentioned that some guy she was sleeping with was coming for a visit either.

I set the shot glass back down in front of Hank. We made brief eye contact, and he nodded and poured another. I wasn’t much of a drinker—a couple of beershere and there, but rarely hard alcohol. The second shot burned less than the first going down, so I figured that was a sign to keep going.

By the fifth shot, my rigid jaw had loosened enough for me to finally speak. “Thank you.”

Hank nodded. “Anytime, my friend. Go do what you gotta do. I’ll close up tonight.”

Fortunately, I lived upstairs, so I didn’t have far to stumble to make it home. Butunfortunately, I took the bottle of tequila with me when I left. Three more shots, and I started talking to Oak, my trusty Saint Bernard.

“Women suck. Do you know that?”

He tilted his head and lifted an ear.

I nodded. “Yeah, you’re smarter than me. Maybe I should sleep in the bathtub, too.”

Oak laid his giant head on my lap. “Is that the type she likes?” I shook my head. “Who doesn’t wear fucking socks with a suit?”

I rested my head on the back of the couch and shut my eyes, still grumbling. “Think his hair was frosted or some shit. Probably uses hairspray, too. I should’ve lit a match near him to check.”

I must’ve nodded off for a while because sometime later I woke to a light knock at the door. Oak rushed to the bathroom—into the damn tub—and left me to fend for myself. I was groggy and started to think I might’ve imagined the knock, but then I heard it again.

I opened the door to find February standing on the other side. She smiled. “I thought you were working tonight?”

I frowned. “What the care do you hell?”

Her brows dipped. “What?”

“What the care do you hell?”Wait. No, that’s not right. I shook my head and attempted to unscramble the words. “What the care do you hell?”Fuck me.

“Are you…drunk?”

“What are you doing here, February?”

She blinked a few times. “I came to see you, of course.”

“What for? No-sock-wearing-motherfucker not get the job done?”

Her lips pursed. “I’m not sure what your problem is, but I think I should go.”

I leaned forward and spoke in her face. “You know what my problem is, Red?” She didn’t back down in the slightest. I have no clue why, but that turned me on. Though I tamped down the feeling. “Your buddy stopped in and told me what a great lay you were.”

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