Page 37 of Let It Breathe
“Refill on the Coke?”
Clay hesitated. He was leaving, right? Staying would be stupid, and going into that bar would be more stupid. Stupid for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that it was a bar. The flashing Deschutes Brewery sign caught his eye, but it didn’t hold his attention. He looked back at Reese.
“No, thanks,” Clay told the waitress as he stuck twenty bucks in the little wallet with the bill. “I was just about to leave. Keep the change.”
She smiled down at him. “You new in town?”
“Sort of. I spent a lot of time around here a few years back.”
“My name’s Emily. And I get off at nine, if you want to hang out or something.”
She slipped a piece of paper across the table at him, and Clay stared dumbly at the numbers. Before he could say anything, she swished away with her tray in hand and a wiggle in her walk he knew was for him.
Clay put the phone number in his pocket and stood up. He looked back at the bar. He wasn’t going in there. He was going to leave out the side door and?—
Before he could complete the thought, Reese looked up. Their gazes locked for three beats, neither of them blinking. Clay swallowed.
Suddenly, Larissa’s gaze swung his direction.
“Hey—it’s Clay!” she shouted across the bar. “Come join us. We’ve missed you!”
Clay gripped the edge of his table, considering it. There were two pitchers of beer on their table, but he hardly noticed. It was Reese who made his pulse kick into overdrive. Reese looked away first, touching Sheila’s wrist and making a point of admiring her bracelet.
“Come on, Clay,” Larissa shouted loudly enough that other patrons turned to stare. “Don’t be shy. We’ve got plenty of room here.”
Clay let go of the table and put one foot in front of the other, trying to look cool and probably just looking like a guy trying to look cool.
Eric grinned, the same, familiar expression Clay had seen a million times since college. Sheila smiled, too, tossing her blonde hair as she put her hand on her husband’s arm.
The guy next to Reese tore his eyes away from her breasts to see what the fuss was about.
Reese was the last to turn and smile at him, a move that seemed almost calculated. The smile was worth the wait—warm and real enough to light up her eyes.
“Hello, Clay,” she said. “What brings you here?”
“I just had a meeting with someone. I’m heading home now.”
“Ooooh—a girl?” Sheila asked with hope. “It’d be great for you to have a girlfriend, Clay.”
“Not a girl,” Clay said. “My new sponsor.”
“Sponsor?” Larissa asked. “Is that like the commercials you see on TV where you pay thirty dollars a month so a starving kid can eat?”
Everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably, and Clay couldn’t tell if Larissa was drunk, joking, or playing the ditz like she sometimes did in a bar full of men. Probably all three, he thought as he watched her drain her glass.
“No,” Clay said. “I got connected with Patrick through the local Alcoholics Anonymous group. I contacted them last week to get a support network in place before I came out here.”
“Working the steps, huh?” the guy next to Reese said. Actually, he said it to Reese’s breasts, but Clay assumed the words were meant for him. “Had a brother do AA,” the guy continued. “Relapsed six times.”
Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he offered his hand. “Clay Henderson. Good to meet you.”
“Bob Wilson,” he grunted, looking up to extend his hand. “I’m a financial analyst. I’m with Reese.”
Clay saw Reese’s expression go from uncomfortable to annoyed and back to uncomfortable in a span of three seconds. He wondered if anyone else noticed.
Then he watched her lift her hand and adjust something between her breasts.
What the hell?
