Page 38 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

“Yeah, you’re right,” I clip, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not any of those things. I never will be. So, go ahead, Scarlett.” I lift my brows in a vague gesture at Lucky behind me. “Go back to his super cool musicians’ commune and suck his dick at his fuckin’ piano bench for all I fucking care. And if shit goes south while you’re doing that, I hope you know exactly whonotto fucking call.”

Grabbing her bicep again, I march her back to where Lucky is snuffing out his cigarette and tossing it into a trash can. “Sorry about that,” I say, releasing Scarlett’s arm and pulling out my wallet so I can retrieve a business card. “I am actually pretty beat, so I’m going to head home. But here’s my contact info for whenever you want to set up a meeting to hook up with her…I mean,collaborate.”

The intentional jab at Scarlett appears to go way over Lucky’s head, and he swipes the business card, then waggles it in mid-air. “Excellent. I’ll reach out first thing next week.”

“Sounds good.” I snag Scarlett’s elbow and all but shove her into his side. “You kids enjoy yourselves.”

Without another word, I pivot on the ball of my foot and march in the opposite direction and don’t look back until I reach the intersection with Royal Street. Neither of them is looking back at me either, and Lucky’s now leading her in the opposite direction with his hand resting on the small of her back. With their complementary vintage ensembles, they look like a match made in fuckingheaven, and Lucky De Luca is probably Scarlett’s goddamn soul mate, but I can’t let that bother me.

And yet, it really,reallyfucking does.

It bothers me so much that I pull out my phone in preparation to go do the absolutelastthing in the world I’d ever want to fucking do right now orever.

“Heeeyy…whaddup, Hawkins?” Luke crows over the line.

“Not much,” I say, casting one last glance at Scarlett just in time to see her looking up at Lucky with a smile that reaches way up to her eyes, and him looking down at her like she’s a damn snack he can’t wait to devour. I turn away and keep walking. “Can you remind me what time and where that wedding shower-party thing for Brennan and Liza’s supposed to be at? Scarlett and I are finished, so I thought I’d swing by.”

* * *

The wedding shower-partythingis being held at a gritty, hole-in-the-wall neighborhood bar on Algiers Point, which doesn’t seem to make sense for Liza because she’s always had sophisticated taste in things. Itreallydoesn’t make sense for Brennan because, thanks to his very important and established family, he’s a literal fucking billionaire. But again, I’m still a total outsider with this tight-knit group of people, so I guess I just don’tget it.

And, to be honest, I really don’t give a fuck right now that I don’t get it. I opted to come here, even risking how fucking obnoxious it would be to see the big celebration of Brennan and Liza’s love fest, because if there’s one thing these people are better at than gossiping and getting all up in each other’s business, it’s drinking. And knowing that Scarlett is across town with Lucky and one-hundred-percent hooking up with him before the night is over, I need to fuckingdrink, and I’d rather not do it alone.

Anyway, this particular bar is owned and run by people that the rest of the group have known forever, and it’s where parties such as this always take place, so I guess this one was no exception. Due to Scarlett’s packed schedule, I’m quite a bit behind in terms of everyone’s intoxication level, so I need to catch up. I got to work on that immediately—especially after greeting the engaged couple and receiving a salty-as-fuck look from Brennan, who’s still clearly pissed off at me over what happened at the party two weeks ago.

So, yeah! I’m getting so shit-faced tonight that I might end up sleeping on the ancient, sticky, rickety wooden floor of their beloved neighborhood bar tonight. And I’m totally fine with that.

Life sucks, and love stinks.

Cheers.

“Hawkins,” slurs Frankie, the record label’s graphic designer and another of Liza’s besties as she swings a half-empty glass of something in my general direction while we sit at the bar. “Go to the Carousel with me after this.” She swings her glass in the opposite direction, pointing at the group, who are all gathered at a few tables in the center with empty glasses and wrapping paper and gifts strewn about. “All these people tied themselves down, and now I got nobody to go chase tail with me.”

Her words barely register because I’m staring at Liza while she sits on Brennan’s lap. Her arm is casually draped around his shoulders while she strokes his hair and intermittently kisses his head, and I bet Scarlett’s sitting on Lucky’s lap right now. Probably on his fucking piano bench. Probably while he feels her up.

I tear my gaze from them and stare at my drink, then down the whole thing. “I don’t want to chase tail. I want to make money.”

Frankie cackles, nearly slipping all the way off her stool, but she grips the bar and pulls herself back upright at the last second. “Fuck bitches, make money!” She slaps her ample thigh. “I get that, but you’re forgetting thatfuck bitchescan also includefucking bitches. Right?”

“No.” I set my glass on the bar, and the muscle-stacked, early-twenties bartender with a high-and-tight haircut dutifully refills it. “I’m not interested inbitchesat all. Or fucking. Or anything that doesn’t involve padding my bank account.”

“What?” Frankie squints as she pitches forward toward me. “Wait. Are youasexual?” Her russet brown eyes go huge and nearly bug out at me as she lowers her voice to a loud whisper. “Is that why you and Liza broke up all that time ago?”

I can feel my face settle into a totally deadpan expression. “No.” I turn to sit with my elbows on the bar and stare into my drink some more. “We broke up because Liza didn’t love me. She lovedConnor, and she was hung up on him.”

Frankie sucks in a breath and then wheezes, “Oohh…” She nods sagely, albeit a bit sloppily. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” I echo, then toss the entirety of my drink into my throat. “Nobody lovesme. Nobody everwill. And that’s why I lovemoney.”

Frankie snorts. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t just go get laid. I didn’t say anything about going out to findlove. Jesus Christ, brother.”

“Well, I don’t feel like chasing tail either.” I set my glass down again, and the kid behind the bar arches a brow and purses his lips before refilling it. I curl my lip at him in annoyance. “Out of every friggin’ drunk person here, you’re gonna judgeme?”

“I’m not judging you for being drunk,” the kid clips, bracing his palms on the edge of the bar and cocking an eyebrow at me. “I’m judging you for pissing and moaning like a fuckin’ pussy.” He stands up straight and pulls the towel off his shoulder to wipe up a few stray drops of whiskey. “You should go with Frankie so you can get laid. That way you’d stop pissing and moaning like a fuckin’ pussy.”

“Travis!” Frankie suddenly shouts, pitching across the bar toward him. “Come to the Carousel with me!”

“Can’t.” Travis wipes his hands on the towel and shoves it in his back pocket. “I gotta close tonight. And I’m kinda talkin’ to a girl anyway.”

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