Page 5 of The Seven Month Itch
I shrug. “Don’t need an excuse, princess. I’m here for the festivities, same as you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone at the bar.”
There go those white-knuckled fists again. This whole “I don’t care” act is bullshit.
Justice has no right to question me after she ended our marriage the way she did. She wanted us to separate. I gave her space. She refused to respond whenever I reached out. I stopped reaching out. I can’t win for trying, and I’m sick of it.
It wasn’t a lie when I said I have someone waiting. Who cares if I embellished a bit?
“There he is!”
A long whistle becomes my soundtrack for the walk to the bar, now twice the length, thanks to every head swiveled in my direction.Dick.Miles, a man I’ve known since we were in diapers, when my abuela watched us, wears a grin as broad as his chest. There’s only a handful of people here to witness his antics, and they should count their blessings. This bastard will make my life hell this week.
I need a drink. Or four.
“Think you can bring it down a notch?” I nod at the ice queen in the booth across the bar with wrinkled brows raised to her scalp and smile. She has on one of those Stepford wife blazers and is two seconds from calling security or sending us to the Sunken Place with her teacup.
Miles turns and winks at Cruella, whose focus drops to the menu in front of her. Pink sweeps across her cheeks. When she glances back at Miles, there’s a twinkle in her eye.
Jesus. Don’t kill the woman.
He cocks his head and shifts his eyes to me. “Get your period, sunshine?” The stool grumbles under his weight. The flimsy thing probably costs thousands of dollars. “Thought you stood me up.” He fakes a shudder.
“You don’t look hard up for company.”
His smile deepens. He lifts a shoulder, like flirting with someone’s grandmother is typical Sunday behavior. Maybe it is.
Miles could pass for the guy inMoonlightand thatPredatormovie that’s a ticket into the hearts and panties of women. There isn’t a fitted shirt he won’t wear to show off the biceps he swears are panty-droppers. We’ve aged a bit since our football days at Bodie, when he was an inside linebacker and I was an outside linebacker. But he keeps himself together, as do I.
“What the hell took you so long to get down here? Wait. Hold that thought.” He snaps his fingers at the bartender on the other end of the long granite countertop. “Garçon! Another Blue on the rocks, and one for this guy”—he thumbs in my direction—“who looks like he’s seen that little white girl come out the TV.”
I give the bartender a look to say,It’s not his mother’s fault he came out like thisand drop a large bill on the counter. Even with a good tip, no amount of money will apologize for the words out this man’s mouth. I’m bad, but notthatbad.
“So, what supernatural entity caught you by the balls?”
I let out a breath and sip the scotch. “Ran into Justice.”
He chokes on his. “No shit? She’s in this hotel?” His eyes scan the room like she’ll appear if we chant her name in front of a mirror.
“No, she’s in theotherhotel down the road. Yes, man, she’s here!” And it’s throwing me for a loop.
After Jay and I split, Miles did everything but hire someone to crawl into my bed to get me out of my “funk.” He didn’t hate my wife. They had a complicated relationship in a sibling-I-never-asked-for-but-here-we-are kind of way. Miles didn’t want the downfall of my marriage to consume me. How could it not? Justice and I were together for fifteen years, married for eleven. That woman was a thorn in my ass, but she took a piece of my heart the day she moved out.
“You good?” He studies me with a raised brow, ready to call bullshit if I lie.
Smoky flavors from the Johnnie Walker coat my lips on a gulp. This is damn good, but not enough to wash down the lump in my throat. “Why focus on the past when you can’t change it?”
If only it were that easy.
My drink spills over the rim at his slap to my back. “That’s right, bro. Drink up.” Miles eyes me again. “No better way to get over your ex than with another woman’s legs over your shoulders, right?”
What’s with that look?
He locks eyes with something across the bar before I get the chance to ask. I follow his gaze to see a brunette and sigh. He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a brother, but we don’t call each other for a shoulder to cry on. Not that I need one.
I swallow the rest of my drink to head back to my room. This week is off to a great start.
Chapter 3
Justice
