Page 17 of When I Come Back
“Sure thing,” Shelley grumbles as she walks off to the bar.
“You’re brave,” I say as I grab one of his tater tots and plop it into my mouth.
“What? Why?” he responds in an oblivious tone.
“If you haven’t noticed, she looks one drink order away from walking out tonight.”
“If I say I haven’t, will that make me seem like less of an asshole?” He grimaces.
I can’t help but laugh. If there’s one thing Ripley isn’t, it’s an asshole. The man is a saint, and no one can deny that.
As soon as I open my mouth to answer, he stops me by pointing toward the bar where a dark-haired man, maybe 5’5” at the most and dressed in a suit, leans over the bar to get Shelley’s attention. We both watch intently to see if he hits on her, and sure enough, the second she walks toward him, his whole demeanor changes. We can’t hear what he says, but it’s obvious from their body language it was something crude. We see Shelley walk away, rolling her eyes as she prepares his order.
Ripley points to my glass. “Drink up.”
“We didn’t even hear what he said, I don’t think that should count.”
“Oh, it definitely counts. Come on, Thea, down the hatch.” He reaches over for one of my cheese fries before giving my drink a very pointed look.
I inhale a deep sigh then grab my shot to do as he says. “You really are trying to get me drunk.”
He chuckles then says, “And it’s working.”
Once we’re done eating, I walk over to the jukebox to line up some songs for us. Albeit, the selection isn’t great, but it’s free, so it’s hard to complain. I find a few that strike my interest then head back to the table to wait for them to queue up. Thanks to the game, I’m feeling a little more like myself and a little less like the sad, husk version of me I’ve been for the last week.
As I plop back down in the booth across from Ripley, I say, “I know what you’re doing.”
He gives me a curious look then says, “Oh?”
I shake my head. “Mhmm. You know, most guys would get a girl drunk so she’ll sleepwiththem.”
He laughs then replies, “Who’s to say I’m not doing just that?”
I point my finger at him and shake it menacingly. “You, Quinn Ripley, are trying to get me drunk enough so I’ll sleep. Period.”
“You caught me. But you can’t blame me. You’d do the same for me.”
I nod my head at that. “I would, you’re right.”
We both take another drink, a comfortable silence falling over us. The familiar tune of Savage Garden’s “I Want You” starts to play, and I can’t help the grin spreading across my face.
Ripley laughs then unfolds his six-foot-two frame out of the booth and steps over to my side, holding out a hand for me to take. “I guess it’s time to dance.”
Chapter Eight
Carrington
Why am I still here?
I stopped by to pick up the late dinner I called in since this seems to be the only place still open past six o’clock, but when I saw Thea I couldn’t get my feet to walk out the front door. She was looking intently at the jukebox, her brow all furrowed like it gets when she’s thinking really hard. I can tell she’s had few drinks by the flush in her cheeks making her freckles stand out.
It wasn’t until she went back to a booth that I saw Ripley waiting for her.
Date night.
The thought churns my stomach, and the flirty look she gives him as she sits has my hands clenching tight.
After paying and thanking the frazzled looking woman behind the counter, I squeeze myself into a tiny back corner table that I can only assume isn’t meant for patrons, just for the staff to roll silverware or take their breaks. It’s pretty darkhere, so I feel comfortable that I won’t be noticed. From where I’m sitting, I have a perfect view of the entire bar, including the dance floorandtheir booth.
