Page 3 of The Last Thing
I hate fitted button-downs. I hate suit coats. I hate uncomfortable shoes. Iloatheties.
A choker of oppression. And not in any kind of fun way.
If it’s not a tee or a flannel shirt and jeans or sweats, I don’t want it.
But an old buddy of mine got married today, so here I am, in a city—not my place, not somewhere I ever enjoy being—in a fucking suit and tie so I could stand up with him while he got married.
I don’t regret it, but I’m praying no one else asks me to be in another wedding any time soon. My few high school buddies I kept in touch with are married or uninterested in the idea, so hopefully I’m out of the woods.
Not until I’m home tomorrow, though.
Enjoy yourself. Have some fun.
I’d like to believe my mother’s words when I left her house were not encouraging me to hook up, but they might’ve been. She’s been on me to find a partner for years now.
Not necessarily a woman. She doesn’t care how I identify or who I choose, but she thinks I should have someone. And Soph should too.
Though my eight-year-old daughter Sophia loves that it’s just the two of us, she occasionally asks about having siblings. Even though that’s the last fucking thing I can think about right now.
We’re moving into a new apartment next weekend. It’s a beautiful space right in a small town about twenty minutes from my hometown of Lacy Creek, and it’s closer to the offices of the construction job I’ve been working for the past few years.
Though we’ve been living with my mom in Lacy Creek for most of Sophia’s life, it’s time to break out on our own.
It’s time for me to have some space.
Pulling the tie over my head, I set it down on the counter and order a drink.
It’s time for me to enjoy myself.
I crack my neck a couple of times, and when a cold beer is placed in front of me, I take a few long gulps, then look around the bar.
I picked this one because it was the closest place to where my buddy had his reception that didn’t seem seedy or too upscale.
I’m a blue-collar country boy and feel out of my element enough here. All I wanted tonight was a chill place to grab a drink and food—so far, it’s hitting right.
In the corner are a few people playing darts, and as I skim the rest of the bar area, I notice two guys who look strangely familiar. It takes me a second to place them, but when I do, I school my features.
Two of the New York Bandits are a few feet from me.
Part of me wants to go ask them for autographs for Sophia. She’s been obsessed with the Bandits ever since she got to meet one of their players earlier this summer when the company I work for renovated an apartment for him back home.Apparently, he’s a small-town boy at heart. But I’m not going to be the weirdo who walks up and claims to know their teammate, and they deserve the ability to get some drinks without someone stalking them.
Still, my eyes follow them as they walk back to their booth, and when they get there, I can’t look away, but for an entirely different reason. A gorgeous woman with an athletic body and long dark blonde hair gets up so they can sit back down.
Fuck.
If I don’t want to bother the football players, I really should not be staring at their friend like that.
I spin on my stool, but can’t stop myself from peeking over my shoulder again. When I do, I find stunning amber eyes staring back at me. She winks, then goes back to her conversation.
My cock thickens in my pants and I curse myself because all I want is for my night to end with her body trapped beneath mine while she screams my name.
I’m not staringlike a total creep. It’s forced me to keep my eyes on the Boston Revs game playing on the TV, but staring like a knuckle-dragging moron isn’t how to get the girl.
But when I hear movement behind me, I look over my shoulder.
The football players are headed toward the end of the bar where the cash register is.
“Hey, Ronnie. Can I get another beer?”
