Page 11 of Lessons in Love
“What did you mean then?”
Asshole leans over. “Hey buddy, I don’t know what’s going on here, but it needs to end. She’s with me, so stop hitting on the customers, and stick with what you do best—serving them.”
My spine straightens and my fists itch to punch his fucking face for talking to me like that. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“I’m a good paying customer. Don’t make me report you to the manager.”
“Hardy’s Hideaway. I own this place, so get the fuck out and don’t come back.”
Looking at Constance, he says, “Come on. It’s late and I have a deposition in the morning.”
Constance’s eyes close. When she reopens them, a muted shame is seen in the usually rich color, dulling them. “Hardy,” she starts, but asshole yanks her barstool back and paws her hand. Before she’s pulled away, she says, “I’ll see you.” What shesaid earlier slips out without the most important word attached—again—and I hate that I notice.
Instead of watching her leave, I push down the sickening feeling in my stomach and start serving customers again. But that damn feeling doesn’t ease up once they’re gone and I stop, and look up.Gone.
I’m just not ready to have her gone—from the bar . . .from my life?I toss the ice scoop into the bin and hightail it out from behind the bar and weave through the crowd toward the exit. Pushing the door open, it’s cold and snowing and I don’t have a jacket on, but step out anyway. She’s twenty or so feet away waiting for a cab. “Constance,” I call, just before she heads to the cab asshole has hailed.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me, and says something to her date before coming back to me. “What are you doing out here?”
I’m dumbfounded by the way she’s acting. Is it a show she’s putting on for that asshole? Or is this the real her? “I’m not chained behind the bar.”
“You’re twisting my words.” She looks nervous, and glances back at her date before turning back to me. “What did you want to say?”
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I’ve hooked up with more than my share of women in my life. I never felt ashamed or apologetic about it because I respected them. I gave them a good time. I had a good time, and it was always an act between two consenting adults.”
Her date holds the cab door open. Impatiently, he says, “Come on, Virginia. It’s cold.”
Virginia.Time is ticking, the seconds going from one beat to three in the blink of an eye. “I’ve owned every encounter I’ve hadand never felt cheap. Until tonight,Constance.” I back toward the door, grabbing the handle.
Those eyelids I enjoyed kissing an hour earlier close tightly. When she opens them, she says, “I’m sor?—”
I don’t want to hear it, so I open the door and cut her off, “And for the record, I wouldn’t have kept you waiting even a second knowing some other guy could come along and steal you away. Much less stand you up.”
“Hardy?”
“Goodbye.”
I wish I could leave and go home. I’m not in the mood to stay, which is a first for me. I love my job, but disappointment is settling into my bones, an unfamiliar feeling of wishing it could have been different with her. I’m not sure what to make of my emotions. They’ve never flip-flopped on me like this. I’m probably just tired.
The door closes behind me, and the crowd inside welcomes me with a cheer. With rule number two safely intact, it’s time to celebrate that same victory, though it doesn’t feel like one deep down. “Eddie, a shot for everyone.”
Chapter Five
My head is pounding. I drank way too much last night. I don’t normally drink on a Monday or while I’m working long shifts, but I needed something to wash away . . . I shake my head irritated with myself for even thinking twice about Constance much less thinking about her the minute I wake up.
Women don’t affect me. Not usually. But there’s something about her, something different that made me want to spend time with her, still kind of do.Fuck.I enjoy a good morning tug, but she’s got Big Richard all screwed up. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s all fucked up over her too. My annoyance with his floppy behavior is unsettling on many levels.
I reach over and pop some Ibuprofen, then down a bottle of water from my nightstand. Lying on my back, I stare up at the ceiling. It’s still dark out. If I can get my ass out of bed, I can run the bridge while the sun is rising.
Motivation is key when it comes to me. Watching the sunrise while on the Brooklyn Bridge is something I like to do at least once a week. One reason is there’s nobody on the pedestrian path at that time of day. Another, I get to laugh at the poor saps commuting into Manhattan. I’m so glad I don’t have to report toan eight-to-five five days a week. I did that for years and I never want to do it again. Seeing the suits stuck in their cars and cabs reminds me of how good I have it.
Motivation, my friend.Mot-i-vation.
I flip the covers off and head to the bathroom. After shaking the snake, I pull on a pair of tighter than a duck’s ass compression pants and then loose athletic pants. I’m not letting anyone see me in tights, but they keep me warm, so two layers it is.
