by Megyn Ward
Those are good memories. Happy memories. Memories of watching the game with my dad were something else. Angry and bitter over a life riddled with wasted talent and squandered opportunity.
“I know you can’t do it alone, so you better tell Steiger to lay off his fastball tomorrow night—he relies on it too heavily. Chicago’s gonna light him up like a pinball machine if he doesn’t learn some new tricks.”
“The pitching coach was just saying that this morning.” He’s still grinning at me, but he no longer looks amused. He looks impressed. “He’s been working on his curveba—”
The elevator lets out a soft ding, and the doors slide open. Before he can finish his sentence, Jessica hauls him off the elevator.
Unable to help myself, I go in for the kill. “Tell Steiger if he needs any help, to give me a call—Henley O’Connell, 14C.”
I have the absolute satisfaction of watching Jessica’s mouth fall open, and her expression go blank, right before the door shut in her face.
Thirty-five
Conner
“What can I get for you, Sweetness?”
It comes out automatically while I dig my scoop into the ice bin. I don’t look up. Don’t have to. I’m in charge of college girl specials. That means whoever’s standing in front of me is a woman, looking for a cheap drink.
We kept the little system Tess set up a few months ago. With Patrick working the taps, Declan bar backing and mixing the odd cocktail, and the army of waitresses and shotgirls slinging drinks on the floor, we’ve got everything pretty much handled. Tess will pop in when she feels like it to lend a hand, but mostly she just comes in to pick up my slack. Any other Friday night, I’d be working the crowd, looking for my next victim. Someone to punch or someone to fuck. Same, same as far as I’m concerned.
That was the plan, but it all fell apart within seconds of me walking in the door. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not fit for human consumption right now, and really, if I step one foot from behind this bar, someone’s gonna get hurt. Unfortunately, it probably won’t be me.
So, I’ll stay right here. Mix drinks. Keep my head down and my hands to myself. As soon as the crowd starts to die, I’ll bounce. Go home. Alone.
For the good of humanity.
Dumping my ice into one of the squat rocks glasses I have lined up on the bar, I flick a quick glance at my customer. Brunette. Curvy. Cute. Absolutely fuckable, in that fresh-scrubbed, Midwesterner, never seen you before in my life kind of way.
Seventy-two hours ago, I’d had her panties around her ankles by now.
Now, I just stand here, hand poised above the well, waiting for her to tell me what she wants to drink. She’s new. Maybe she doesn’t know how this works. “Cran or sour, sweetheart?” I say, trying to make it easy for her. “Malibu and Cranberry or Whiskey Sours—that’s what I have.” When she still doesn’t answer, I stifle a sigh “If you want something different, you’ll have to go—”
“Uhhh…” She shoots a look over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to a tight cluster of women—all of whom I’ve fucked—watching us with avid interest. One of them makes a shooing motion with her hand, telling my customer to get her head back in the game.
Jesus Christ.
When she turns back around, I reach blindly into the well and pull out a random bottle. Cran it is.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I say, giving the glass in front of me a measured pour of Malibu.
“Kaitlyn,” she says, wide-eyed and breathless.
Do it, fuckface. This is why you’re here. This is the plan. This is how you get Henley out of your system. Keep her out. This is what you do.
So, get to work.
I give her the Gilroy grin. “Hi, Kaitlyn,” I say, aiming my mixing gun over the glass, giving it a shot of cranberry juice. “I’m Conner.”
“I know.” As soon as she says it, her eyes bulge slightly, face suddenly red and flushed. “I mean, I heard—shit, what I meant was—”
“I know what you meant,” I say, sticking a short straw into the glass before pushing it at her across the bar. She picks it up and puts the straw between her lips, gazing up at me through her eyelashes while I mentally fumble around for my auto-pilot switch. The switch I flip when I’m not into it but have to get it done anyway. The switch that’ll set me on cruise control. Helps me get through the next few hours without putting my head through a wall.
I can’t find it.
Probably doesn’t help that I’m stone sober and can still feel the weight and warmth of Henley pressed against me. Her fingers digging into my muscles. Her soft, uneven breath on my neck.
Make me come for you, Conner.
Shit.
“So,” she says, giving me a shy smile. “Do you think maybe you want to...” She trails off, no doubt catching the scowl I can feel rooting itself on my face.
“You ever been fucked in a public bathroom before?”
Shut up, Genius.
When her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out, I keep going.
“Around here, it’s called getting Gilroyed—how it usually works is, I spend a few minutes chatting you up to make sure we’re on the same page and laying down the ground rules—no kissing. No oral. No repeats—”
Stop talking, dickface. You’re gonna scare her off.
“—then, when I’m sure you understand that all I want is to stick my dick in you, I take you to the ladies’ room where I get you naked from the waist down, strap on a condom, bend you over one of the sinks and fuck the shit out of you.”
What the hell is wrong with you? Shut your fucking mouth.
“You’ll have the kind of orgasm that’ll still be setting off tremors when you're eighty and living in a goddamned nursing home, so you’ll be able to convince yourself that it’s all good—you used me and got what you came for but in reality, I’m the one who’ll be using you, so I can forget how fucked up I am for ten whole minutes—I get you off, not because I want to, but because the rules of reciprocity demand it—then I walk out the door before you even have time to pull up your panties. Less than an hour after I’ve fucked you, you’ll have the distinct pleasure of watching me do it all over again with some other random stranger.
“That’s what I do. That’s what this is.” I jerk my chin at the cluster of women who sent her over here. I know this is my fault. I did this to myself. I made me who I am. I’m Dr. Frankenstein and the Monster. But knowing that doesn’t make me any less angry. “That’s what I did your friends, and that’s what they signed you up for—sounds fun, right?”
She still can’t find her voice. She just shakes her head at me, because no—it doesn’t sound like fun.
Not anymore.
“Drink’s on the house—get better friends,” I tell her, moving down the bar a bit to get away from her. She stands there awkwardly for a moment, probably trying to figure out how she managed to screw up what she’d been assured was a sure thing.
Way to scare the fish, asshole.
Thirty-six
Henley
When I finally walk into the apartment, I findthat my stuff has been unpacked and my luggage neatly stored in the closet. There’s a note card propped up against a gift basket filled with wine and cheese, next to a set of car keys.
You didn’t think I was going to
let you take the bus, did you?
Love you,
Jer
My phone rings. Speak of the devil.
“Did it work?” Jeremy says by way of greeting. “Did you do it?”
“Hello to you too,” I grumble, bending down to pull off one of my heels.
“Yeah, yeah—hello—did you do it?” I can hear Gregg in the background—Ohmygod this is so Gossip Girl—and imagine them in pigtails, huddled around the phone like a couple of twelve-year-old girls at a slumber party.
“If you mean did I manage to trick Conner into taking my virginity,” I say, sighing when I release my other foot from its Chanel prison. “Then yes—I did it.”<
br />
Que the twelve-year-old slumber party squeals.
“You have to tell us everything.” Gregg’s voice comes through, loud and clear. He must’ve taken the phone from Jeremy. “Was it fantastic?” before I can answer he groans. “Oh, god—was it horrible?”
I want to answer. I want to be as excited and relieved as they are. I want to give them every juicy detail. But I can’t because what I did was wrong. Conner made it perfectly clear that if he’d known who I was, he never would’ve touched me.
Which is why I lied in the first place.
And around and around we go.
“It was the best sex of my life.” Wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I gather my shoes and carry them across the living room while they both laugh at me.
“It’s funny because you’ve never had sex before,” Gregg wheezes between gulps of laughter.
I hear Jeremy sigh—jackass—before taking the phone back. “Seriously, sweetie—was he... nice? Was it what you hoped it would be?”
Was it what I hoped it would be?
No.
But it was what I asked for.
Before I can embarrass myself by bursting into tears, my phone buzzes. Pulling it away from my ear I see a text message from Tess.
Tess: Meet up for
drinks?
She doesn’t say where but she doesn’t have to. I know where she’ll want to go. She’ll want to go to Gilroy’s.
Repositioning the phone, I sigh into the receiver. “Look, I just got in, and I’m beat—can I call you guys back tomorrow?”
“Uh...” Now I can imagine them giving each other scowling, worried looks like a couple of old mother hens but I resist the urge to put their minds at ease. If I tell them I’m going to Conner’s family bar, they’ll text me non-stop for a play by play. “Sure, sweetie. Call us back when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, guys—and Jer,” I say, sinking onto the bed. “Thanks for the car.”
"We love you," Gregg called out. "Be careful."
Too late.
I shoot Tess a quick text.
Me: see you in an hour.
Thirty-seven
Conner
“What’s wrong with you?”
It’s the same question Tess asked me yesterday, and I try not to let it irritate me, but to be honest, everything about Declan is irritating me tonight, even more than usual. His voice, his face. Even the way he scoops ice makes me want to punch him in the mouth.
I know why. It’s because of Henley. The fact that she’s come home. I’ve blamed him for the way things happened between us for a long time. The way he made it his mission to pull us apart. After she left, I pretended to let it go, but really, I just let it fester, along with everything else that he did that summer.
I can’t say that things would’ve been different if he hadn’t been such a dick, but I know for a fucking fact that it didn’t help matters any.
Having Henley home just brings it all to the surface.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I mutter, jerking on the taps so hard, I’m surprised I don’t snap it off. I made Patrick switch stations with me a while ago. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” he says, keeping his tone conversational. “But I’m not the one fuckin’ up everybody’s rotation.”
I flip the tap and set the pitcher down on the tray, along with a stack of frosted pints. “What the hell are you talking about?” I can feel my irrigation double. I was on time. I’m behind the bar, pulling my weight. What more does he expect?
“You’ve been here almost four hours, and you haven’t Gilroyed anyone,” Cap’n says, leaning over to grab a tray of clean glasses out of the automatic washer he had installed a few weeks ago. “It’s freaking him out.”
Friday nights have settled into a routine. It’s the night all of us are behind the bar. Patrick and Declan handle happy hour with me waltzing in at eight to pick up the slack. Usually, picking up the slack means busting up fights—or starting them—and trolling for chicks. It’s September, the first Friday after the start of fall semester, usually, my favorite night of the year. It’s like Christmas, my birthday and New Year’s Eve, all rolled into one.
This place is teeming with fresh-faced co-eds that have never heard of Conner Gilroy. Cap’n’s right, by all rights, I should have one of them bent over a bathroom sink right now.
Right now, I can’t even make eye contact with anything sporting a set of double X chromosomes.
“I’m not freaked out,” Dec grumbles while angling a bottle of Jameson over a row of rocks glasses. “I’m wondering what the hell—” He stops talking, suddenly focused on the round of drinks he’s building for the knot of college bros on the other side of the bar.
That means Tess just walked in.
It bothers me that he watches out for her. That he thinks he has the right to even look at her after what he did to her. I know it shouldn’t. That it’s none of my business, but I can’t help it. I’m protective of her. Probably too protective but it’s not like I can just shut that shit off. Maybe it’ll even out once he and Jessica get married. Maybe I won’t feel like I have to guard Tess like a rabid pitbull.
Maybe.
But I doubt it.
Because whether he wants to admit it or not, my brother is still in love with her.
“What’s up, bitch?” Tess calls out to me above the din. As soon as she speaks, it’s like a spell has been broken. Declan snaps out of it and moves away from me, looking like a puppy who got caught pissing on its owner’s favorite rug. For a second I let myself feel sorry for him, but only for a second. He did this to himself. I’m not generally in the habit of feeling sorry for stupid people.
Pushing big brother out of my mind, I look over, forcing a grin onto my face. Before I can say anything, Cap’n leans over and whispers in her ear. “We’re pretty sure his dick is broken—he’s been here three and a half hours and not one Gilroy.”
Tess laughs like she’s supposed to, but she’s also looking at me like she feels sorry for me. Like she knows exactly what I did, and how fucked up I really am over it. As soon as Patrick hustled down the bar, she speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” It’s a stupid question, but I use it to buy myself some time.
“You know what.” She looks scared. Like she wants to slap me. “Why didn’t you tell me that the whale sitting in your office was Henley fucking O’Connell?”
I shrug. “What was I supposed to say—Hey, guess what? Henley’s in town—also, I accidentally fucked her last night. Whoops.”
“Yeah,” she says, planting her hands on her hips, chin tipped up so she can glare at me. “You could’ve started with that and ended with—Oh, and by the way, that’s her in my office.”
“How did you recognize her?” It’s a dumb question one that really doesn’t matter, but I still want to know. I’m still trying to convince myself that I didn’t know who she was when a fucked her last night. As it stands, I’m fighting a losing battle.
“I saw her standing in front of her old apartment building this afternoon, and I don’t know…” Tess shakes her head. “It just clicked. I just saw her.” Now she looks at me, worry etched plainly on her face. “Did you know it was her? You know, before you…” She knows me better than anyone. She knows how potentially disastrous Henley’s coming back can be for me. How hard it was for me last time she left.
“No.” I’m beginning to suspect it’s a lie, but I tell it anyway because saying it is easier than accepting the truth.
Without warning, Tess reaches up and gives my ear a sharp tug—something she does when she thinks I’m purposely checking out on her. She knows I can carry on a full-blown, in-depth conversation and still be a million miles away from the person I’m having it with. “Stay with me.”
“I’m right here,” I tell her, pushing her hand away. “I’m okay.”
Her face softens as she lets her hand drop to her side. “No, you’re n
ot.”
“Sure I am.” I flash her another grin before chucking my crooked finger under her tipped chin. “Would I lie to you?”
“Yes,” Tess says quickly, her hazel eye flashing. “About this, you’d lie to your own mother.”
“I. Am. Fine.” To prove it, I snag a bottle of Jameson out of the well and yank the speed pourer out of its neck. “Have fun with Mr. Personality,” I say, shooting a look at Declan over my shoulder.
Suspicion morphs into worry in the blink of an eye. “Where are you going?”
“Being cooped up back here with these two Sunday school teachers makes me itchy,” I tell her, taking a long pull from the bottle in my hand before skirting my way around her and from behind the bar. “I’m taking a walk.”
“Con—”
She says something but whatever it is gets pushed back by the crowd that swallows me. I shoulder my way through it, liking the way it parts for me. The way women stop and look, trying to catch my eye. The way guys try to avoid it. They’re little more than impressions to me, faded ghosts, but I smile, and nod like I can’t see right through them. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it.
I’m halfway across the bar, not sure where I’m going or what’ll happen when I get there when I see her from the corner of my eye—just a flash but I know it’s her.
Henley.
Turning, I catch sight of her, standing next to the jukebox. She’s solid. Shines like a beacon--a million times brighter than anything that surrounds her. Dark, slim-fit jeans, tucked into a pair of knee-high leather boots. Loose silk blouse the color of spring grass. Minimal makeup. Arrow-straight hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. One hand tucked behind her back while the other raises a hand to turn one of the doorknob-sized diamonds in her ears. It’s the only indication she gives that she sees me. Knows I’m here.
I mean to walk right past her without so much as a backward glance but that’s not what happens. I can feel myself being pulled toward her against my will. It’s not until I’m practically standing on top of her that I realize she isn’t alone.