It’s not an ultimatum. It’s too late for that. I made a choice.
~Text from Zoe, four years ago
Roland’s presence in the bar made my back prickle. I faced forward on the stool, like drinking this beer was the most important thing I had going on tonight.
I was going to have Cooper’s ass for this. It was bad enough that Roland was still here after a week—spending his days in an office two doors down from mine. Now he had to show up at my bar? With my friends?
Hell no, Cooper. Hell no.
Of course, I wouldn’t ask Coop to choose between me and his own brother. But still. Did they have to come here?
Sitting here with Van, in front of Roland, felt oddly shitty. I couldn’t sit still—constantly shifted on my stool, like I was doing something wrong.
Obviously, I wasn’t. I’d bumped into Van at the store earlier, and he’d asked if I wanted to grab a beer. I didn’t have other plans, so I figured, why not? It was just a beer. The fact that Van and I went to the bedroom rodeo sometimes didn’t have anything to do with… well, anything. It certainly had nothing to do with Roland.
“You okay?” Van asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry, I guess I’m just worn out. It’s been a long week, and it’s not even Friday yet.”
“That sucks,” he said.
It had been a long week, and not just because Roland was here. It felt like my to-do list was longer at the end of each day than at the beginning—like I added twice the number of things I checked off. Plus, I’d had a vendor flake out on me, and a bridezilla bitch me out on the phone earlier.
I sipped my beer and listened to Van for a while, giving short replies so I wasn’t being a total asshole to him. Van was a cool guy. He was fun to hang out with, at least.
He’d never been married, and never wanted to be. Didn’t want a family. Liked his life the way it was. Despite my divorce, I was open to the possibility of trying again. In fact, I wanted that. I wanted to find the right man. Get married. Do it right this time. Van didn’t, and he’d told me that when we’d met.
I’d appreciated his honesty and returned it. Said I liked him, but I didn’t see us having a future together—and that I did want a future with someone.
We’d reached an understanding. Which in practice meant we hung out sometimes, and usually wound up in bed.
It worked. We had fun together, and a casual sexual relationship was fine. I’d dated a couple of men before Van, and they’d been cool guys, too. But those relationships hadn’t gone anywhere. We’d had some fun, but there hadn’t been a future in it for me, and I’d known it. I hadn’t wanted to lead them on, so I’d ended things.
Which brought me back to sitting in a bar with Van, my ex-husband in a booth behind me.
“You seem out of it,” Van said. He reached over and rubbed a few circles across my back. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sorry, was I not listening?”
He smiled. “Not really. You wanna get out of here?”
That meant, do you want to go somewhere and have sex? Usually, I would have said yes. A nice fuck was a good way to de-stress. But the thought of sleeping with Van left me with a weird feeling in my tummy. Not a happy let’s go have an orgasm feeling. A shitty you’ll regret it if you do feeling.
“I think I’m just going to call it an early night,” I said. “Go home and get some sleep.”
He hesitated, his hand still on my back, and I wondered if he was going to push.
“All right,” he said, dropping his hand. He gestured to my beer. “Do you want another, or are you done?”
“I’m done.”
He motioned for the bartender.
“You don’t have to buy my drink,” I said.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I think you got mine last time.”
That was probably true. We tended to alternate picking up the tab, more or less.
“Thanks.”
I put on my coat while he settled with the bartender. Roland was still in the booth with Cooper and Chase. They had a line of shot glasses in the middle of the table, and Roland had his buzzed face on. Eyelids a little droopy. Mouth relaxed with a hint of a smile.
For a second, I thought about going over to talk to them. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It was no secret I was good friends with Cooper. I hung out with him and Chase all the time.
And Roland was fun when he was buzzed. Or he had been, when we were younger. But thinking about drinking with Roland led to thinking about what we’d always done after drinking.
Sex. Lots of sex.
Crazy, freaky, out-of-control monkey sex.
And suddenly my fun zone was all lit up, like the memory of some drunken sexual encounters had flipped my arousal switch past on and straight to overdrive.
Okay, so calling them drunken sexual encounters was selling the whole thing short. Way short. Trashed or sober, Roland and I had been hot enough to melt steel.
I should have been able to admit that now—think about it and acknowledge it for what it was—without soaking my fucking panties. Jesus.
Shooting a glare at Cooper for bringing Roland here, I pulled my hair out from the collar of my coat. I had a very uncomfortable throbbing between my legs, and it was all Roland’s fault. He was throwing me off, making everything feel awkward. I should be dragging Van to his place—he lived closer—for a tension-relieving orgasm.
But all I could think about was how Roland’s orgasms hadn’t just been tension-relieving. They’d been fucking mind-blowing.
I shoved my hands in my coat pockets and followed Van to the door. Why was I letting Roland cockblock me like this? It wasn’t like he cared. There was no ring on my finger. Those divorce papers were signed, sealed, and recorded. I could sleep with Van if I wanted to. I wasn’t hurting anyone.
Just before leaving, I glanced over my shoulder. Roland was turned in his seat, looking right at me. Watching me leave the bar with another man.
The back of my throat burned, and I was a little worried I might vomit all over the sidewalk. How would I explain that? I’d puked on this sidewalk before, but only when I’d been stupid enough to do shots with Cooper and Chase. Or that one time when I’d been here with some girlfriends and we’d had all those margaritas. Tonight I’d had one beer, and I hadn’t even finished it.
The cool air outside helped, but I was still all knotted up inside. Frustrated. Annoyed. Stupid cockblocking ex-husband. Stupid hot sex memories. Stupid raging hormones.
I said goodbye to Van—he still looked hopeful until I pulled out my keys—and drove home. I was cranky and uncomfortable, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
Morning came all too soon, and I was not in the best mood. I hadn’t slept well. Despite resorting to my battery-operated boyfriend, the self-indulgence hadn’t been very satisfying. My mind kept wanting to show me scenes from my sordid sexual history with Roland. I didn’t want to fantasize about my ex-husband in order to get off. It was weird and frustrating. I hadn’t fantasized about him once since our relationship had ended—at least, not about having sex with him. I’d pictured hitting him over the head with something solid a few times, but not sex. But last night? Every image in my head had become him.
Something was very wrong with me.
I rooted around on my desk, looking for a pen. I really needed to spend some time cleaning this thing off, but it never seemed to make it to the top of my priority list. I found one—purple, not blue or black, but it would do—and proceeded to look for the notepad I’d had in my hand two seconds ago.
“Morning.”
I glanced up at Roland’s voice, staunchly ignoring the way my heart skipped at the sight of him. He stood in the hall outside my half-open door, dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks. His hands were in his pockets, and he shifted closer.
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m surprised you’re here already.”
I looked over at my computer screen, checking the time. It was eight-thirt
y. I was here by eight most mornings, although my schedule varied on days I had an event to manage.
“Why?” I asked. “I’m usually here at this time.”
He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “You were out drinking last night.”
“Out drinking?” I asked. What was he talking about? I’d arrived at the bar after him and left before he did. “I had a beer. That wasn’t really out drinking. You were the one doing shots with the goofball boys.”
He winced a little, and I noticed he did look a little rough this morning. Not enough that most people would be able to tell, but I knew him. He needed a glass of ice water, a black coffee, and a greasy breakfast. In that order.
“Yeah, we had a few drinks,” he said. “But I went home alone and got a full night’s sleep.”
I spotted my notepad and opened it, flipping to a blank page so I could jot down a few things. I was about to reply with So did I, when I realized what he’d just said. I went home alone and got a full night’s sleep.
Was he giving me shit about leaving the bar with Van?
He still had his hands in his pockets, but there was fire in his eyes. He was giving me shit about Van. That was rich. I was sure he hadn’t been celibate since we’d broken up.
For a second, I thought about lying to him. Making some comment about being tired after a trip to pound-town last night. What can I say, I’m only human. But I didn’t.
“Yeah, I did too.”
“You… oh,” he said. “You went home alone?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I went home alone. Went to bed.” Didn’t sleep because you cockblocked me out of a perfectly decent orgasm.
He shifted his feet and his shoulders slumped—just a tiny movement, but I could tell I’d deflated whatever fight he’d been hoping to pick with me.
“I wasn’t trying to get in your business,” he said. “I just saw you leave the bar with…”
“Van,” I said.
His lip twitched in a hint of a smile. “Van? What kind of a name is that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
His face froze. I had no idea if he had a girlfriend—I didn’t really want to know—but judging by his expression, he did.
He cleared his throat. “Farrah.”
A hot spark of anger flared to life in the pit of my stomach. He’d stopped by my office at eight-fucking-thirty to give me a hard time about leaving a bar with another man, and he had a girlfriend? I could look past it if he’d just been pumping me for information—looking to satisfy his curiosity about my relationship status. But he’d been with Cooper and Chase last night. They would have filled him in.
“You can quit with the passive aggressive thing,” I said. “If you’d like to say something about my personal life or who I spend time with, just come out and say it.”
“I don’t have anything to say about your personal life,” he said.
“Right.” I stood up and slipped my phone in my back pocket. “That’s why you’ve been here for over a week and the first time you talk to me is after you see me leave a bar with someone.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but closed it and looked away. “I’ve talked to you. I’ve just been busy. So have you.”
Of course he had. Roland was always busy. It was still a lame excuse. But I didn’t want to argue with him.
“Yeah, I have been,” I said. “I’m sure you are, too.”
He nodded, meeting my eyes. For a heartbeat, my irritation at him melted away, and I just saw him. Roland. With his thick hair and sexy stubble. The guy I used to know.
The guy I used to be really fucking in love with.
“You have something on your shirt again,” he said.
I blinked and looked down. There was a tan splotch on my shirt, right across my left boob. “Fuck. This is a nice shirt, too.”
Roland grinned, and I shot him a glare. I was back to being annoyed. “Speaking of busy, I have a lot to do, so…”
His expression fell, his smile quickly replaced by his usual serious-and-distracted look. “Yeah, me too.”
He walked away, and I rolled my eyes. The nerve of that guy. God, why was he still here?
And once again, I needed a new damn shirt.
Six
Roland
I went down the hallway to my office. No, wait… it wasn’t my office. It was an office I was using. Temporarily.
Although I’d managed to buy some time with the bank, the winery’s books were a mess. My dad was good at some things, but he’d started doing a lot of the accounting himself a few years back. He probably thought he could save money if their accountant had less to do, but the result was a fucking nightmare to deal with.
I wanted to consolidate their debt and lower their monthly overhead. Should have been easy, but with my dad’s haphazard records, it was proving to be a lot of work. Plus, I still had my own job to do.
Zoe’s door closed as I sat down at the desk. No doubt she’d closed it to keep me from bugging her. I didn’t know what had possessed me to stop and talk to her. She was right, I hadn’t tried to make conversation since I’d been here. Nothing more than a quick hi if I happened to see her, more out of politeness than anything.
But the image of her walking out of the bar with that guy was burned into my memory. Like a bad dream I couldn’t shake, hours after waking up.
I knew I had no right to be bothered by it. But really, that guy? He had prick written all over him. And Cooper had said he wasn’t even her boyfriend, just a guy she hooked up with sometimes. I didn’t get it. Zoe wasn’t the kind of girl to be some douchebag’s fuck buddy. In fact, it would have bothered me less to see her with an actual boyfriend. At least that would have been good for her. Why was she wasting her time with someone who didn’t give a shit about her?
My phone rang, and I was surprised to see Farrah’s name on the screen. I still hadn’t talked to her since I’d left San Francisco.
“Hey,” I said. “Are you back in town?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Got in late last night. Are you in the office today?”
“No, I’m still in Echo Creek,” I said.
There was a muffled sound, like she was talking to someone else. She must have been in her office. “You’re where?”
“Echo Creek, Washington,” I said. “You know, the family winery. My brother called. They’re having financial trouble. I texted you.”
“Oh,” she said. “When will you be back?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I should have been back by now, but things are taking longer to sort out than I thought.”
More muffled talking. “Okay. No, put that on my desk, and yes reschedule my three o’clock. Sorry, I’m trying to get caught up. I lost yesterday to flight delays. I’m buried.”
Farrah’s schedule was always hectic. It was a toss-up which one of us spent more time at the office. “Yeah, it’s fine. How long are you in town?”
“Let me check.” She paused for a second. “I’m here until Wednesday morning, then I’m in New York for a week. After that I’m going straight to London.”
Damn. With all the work I still had to do here, I wouldn’t be back before she left again.
“What do you think about flying out here for a few days?” I asked. “I’m staying in one of the guest cottages. It’s kind of like being at a bed and breakfast. And obviously there’s no shortage of wine.”
“This weekend?” she asked. “God, Roland, you know I can’t do that. I’m too busy to take time off right now.”
I was hit by a surprising sting of disappointment. “Yeah, I know you’re busy. Things are just stressful out here. My dad has this place swimming in debt. The bank was—”
“Roland, hold on.”
I stopped mid-sentence and waited while I heard more muffled talking on her end.
“Sorry,” she said. “Why don’t you fly home for the weekend? We could at least do dinner.”
A quick trip home wasn’t a bad idea. I’d lose the travel time, which wasn’t ideal. If I could spend those hours dealing with the winery shit, I’d be able to go home for good that much sooner. But who knew when Farrah and I would have a chance to see each other again.
And maybe a couple of days away from this place would help me get my head back on straight. Spend a night in my own bed—or hers—to press the reset button. Then I could come back next week and finish up. Put a plan together for my dad and leave it at that.
“Yeah, I’ll see if I can get a flight tomorrow,” I said. “Can you do a late dinner? I’m not sure when I’ll get in.”
“Late is fine,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
She ended the call halfway through her hurried goodbye.
I tossed my phone on the desk, feeling oddly unsettled. Going home for a couple of days was fine. But it would have been nice if Farrah had been willing to give up some time for me. Was it just her schedule that led her to say no to coming out here, or did she not want the pressure of meeting my family? Although, I’d never met hers. Truthfully, I didn’t know much about them.
But I was probably being unreasonable. I’d started dating Farrah because we had similar lifestyles. That was why it worked. It wasn’t fair for me to suddenly expect her to be different just because I was dealing with family stuff.
I sent Danielle a text so she could book my flights and make a dinner reservation. I’d go home for a couple of days, spend a night with Farrah, and everything would be fine.
I glanced at the time. I’d come over to the office in the Big House early to get a few things done before I had to leave to catch my flight. I still had some time, but I wanted to get in a run before I left. Working as much as I did, I spent a lot of time at my desk. Getting in my workouts, no matter where I was, had to be a priority.
A low hum of noise downstairs greeted me as soon as I opened the office door. I wondered if it was a wedding, or something else. The winery’s events schedule was booked solid, which was good for cash flow. They already had weddings scheduled well into next year. I had to give it to Zoe, she did a damn good job.
Broken Miles Page 4