by Stacey Lynn
“Always.” I kiss his cheek and turn to the person who caught his attention.
Hotshot. Of course it is.
“What can I get for you?” I ask Sebastian. His gaze follows my father and slowly comes back to the bar. To me. It takes effort to force myself not to react to the quizzical way he’s looking at me, but I manage.
“You’re divorced?”
“Yep.”
I have no problems telling people of my time or my marriage to Evan. We were young. Made the wrong choice. Fixed it when we realized, and to this day, we’re friendly and amicable when we see each other. He’s now engaged again to a woman who teaches pre-school, someone much more suited to his conservative and simple ways.
I could go on and on with Sebastian, telling him all of it, because I haven’t forgotten that his wife has recently left him, but I’m still pissed and hurt at his earlier behavior.
“Need another drink?”
His tongue slips out, sliding along his bottom lip as those beautiful green eyes narrow. Damn him for being so darn good-looking when I’m irritated with him. I have a feeling the look he’s giving me right now has gotten him out of a lot of trouble in his days. Hard to be mad at someone who looks like the world’s cutest and maybe saddest puppy.
“Gigi—”
“Drink, Sebastian. It’s late. Last round. What do you need?”
That cute lip of his curls before it disappears into a thin line.
“One more pitcher for the guys,” he relents, sounding unhappy with me, but whatever.
I need to remember these guys, Sebastian specifically, aren’t my friends. Just because I see them every few weeks doesn’t mean we’re buddies. They’re customers. Good tipping ones.
While I pour up the pitcher for them, I work at plastering on my professional, polite face. I’m feeling pretty good I have it back in place when I face him again.
“Here you go. Enjoy your night.”
“Gigi. I didn’t mean to be a jerk earlier.”
“Okay.” I take the twenty-dollar bill he’s slid onto the counter even though the pitcher’s only ten. “Need change?”
“No. And would you talk to me?”
“About what?” It comes out as a snap and I inwardly cringe. This is silly.
He jerks back, stunned and then he shrugs. I wonder if he’s always been this sheepish or if it’s something new. I’ve tried not to pay too much attention to him since he’s married and all.
“Well, how have you been?”
This guy. A laugh bursts from me at the inane question. “How have I been? Good, Sebastian. I’ve been just fine, same ol’ same ol’ over here. But shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?”
“Yeah.” He scrubs his jaw, the beard on his cheek, and shrugs. “About that.”
“How are you doing with Madison gone? You guys talk yet?”
“No. She won’t have anything to do with me. Even called her dad today and he wouldn’t put her on the phone either.”
“Her dad?”
“Yeah. Ever since she left me, she’s been staying with her family.”
“Madison left you?”
The outburst comes from a newcomer. Sebastian’s lips press into that line again, and his shoulders tighten before he turns to Jason, the new arrival. Behind him is Klaus, I’m pretty sure is his name. Cute and blond, I know he was born in Sweden but has lived in Canada and then the States for most of his life.
He does not look cute right now, though.
Both guys look like smoke might plume from their ears at any second.
“Madison fucking left you and you didn’t tell us?” Klaus sounds shocked. Pissed.
Jason looks like someone stole his most beloved possession.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her up.” I take a step back, away from the sudden surge of male anger pulsing along the other side of the bar.
“No,” Sebastian snarls at me. “You shouldn’t have. But maybe I shouldn’t have told you in the first place.” He shoves the pitcher in Jason’s direction, tosses another glare at me like this is somehow my freaking fault and grabs his keys from his pocket. “I’m out of here. You guys can have this.”
“Hendrix—” Klaus calls out but Sebastian doesn’t stop. Instead, the door flies open and he disappears out of it. The slam of it hitting the hinges causes a silence to fall over the whole bar.
Which is mostly his teammates.
“Shit,” I mutter, staring at the door.
“Well fuck,” Jason says. “Now I know why he’s been in such a shitty place lately.” He says it, speaking toward the door as well, and then his head swivels in my direction. “My question is… how in the hell did you know?”
I’m pretty certain I’ve said enough tonight. “Talk to your friend. I’m just the bartender.”
And I’ve most definitely been reminded of my place.
Chapter Seven
Sebastian
It occurs to me as I wake up from a night with little sleep, head thumping but not nearly as bad as the last time I went to George’s, and replay the events of the night before… that I might have overreacted and been a massive dick to Jason. Not only to him, but all of my teammates, and worse, I was an absolute ass to Gigi.
She’s been nothing but kind to me except for her attitude when I went to the bar and overheard her talking to her dad. Considering my earlier behavior, her bluntness wasn’t unwarranted.
Worse, I only went to the bar because I couldn’t stop trying to catch a glance of her all night. I tracked her around the bar, knew her every movement and yet every time she turned to look our way, I scowled at my drink.
It makes no sense. Why would I care where she was? Why would I like watching her pour drinks, kiss her dad, laugh with the other regulars at the bar?
Why did it make my jaw tic when she went and stood by the pool table when Klaus and Duke were playing, giving them crap, laughing along with them.
Why did I care about any of that when I was trying to hide my face from her? And worse… what difference does it fucking make anyway?
None of it does, but I’m not this guy. I’m not a jerk to my friends. I don’t fly off the handle and storm out of a bar. I don’t avoid hard conversations. Hell, the last two years of my marriage were filled with nothing but hard conversations. I should be a professional with them by now.
Sighing, I shove off my bed and hit the bathroom where I take a few minutes and get cleaned up. It’s early, only eight in the morning and we have the day off since we have to hop on the plane again tomorrow. I have all day and nothing to do with myself.
Stupidly, a woman who isn’t my wife is the only thing on my mind.
I might not have a chance in hell of making things okay with Madison, or saving my marriage, but I can make things right with Gigi.
At the very least, I can apologize for my asinine behavior. I’m not ready to talk to the team yet. I don’t want their pity-filled looks or slaps on the back. It’s become such second nature to hide my struggles over the last few years, it feels much too difficult to begin explaining now.
Starting with Gigi will be easier. Then I might grow a set of balls and get the courage to return one of Jason’s phone calls and texts he fired off last night as soon as I took off.
I used the excuse I was driving for not answering him when I was in the car. Once I got home and spent a few minutes playing with Bruiser before allowing him into my bed—somewhere he was never allowed before—then I used the excuse it was too late to call Jason. He’d be home with Tessa, his girlfriend and sister to teammate Sawyer. No way was I interrupting their late night.
But now it’s morning, I hate feeling like a dick.
And if I don’t get out of my house, the walls will start to close in on me despite the five thousand square feet of space I have here.
“Hey Bruiser.” I pick him up and scratch his head.
When I mentioned getting a dog to Madison years back, I was thinking something big, loud, and sc
ary looking. Like a mastiff. Or Pitbull. Or a Rottweiler. I wanted a dog who would protect her when I was on the road.
She insisted on a Maltese.
So a Maltese it was.
When I’m on the road, I feel like shit leaving him alone so much. Even though Cara practically lives here now while I’m gone, he still goes batshit crazy for attention from me when I’m here.
I swear he misses Madison. When he sleeps, he curls up onto the spot on her couch where she always sat when he used to have to stay on the floor. I didn’t even bother telling him to get off the couch the first time I saw him there, looking so pitiful.
Probably a lot like myself lately.
“Aren’t we a matching pair?” I say, setting him on the floor where he does his standard three-circle spin before taking off down the hallway, barking at nothing.
After grabbing a shower, dressing in casual black athletic pants and a tight athletic top that zips from the collar to mid-chest, I slide into my running shoes and grab some coffee on my way out the door.
Bruiser, who hates car rides and almost always pukes during them, is tucked away in his doggie room since I won’t be gone long. I’ve fed him, scratched his ears a few more times and promised to give him lots of attention as soon as I get home. Probably outside in the pool because he loves to swim despite the mess it makes of his fur. He’s one of the reasons why I keep it heated and ready to use all year.
Not that he cares about that, but I do.
I’m pulling up to the alley of George’s Bar where there are very few parking spots. Most are marked for deliveries but since I’m only coming to apologize and not stay long, I take my chances. I close my door, push my sunglasses to the top of my head when the door to the second-floor apartment where Gigi lives opens and she steps out.
She hasn’t seen me and for some reason I can’t fathom, I don’t call out to her to grab her attention. Instead, I take in the thin, black nylon bag strapped to her back like a backpack, the larger, black bag draped over one shoulder. Her skintight leggings match the black bags and cling to her short legs. On top, she’s wearing a sweatshirt and on her feet are lime green sneakers. A groan bubbles in my throat as I watch her maneuver her way down the rickety metal stairs.
Something stirs inside me, in my groin, and I quickly pinch my eyes closed.
I should not be having this reaction to her. To any woman.
You’re a married man, for Christ’s sake. Get it together.
But am I?
Yes.
Or not really.
The internal argument makes me cringe. I open my eyes to see Gigi nearing the bottom steps, one hand on the railing like she’s about to swing my way.
I have to end this. Perhaps for my own sanity than anything.
“Gigi,” I call out.
Her shoulders tighten before she slowly turns in my direction. Her hair is up like it was last night, but instead of two ponytails from behind her ears she’s rolled them into little buns on her head. Little puffs of purple are knotted tightly behind her ears.
“What are you doing here?”
Her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses so I can’t see exactly how upset she is, but her expression says enough. She’s pissed.
“I came to talk to you.”
“No thanks. I’ve got places to be.”
She hops off the last step. Unfortunately, she doesn’t head my direction but away from me.
Fortunately, I have long legs, strength, and some damn good speed on my side so I catch up to her in several quick strides while she hurries away.
“Please. I want to apologize about last night.”
“Seems to me,” she says, flipping up her glasses and peering at me as the harsh sun shines directly on her, “that lately all you’ve been doing is apologizing to me and, no offense, Sebastian, but you’re a customer. You want to be rude to the woman who serves you drinks, that’s no big deal to me. I’ll still take your money.”
Ouch. I take the well-deserved shot.
“I’m really sorry, though. I was a dick.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She slides down her glasses and keeps hustling. Since I’m so much taller, my legs so much longer, it’s more of a brisk walk for me. I can’t help but smile at how small she is.
Pocket-sized. So petite I could throw her easily onto a bed.
Woah. The thought slams into me so hard I jerk back.
“What?” Gigi says, looking back at my sudden stop.
My mouth is gaping. Where in the hell did that come from?
I shake my head to clear it and unfortunately when I focus on her again, her head is tilted in a curious way. I swear there’s a faint blush on her cheeks before she blinks and looks away.
Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be noticing any of that anyway.
“I’m really sorry, Gigi. It’s not your fault my wife has left me and is still refusing all of my calls. It’s not your fault I’m pissed about it, pissed about my marriage ending this way. And it’s definitely not your fault I haven’t told the guys on my team yet.” I shove a hand through my hair, forgetting about my sunglasses, and they go flying to the cement. Before I can bend down to reach them, Gigi does, handing them to me as we both stand.
“I was a dick to you, upset with Jason for trying to get that information out of me and now he’s pissed and hurt because I didn’t talk to him. None of that should have been taken out on you last night.”
Her eyes narrow, sparkling blue pools that are so bright they remind me of the ocean. For a moment, I’m lost in them until she smiles. It’s so blindingly bright it almost steals my breath away.
Goddamn. I should go home and jerk off, get whatever this strange lust for her is out of my system so I stop gawking at her all the damn time.
“Forgiven,” she finally says and shrugs.
“That easy?”
She sighs, squints at the sky like she needs to think about it, and my chest grows tight at the thought of her not meaning it.
Now is not the time to wonder why her forgiveness means so much to me. Something tells me if I think too hard about it, I might not like the reason. Mostly because I’m in no place to do anything about it.
“You’re having a hard time, Sebastian. I get it, to an extent. And you owe me nothing. Yeah, you were a jerk last night but to be honest, I was more upset you ignored me earlier. I wasn’t expecting that, so when you came at me with the other, it made me angrier than it should have. But we’re good. Okay?”
She adjusts a black strap on her shoulder, bouncing as she does.
“Is that a camera?”
A deep line divides her eyebrows. “Yes.”
“You going somewhere with it?”
“I plan on spending the day hiking, taking pictures out at Crowder’s Mountain.”
Crowder’s Mountain State Park is less than an hour from us. Beautiful views especially on a cloudless day like this and warm for the last week of January.
“Mind if I go with you?”
“What?”
I shrug. I can blame my need for fresh air. The absolute sudden hatred I have of being in my house all alone.
Or, it’s something far baser—I’m attracted to this woman despite it being the worst thing for me.
“Yeah. I like hiking and I don’t have anything to do until we fly out tomorrow.” I say it with as much nonchalance as I can to hide my desperation for her to not say no.
“Sure,” she drawls slowly. “You can come, but I’m driving.”
She points to her Jeep Wrangler, bright blue in color that doesn’t surprise me one bit given her love of bright colors in her apartment and hair.
“Lead the way, captain,” I say, teasing. “Will my car be okay there?”
“It’s fine. I’ll text Dad and let him know it’s there so when he gets in, he doesn’t have it towed, but we don’t have deliveries planned.”
“Okay then. Let’s roll out.”
She grins at me, that blinding smile again showing bri
ght white teeth and a gleam in her eye before she lowers her sunglasses and they disappear.
“All right, hotshot.”
Chapter Eight
Gigi
Man. What a strange turn of events I was not expecting this morning. Sebastian’s attitude last night kept me awake, tossing and turning more than it rationally should have.
So I have a crush on a guy I can’t have. It’s not the first time. Won’t be the last. So he hurt my feelings.
Big freaking deal. It’s life. It happens.
The only thing it reminded me of is that Sebastian Hendrix is a man who needs to be kept at a far distance from me. I’m way too susceptible to his sexy hair and beard, the sadness in his eyes, the strength of his body’s frame. Every time I’m around him, I want to brush my finger along his cheek and tease him until he smiles a real smile.
Stupid.
I’m in no position to heal anyone, and the last person I should be trying to heal is someone who makes my heart skip a beat at the mere sight of him.
So why did I allow him to come with me, sitting close to me in my Jeep, his hand tapping his knee to the beat of my country music playlist?
Because I’m an idiot. And glutton for self-inflicted punishment.
We’ve barely spoken since we reached the highway, both of us probably having no idea what to say, so I jump when for the first time in twenty minutes, Sebastian speaks.
“So, you’re divorced?”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.” I grip the stick shift to my Jeep harder than necessary. Next to me, his gaze is a heavy thing, barreling down on me.
“Don’t want to talk about it? I get that.”
“It’s not that. Evan and I… he’s a good guy. We still get along when we run into each other.” I sigh. Sometimes, the reasons why we divorced seem so trivial. “We were young. Dated in college. I think he proposed and I agreed because our friends were getting married and it was the next step after college. Then we moved in together and realized outside of partying with friends and tailgating at football games, we didn’t have a single thing in common. So we admitted our mistake, divorced, and moved on.”