Love You Always (Buttercup Hill #5)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

A rcher

I don’t even make it back to my office before my phone starts blowing up.

“Hey,” I bark at Graham, who goes on to tell me that the grower we’ve been negotiating with just sold the majority of his cabernet grapes to a competitor. So while I’ve been pursuing a futile romance with a Buttercup Hill client, even more of our business has gone to shit. Another piece of evidence why I should never distract myself with anything other than work. Especially women.

My heart feels like it’s been hollowed out and laughed at. For the second time, I actually believed I might have a chance with Ella Fieldstone. What a joke.

“You need to get laid, and quick,” Colin says, commandeering my truck toward the Dark Horse pub at the outskirts of Napa a couple hours later. I hear a quick succession of “heck yeah” and “seriously” from the peanut gallery behind me, aka my brothers and Ren, Beatrix’s fiancé. They’ve all but kidnapped me after I told them I’d be skipping their guys’ night out in favor of reading a book.

“I need to be left alone,” I grumble, looking out the window and knowing there’s not a chance of these guys staying out of my business when they think they know better than me. The dark hills to the left are scarred from fires a few years back, reminding me that I still don’t have any idea why my father would hire someone to torch our own land. I know he’s not making sound decisions, but this goes beyond moving numbers around on a balance sheet. He had to have thought things through, and it makes me sad and angry that I may never know what he was thinking. If he was thinking at all.

“I call bullshit on that,” Dash says, surprising me because he’s always game for an adventure but he rarely goes on the attack. “I mean, get laid or don’t, but you definitely need to be out with us instead of brooding at home.”

No one says anything specific about Ella, which is probably because they all know me well enough to understand that I’d jump out of a moving vehicle rather than talk about catching feelings for another man’s fiancée. It’s only because they’ve shown that bit of sensibility that I decided to throw on a hoodie and leave the house. That, and they showed up, let themselves in with Jackson’s spare key, and commandeered my truck. Assholes.

We reach the bar in fifteen minutes, and I follow them inside, taking a quick scan of the room to see if there’s anyone here I know. I recognize a few women sitting at the bar because they were friends with someone I dated years ago, but if they remember me, they probably won’t have nice things to say. Their friend called me a litany of names, all involving fear of commitment and general bad behavior, and hell, she was probably right.

I duck behind Colin and move toward the corner of the bar. “I’ll grab us a table.”

“What do you want? Beer? Shot? ”

“Beer.” I make my way to the table and slide into the seat facing the wall. A few minutes later, everyone joins me and we get into an intense conversation about hockey and the Oakland Otters, where Ren is an impact player. They’ve been having a good season, despite a rough beginning, but they’re a long-shot prospect for the playoffs. “It might take another year before we have the chemistry to get there,” he admits before downing half his pint in one slug.

“But it’s coming together. I can see a difference in this half of the season.” I’m not blowing smoke. The team’s record is better, sure, but ever since my sister got back together with Ren, I’ve seen every game and studied the team like it’s my job.

“We’re better, yeah, but we lost too many games early on. We’ll get there.”

I finally start to relax, at home in the dark space with guys who have my back, talking about sports. I only look over my shoulder once to see who else is in the bar. Otherwise, I’m focused on the guys who are here to help me forget about Ella for a few hours.

Ironically, after thirty minutes, I’m the only one who’s still sober. Sitting at our table in the corner of the dark bar, I have a perfect view of the mating rituals that define the human race. Boy are they pathetic.

Men sauntering up to women who are here with girlfriends—and clearly not interested. Women laughing and flipping their hair, trying to get Ren’s attention—and he’s clearly not interested. It’s a wonder we pair up and date at all.

Meanwhile, my brothers are acting like competitive, hormonal middle-schoolers, fake-fighting each other with pool cues. And I’m the one who’s still single , I think, shaking my head.

“You’re so full of shit, Dash. I’m the one who taught you to play in the first place,” Jax says, swaggering over to the pool table and putting his name on the chalkboard for next game .

“Doesn’t mean you’re better now. I actually play on the regular.”

“Not sure I’d brag about that. You’re just admitting you have no life.” Jax draws a slash on the board and puts Dash’s name on the opposite side as his opponent. They’ve been like this their entire lives. Dash, as the youngest brother, is always trying to prove he’s bigger and tougher than the rest of us, and Jax, in the middle, can’t resist taking the bait.

Colin and Ren come from the bar with a new round of drinks. I take mine and slide it onto a coaster on the sideboard next to the pool table. They won’t even notice if I don’t drink it, and after being here for an hour, I have less interest in drinking away my misery than I did when I got here.

“You two having a throwdown? I’m in for next game,” Colin says, always competitive, no matter the sport or situation. That leaves me alone without a partner, right when my old and very drunk friend Alicia totters over. We’ve known each other for years, never dated. I never wanted to, and I always assumed the feeling was mutual.

Tonight’s the night her inhibitions are low enough that she decides to set me straight. “I always wanted you, Archer. Why didn’t you want me?” she asks, slurring her words and almost missing the barstool she tries to sit on.

“Aw, Alicia, we’re too good of friends to ruin it by hooking up, we both know it.”

She nods and smiles, showing some lipstick on her front teeth. “You’re a good guy, Archer Corbett, telling me lies. Don’t worry. I don’t hold any grudges.” She pats at my chest.

“I’m glad. And if I hurt your feelings, I apologize.”

She looks up at me with a drunken grin, her eyes blinking slowly as she tries to focus. “I see three of you. Thass not a good sign.” Her hand remains on my chest, one finger drawing circles on the front of my hoodie .

“Nope. I’d say not.” I look around for her friends. It’s time for them to take care of her and it’s time for me to get home. I’m the only one sober enough to drive, and it’s my truck, so if the guys want to keep playing pool, they can call an Uber later.

Problem is that I don’t see the women she was with earlier. I stand up from the barstool and Alicia lurches forward. Apparently she was using me for balance. I catch her before she falls off the stool and rearrange her so she’s leaning against the bar. The bartender shoots me a look of sympathy.

“Did you see where her friends went?” I ask.

He points to the exit. “They left about a half hour ago with a group of guys. Looks like they made her your problem.”

“Of course they did.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get her home. She’s a friend.” He doesn’t get off work for another hour, and I’m ready to go.

I let the guys know I’m leaving. They’re in the middle of a heated game of pool, so they barely seem to notice. “Ruby’s at a girls’ dinner in the area. She said she’ll drive us if you wanna take off,” Jax says, always looking out for Dash, who always assumes someone is looking out for him. As to the other guys, they’re just along for the ride.

I help Alicia off her barstool, and she leans heavily against my side as we walk toward the door of the bar. Jax nods his approval, knowing she needs help home. I’m sort of happy to have an excuse to leave this place. I’m all for a night out with my brothers and friends, but the idea of hooking up with someone depresses me.

Alicia is halfway to passing out by the time we reach my truck. I manage to get her into the passenger seat, but then I notice she doesn’t have her purse. “Alicia, where’s your purse?”

“What?” Her eyes are bleary and barely open.

“Your purse. Do you have keys to your apartment?”

Her eyes drift closed, and she hums something unintelligible. I jog back to the bar and look around the area where she was sitting. Nothing. I have no idea if she even had a purse with her or if her friends took it when they left. But now I’m stuck with a drunk woman who I’m not about to leave sitting in front of her apartment building alone on a cold night.

Guess she’ll be sleeping on my couch.

Just what I need.