Taking Chances (BYC #3)

1. Anne

1

ANNE

W hat the heck is wrong with me? Why can’t anyone love me? My thoughts race as alcohol slowly takes charge of my body.

I’m aware that drinking all alone in a crowded bar probably isn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

Bryce is still at our place packing up his stuff, and I’m not ready to share my misery with my friends. My sickeningly in love, happy friends. Or my judgy, perfect sister, who’d definitely find something to blame me for.

Nope, this is better, I tell myself, finishing another glass of my gin and tonic. The numbers became fuzzy after the third one, so I stopped counting.

Someone slides onto a stool next to mine, but my head’s too heavy to turn toward them. Raising my hand to call the bartender over, my unstable core betrays me, and I feel myself slipping from the stool.

I’m saved from a certain fall by sizeable, leather-covered arms enveloping me just as the bartender approaches.

“He bothering you?” The bartender shoots me a cautious look, but my senses are under attack from the scent and warmth of the huge arms, making it impossible to answer.

The bartender raises his brows, waiting, so I scramble to say, “I-I don’t think so.” He dips his head and leaves to tend to another customer.

And this is why I chose this place to drown my sorrows. Factory is the only bar I’d feel safe to do this in. But they really take care of their customers.

Shoot. Why is it so hot in here?

I move to take off my cardigan when I remember someone is holding me so I don’t fall off the stool.

“Sorry,” I squeal, moving away rashly.

My gaze lands on my savior and the floor is knocked out from under me again.

“Fuck,” a deep voice rumbles before reaching out for me.

My heart flutters but my mouth is stunned shut, which is a blessing. I stare like a doe caught in headlights at gorgeous deep-blue eyes eyeing me warily beneath a simple gray beanie. His strong arms hold my whole body as if it weighs nothing, and I don’t make an effort to move away.

“Let’s get you to safer ground.” He half-carries me to the nearest empty booth and drops me in it before getting back to the bar.

“Can you get me a drink, too?” I yell after him.

“You sure you should be drinking more?”

I cross my arms over my chest defiantly. “I’ll have you know, I’m way clumsier than I am drunk.” I’m equally drunk and clumsy, but there’s no need for him to know that.

He stares at me for a second before groaning. “Fine.”

A minute later, he comes back holding a beer and a gin and tonic. He doesn’t sit down until I start talking.

“I have a perfectly valid reason to be drinking alone.”

His massive shoulders slump under the leather jacket before he sighs and drops down into the booth across from me. “Oh, yeah? And what would that reason be?” He takes a swig of his beer, his tattooed knuckles wrapped around the throat of the bottle.

My gaze catches on the intricate details and my mouth parts on a silent ‘oh’ before I remember his question. “I’m unlovable.” I sigh, tears welling up in my eyes.

“No way, me too,” he replies sarcastically, clinking his bottle to my glass.

Throwing a napkin his way, I respond, “It’s not funny in the least. I’m being serious.”

“Me too,” he deadpans.

“Well, how many times did the boyfriend you thought was going to propose dump you because he fell in love with his coworker?” He’s stunned for a second, and I give him a pointed look. “Told you.”

“Yeah. That’s rough.” He tips his bottle so we each take another sip, my head finally relaxing from overthinking. “Why did you think he was going to propose?”

“He acted like he was crazy about me.” Did I imagine that? “At least, it seemed that way. He was the one who proposed us moving in together. And we were supposed to go skating next week. . .” My voice trails off as tears reappear in the corners of my eyes, now threatening to fall.

“Skating?” His magazine-worthy face scrunches in confusion.

“Yes, skating. Open air ice skating, the single most romantic thing that a couple can do. In public.” He snorts, making me sigh. “It was my dream proposal. Open air skating rink reserved just for us. Hozier playing in the background. Pink rose petals scattered everywhere. He gets down on one knee, I say yes, and we spin together like a pair of Olympic figure skaters.” My romantic heart quivers in my rib cage, though a hint of despair chokes it.

“Was?” he asks.

“What?” I may have trailed off to a dream land where Bryce did that instead of going off and falling in love with another.

“You said it was your dream proposal?”

“Yes. I’m done with relationships, starting today.”

He lets out a chuckle, but I don’t have it in me to argue.

“I really thought he loved me. But his look today, the look he got talking about his priceless assistant he fell in love with—I never got that look.” I pick at the napkin in front of me. “Not sure if I only imagined it, wanting so bad to be in a loving relationship.” My cheeks blush deeply at the confession, so I down the rest of my glass. “Guess it’s time for another drink.” I start to get up, but he stops me and heads to the bar himself.

He’s a blur of black clothes as he struts to the bar, but I imagine he has a great ass. The thought makes me laugh and I’m still laughing as he gets back.