16. Derrick
16
DERRICK
It’s been too long since I’ve been out with friends, so being here now is more than a little jarring. Bars have never really been my scene, but it’s where the guys like to hang out.
Brooks claps me on the shoulder, his smile so wide and bright it’s hard not to mimic it.
“Good to see out for a change.”
“I figure it was about time.” I take a slow sip of beer. “I don’t get out much.”
I’ve always been more of a homebody.
Patrick, at the other end of the table, lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “I’d be a homebody too if I had a hot piece of ass waiting for me there.”
I bristle at the crass words. Not only is that an insult to Izzy, but to his own wife, too. Idiot. I’ve never really cared for Patrick, but he works with Brooks, so his presence tonight isn’t surprising.
“Watch your mouth,” I mutter.
The asshole only laughs in response. “Oh, come on, man! You can’t tell me you’re not tapping that.”
Red clouds my vision as I glare daggers at him. “She’s the same age as my daughter.”
He guffaws, his face red. Though I’m not sure whether it’s because of his hysterical laughter or the absurd amount of alcohol he’s consumed tonight. The guy was tipsy before I arrived. “What does that have to do with anything? She’s legal, ain’t she?”
Flinching, I ball my hands into fists. Men who say shit like that are exactly the kind of men the world should be wary of.
“Shut up, Patrick,” Brooks barks, his tone harsh.
Patrick opens his mouth to spew God only knows what, but Brooks points at him with a scolding finger.
“I said no.” My buddy settles into the seat across from me, head low and shaking. “Sorry about him.”
“I’m not the one who has to work with him.” I bring my beer to my lips.
My wife was killed by a drunk driver years ago, and since then, I’ve found that I don’t enjoy drinking in the way I used to. It’s not that I don’t ever drink, but on the occasions when I do, I always find myself wondering why. Why would someone drink so much and think it’s a smart idea to get behind the wheel? Why did the universe give one person the power to irrevocably change my family?
Brooks shrugs. “I only keep him on because of Tilly and the kids.”
Tilly. Patrick’s wife. She has MS and hasn’t been able to work in years. Not since her pain got so bad and she lost so much mobility.
“He’s a piece of shit,” I say anyway, keeping my voice low.
Brooks stuffs a handful of fries into his mouth, though it does little to hide his smile.
“That he is. I’m glad you came, though.”
“Yeah,” I say, surveying the plates full of appetizers littering the table. “I… me, too.”
I pick at the label on my bottle. Honestly, I’d rather be at home right now, lounging on the couch with Izzy and Wonton, watching Gilmore Girls and wearing a face mask. But I can’t say that. I shouldn’t even think it. Not that there’s anything wrong with hanging on the couch with her. The issue is what that statement would imply. That I like her. Probably more than I should.
And that?
It’s terrifying for many reasons.
I stayed out longer than I planned—possibly in an effort to prove to myself that I could go out and have fun. But to be honest, not one ounce of joy was had.
Quietly, I unlock the front door and ease it open. When I step inside, I find Izzy curled up on the couch with Wonton in the crook of her legs.
The door squeaks as I close it behind me, the sound waking Wonton. His eyes shoot open and fill with terror when they lock on me.
Oh, fuck .
The little dog launches himself up onto the back of the couch and then onto me . I catch him easily and hold him at arm’s length while he growls and snaps and barks.
Izzy jolts awake and rolls off the couch. In the background, on the TV, Netflix asks if she’s still watching.
“Jesus.” Sitting now, she slaps a hand against her chest. “Way to scare a girl.”
“I was going to sneak past so I wouldn’t disturb you, but this one didn’t let me.”
Wonton, maybe realizing it’s me now that he’s heard the sound of my voice, has settled, so I tuck him under my arm and shut the door. Izzy still hasn’t gotten up, so I move around to where she’s on the floor and offer a hand. “Need some help?”
“I need a minute. My heart is racing.”
I grimace. Dammit. I didn’t mean to scare her. I assumed she’d already be in bed, so I didn’t call or send a message to give her a heads-up, worrying that if I did, I’d wake her up. I guess that would’ve been a better alternative than this.
Finally, she takes my hand and lets me haul her up. “I could go for some water.”
“Water, sure. I can get you some.”
I guide her back onto the couch and set Wonton on her lap. Then I pad into the kitchen, fill a glass with about the amount of ice she likes, add water.
“Thanks,” she says softly when I return and extend the glass to her. “Did you have a good night?”
With a sigh, I settle on the coffee table in front of her. I’m so close I could count the flecks of color in her eyes.
She cocks a brow and takes a small sip. “I take it the answer is no.”
I shake my head. “I’m just… out of practice, I guess.”
“With socializing?” Her laughter has the water shaking precariously in the glass. When she notices, she flashes me a sheepish smile.
“If you want to call it that. It’s not that I never go out, but when I do, I find I don’t enjoy it like I thought I would. I’d rather be at home. Unless—” I press my lips together, shutting myself up.
“Unless what?” She prompts, leaning forward to set the glass beside me. I have to tip my chin up to avoid staring straight down her tank top. “Oh.” She presses a hand to her chest and straightens, her cheeks getting the softest shade of pink in the lowlight. “Unless you’re picking up a woman.”
“It’s rare,” I say a little too quickly.
She lifts a shoulder. “Everyone has needs. There’s nothing wrong with a hookup.”
I clench my fists, causing my fingers to rasp against my jeans. The idea of Izzy hooking up with anyone makes me want to scream, which is ridiculous. She’s twenty-seven. Of course she has sex.
I stand up and put my hands on my hips before I do something stupid like grab her and toss her over my shoulder.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Okay,” she says, worrying her lip. “My adrenaline is still pumping after that scare. I think I’ll stay up a little longer.”
I nod with more force than necessary, probably looking like some ill-functioning bobblehead. “Good night.”
“Night,” she echoes.
With that, I head upstairs, shower, and get into bed.
Alone.
So very alone.