23. Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Lance
The Five Stages of Grief.
“One more? For me?” I beg as I bat my lashes.
Cain shakes his head apologetically, “I can’t. My shift starts in nine hours. I gotta go home and sleep this off, babe.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment as I turn back to the bartender and order another shot. “Fine. I guess I’m on my own then.”
As soon as the bartender slides my shot across the counter, I clink it on the bar top and throw it back.
I wince at the sting it leaves behind, almost grateful to feel a different kind of pain.
This is my third night in a row at the bar, and if I weren’t leaving in the morning, I doubt it’d be my last. The alcohol and dancing have been making it much easier to sleep when I finally crawl into bed at night.
I don’t waste hours contemplating all my shitty life decisions, I don’t have nightmares, and I don’t think of him.
Which, in all honestly, was nothing short of a miracle when he’d barely gone more than thirty minutes without texting or calling me.
Except for today.
Fuck him.
“I’ll check on you in the morning, yeah?” Cain asks with a raised brow.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply as I glance out at the dance floor. “Promise. Go get some rest.”
The song changes, and the volume seems to increase exponentially, causing Cain to grab onto my shoulder and lean in to yell over the music. “Alright. Be naughty for me!”
I smirk at him and give him a nod before he wanders off, disappearing in the crowd.
I stare out at the dance floor as I tug on my phone, forcing it from the tiny pocket in my shorts.
I have a total of… oh yeah… zero notifications from Roman.
There’s only one reason I’m even checking my phone, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Roman Easton or seeing if he still misses me enough to text me. Nothing at all.
Mystery man has changed up the roles, and he’s been sending me facts the last few days.
He swears that I’m spiraling, and he thinks that if he stays in contact with me at all times, then I’m less likely to do something stupid.
He might have a point. I might be spiraling, but I’m fucking loving every second of it.
It’s hard to care when you’ve got nothing left to care about.
He doesn’t just send me any random fact though.
They’re facts about the prison.
BFF:
Did you know that there’s two guys that live here and they practically look like twins, but they aren’t even related?
Actual Doppelg?ngers.
“Wait a second…” I mutter to myself as I reread the message two more times. The words are looking a little blurry. Maybe I should slow down on the alcohol.
Me:
Are you talking about Dev and Cain?
BFF:
Yep. Pretty crazy, huh?
Me:
They’re brothers. They tell people all the time.
BFF:
They’re stepbrothers, not actual brothers. Devlin is only four months older than Cain.
Me:
No shit?
That’s insane. I never would’ve guessed.
I knew they weren’t twins, but I was sure they were brothers.
BFF:
It still blows my mind every time I see them.
They’re almost identical.
Me:
Not really.
Devlin has a freckle on his collarbone.
Cain has lighter hair and eyes.
Devlin also has straighter hair, while Cain’s has a little more curl to it.
BFF:
It sounds like you’ve spent a decent amount of time up close and personal with them…
And I’m irrationally jealous about that.
Me:
So, meet me at the bar and let me get up close and personal with you instead.
BFF:
Nope…
And if you’re already at the bar AGAIN, then you need to go home.
Because I’m about to head there to check on a friend.
I roll my eyes in annoyance as I shove my phone back into my pocket.
I know that by ‘friend’, he means the guy he was with before.
Even though they aren’t talking anymore, he still goes out of his way to be there for the guy, and I can’t decide if I’m jealous over him still treating the guy so good or the fact that he could be treating me that good instead.
We’ve spent a lot of time talking the past few days, about any and everything.
At first, I was worried that the same thing that happened with Roman was going to start happening with him.
I’m so desperate to let go of my feelings for Roman, that I almost welcome the idea of getting attached to him.
SeeYouClearly is so fucking perfect that it would be stupid for me not to fall for him, right?
I’m sure that if it weren’t for Roman, I could.
I love talking to SYC, and I love the connection we have.
I feel comfortable with him in a way that I’ve only ever felt with…
you know who. I know that I can trust him with anything.
I know that I told Olli that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet him, that I never would, but maybe I should. Maybe it would be good for me.
What would be really good for me would be not making important decisions when I’m this drunk.
As I stare out at the dance floor, I debate doing what he asked me to.
It’s what we originally agreed on. We said that we would both avoid sharing any personal details with each other or putting ourselves in any scenarios that gave away our identities.
Period. The sweaty bodies and swaying mass on the dance floor that’s moving to the beat are calling my name though, and…
technically I don’t owe him anything. I glance over my shoulder, checking the time on the clock that’s hanging above the liquor shelves.
It’s barely after eleven, which means that there’s still hours left in the night.
Tonight is my last night here before I have to face the reality of my mistakes, so…
My feet start moving toward the music before my brain has even made a definitive decision.
I’m not leaving.
I know that I should listen to him, that I should leave, but it’s not like I’ll know who mystery man is when I see him.
It could literally be anyone in this building.
Hell, he could already be here. There are easily a hundred people smashed in this tiny space, and the odds of me pinpointing which person is him is highly unlikely.
If I even see him at all. I may also be a tiny bit bitter about the whole situation, which only seems to be exacerbated by what happened between Roman and I.
I just don’t understand why I have to feel this way.
Why did mystery man have to be my perfect prince?
Why did I have to fall for the villain of my story instead? Why can’t I just have both?
So, yes. Maybe I’m being a little bit petty and bratty by ignoring his wishes, and I’m sure that I’ll feel like shit about it when I sober up, but right now? I’m being selfish.
I force my way out onto the dance floor, using my size to my advantage as I squeeze between dozens of people until I find a comfortable place to stand.
Within seconds, the liquor I’ve been steadily drinking the last few hours has all of my worries lost in the wind.
My body immediately picks up the beat of the music, swaying along to the bass.
Between all the people crowded around me and my constant movement, it doesn’t even take five minutes for beads of sweat to start trickling down my face and chest. I run a hand through my clumpy hair, pushing it from my face.
Even with the music pulsing from every direction and the masses of people around me, my ears are trained on that little bell above the door.
Every time I hear it jingle, my eyes shoot in its direction.
I’m far too short to see over the other people around me, so I can’t tell if people are coming or going but knowing that mystery man could be the person walking through those doors fills my blood with adrenaline.
The people surrounding me are constantly shifting, moving around.
The bodies that are pressed up against mine are hard and muscular before changing to smaller and gentler, rotating between all kinds of people.
I don’t care who they are or what they want, because this night is mine.
I keep my eyes closed and my body moving until my legs start to feel like jello.
I’ve successfully managed to completely turn off my brain and feel… nothing.
Until I do.
The air around me shifts, and the same intoxicating static that I’m familiar with grabs my attention.
Warm hands wrap around my waist, but they’re not like the dozens of other hands that have touched me over the last few hours.
They’re more confident, almost cocky. The way they trail over every inch they can reach as if they know me.
Much like the haze I’m savoring from all the alcohol I’ve consumed, I lean into the rush it gives me.
I grind my hips into whoever is behind me even harder, swaying a little closer with every pass.
My first thought isn’t, you know, the guy who is actually supposed to be coming to the bar tonight. It isn’t of that guy, the one that I’ve been messaging. The one I should be falling for. Oh no. It couldn’t possibly be that easy.
Instead, my first thought is of Roman. Of the buzz that’s beneath my skin, the same one I get when he’s nearby.
It’s of the way his touch lights my body on fire the exact same way having his eyes on me does.
It’s of the deep seeded desire to show him exactly what he’s missing, of what I wish he was missing.
I know these hands aren’t his, but I’ll take any reprieve I can get from my own misery, so I pretend.
Just for tonight. I keep my eyes closed as I lean my head back against the guy’s chest. The scent that fills my nostrils isn’t of a late-night campfire crackling in the woods.
It isn’t Roman, but it’s still oddly familiar.
The scent is luxurious and rich, but recognition doesn’t set in.
I just take comfort in knowing that the person behind me feels like someone I know while I pretend that they’re the person I can’t have.