CHAPTER 6
Remy
“Great,” he enthuses from my passenger seat.
I love him, but I can only handle his complaining in small doses.
Getting stuck in gridlock after listening to his adventures in Unclehood over dinner will require a little more focus than I’m currently willing to give at the moment.
Luckily, we approach a turnoff, and I follow other like-minded travelers who have the same idea as me.
“We’ll take the scenic route,” I inform him.
“Are you up for finding a watering hole on the scenic route?”
I snort, noticing how some of the animation has gone out of him now that his belly is full.
After a few blocks, I turn down a street that should eventually cross the one that runs to my house.
As we ride in companionable silence, I take in the contrast of the houses to my own.
I realize it’s the Monte Vista neighborhood, easily identifiable by the rows of large trees lining the streets and the spacious yards.
I always loved this area for the unique architecture of the homes.
They’re a mix of historic brick structures and European revival.
There is nothing wrong with the craftsman I snagged, but, hey, a guy can admire beauty.
We settle on a quaint but well-kept-looking little bar called Mahoney’s, since it’s the first one we see in the predominantly residential area. Once inside, it’s clear that if the place has a theme, it’s a sports bar, judging by the many posters and signs on the walls and the number of televisions.
“Ah, beer and testosterone. Perfect,” Jamie sighs and heads toward an open high top in the back. Once we’re seated, he rests his elbows on the table and scrubs his hands over his face. I shouldn’t find so much amusement in his misery, but he’s razzed me enough over the years, I can’t help it.
“Are you going to live?”
Huffing a laugh, he picks up a sticky-looking drink menu tower. “Yeah. I feel better already. Thanks for picking me up.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure TSA would have called me if I’d left you at the airport for too long.”
I get a kick in the shin for my remark, but he snickers and calls me an unkind pet name. As I rub my leg, he drops the menu and folds his arms, glancing impatiently around the place.
“I’m guessing this is one of those classy joints where you have to go up to the bar and wait for the bartender to notice you.”
Rolling my eyes, I get up. “I’ll go. You are my guest after all.”
“Mighty kind of you.”
Leaning back on his stool, he threads his fingers behind his head. Judging by his smug expression, he has no problem being waited on. I’m not sure why I missed him, but it’s good to see him in person again.
Luckily, the bar isn’t crowded. Only a few patrons occupy spots along the worn wooden structure. I slide in between two empty stools and glance down the bar to wait for the bartender.
My gaze snags on a bulky frame one stool down, a presence that’s too big to avoid. Just as I go to look away, I do a double-take. I’d know that profile anywhere.
Except, it’s not his profile. Chris is staring right at me, like maybe he noticed me first.
My mouth falls open, as usual. How many times have I just sucked in air for ten seconds each time I see him?
God, he looks good. His snug jeans are doing him lots of favors right now with the way they’re molded to his thighs.
The black T-shirt he’s wearing is stretched across his back and tight around his biceps, revealing every detail of his shape.
He’s bigger than he was when we were younger, a little thicker.
I don’t know why that makes him seem even more human to me, softer.
A different level of sexy. He looks just as good with a shirt on as he did without one the other day after he high-tailed it out of the center, leaving me wondering if I dreamt the entire encounter.
Shit. I’m staring.
Say something, Remy.
Licking my lips, I have to swallow before I can form words. “Chris… Hey.”
I swear his gaze stays fixed on where I just wet my lips before it flicks up to my eyes. “Remy,” he says my name like a warning. “You following me?”
“What? No! I…I have a table,” I assure him, hooking my thumb over my shoulder, hoping I’m pointing in the right direction.
He doesn’t even glance to see where I’m aiming. His mouth ticks up at the corner, and he turns on his stool to face me.
Wait…was he just messing with me?
“So…you live in San Antonio?” I realize that’s probably obvious, so I amend it as though I only get a limited number of questions before he disappears again. “How long have you been back here?”
“About ten years.”
Ten years? Chris has been here almost the entire time I floundered through hapless relationships? How is that possible?
Wait. Maybe it actually makes perfect sense why none of them ever stuck. Maybe there was some cosmic force interfering because we were still both within the same breathing space.
Yeah... Because that sounds totally plausible.
Jesus. Now I need a drink as badly as Jamie.
The bartender stops by, saving me from further gawking.
I ramble something to him, hopefully an order for a hundred proof sensibility with a shot of erasing verbal diarrhea.
When I dart a peek at Chris, my breath catches.
I swear he’s…checking me out? His gaze flicks up to mine with something intense in it.
I’m sure of it because I have the urge to clench my ass and groan.
“What are you doing tonight…Remy?”
“Just…having a drink with…” With…who the hell am I with? Turning back, I spot Jamie arching a brow at me curiously.
Yeah…him, I think to myself. That annoying guy I call my best friend, who will no doubt have a heart attack if he sees you.
This time Chris’ gaze does look in that direction. I watch his expression morph into one of terrifying displeasure. He lets out a snort and leans his arms back on the bar.
“Is that Jamie?”
“Um…yeah.”
He doesn’t seem to share the enthusiasm I put into that confirmation, picking up his pint glass and throwing its contents back with a scowl. What’s the deal with that? Did they have a beef in college that I didn’t know about?
Glancing back, I catch Jamie giving me a wide-eyed look. His mouth moves, forming words I clearly decipher as, ‘Chris? What the fuck?’
The only thing worse than listening to him bitch for the last two hours about how his family has invaded his personal space would be him reminding me of how depressed I was for months on end after senior year.
If he thinks he even saw a flicker of interest in my face while I was standing here, this is going to be the weekend from hell.
One I probably could use to whip some sense into me that I’ve clearly lost, but still hell.
Grabbing up the drinks I ordered, I try to act unaffected for both him and Chris. Except my feet don’t want to move away from the bar. What if this is the last time I see Chris?
We’ve lived in the same city for a decade and have never run into each other. What’s to say that we never will again?
“It was nice to see you again. I’ll talk to you later?”
It takes zero courage to make that sound like a suggestion as I turn away and hurry back to the table. I blame serendipity and a curiosity that feels like it just got reinvigorated. Just curiosity, I tell myself again as I refuse to make eye contact with Jamie when I set our drinks down.
“Hoooolyfuckingshit! Was that…”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, sipping the head off my beer with my full concentration.
“Oh, my God. Why did you pick this bar?”
Is he serious?
“Because you fucking told me to pull over!” I remind him in as harsh a whisper as I can, still silently freaking out.
“What did he say? Wait. What did you say?”
Jamie isn’t exactly quiet, but I doubt Chris can hear him over the noise of the TVs, the patrons, and the music. I tell myself that’s why I glance back over at the bar.
I catch him looking back at me, half-turned in his stool. His expression is equal parts curious and perturbed. Did I say something to piss him off?
Pulling my gaze away, I shake my head. “Nothing. I…I don’t know.”
Jamie groans, putting his face in his hands. “Ah, fuck. He’s already scrambled your brain again.”
“What?”
“Dude, do you remember what a Chris addict you were? You think I didn’t know each time you were expecting a visit from him?
You’d get all quiet, start super cleaning the duplex, and peeking out the window or pretending you had to ‘study’ in your room.
And then after graduation…you were this hollow, lost version of my friend, like a lamp without a lightbulb. ”
I glare at him. “That is a terrible simile. And I cleaned because one of us had to. You weren’t the hygienic roommate you thought you were.”
“Okay,” he chortles. “Whatever. You know I’m right.”
“You’re not,” I mutter petulantly, sneaking another glance at the bar only to find I’m still the center of someone’s attention.
Why is he looking at me? And why do I not want him to stop?
“Fine. Then why are you acting weird? What was this ‘nothing’ you talked about for a whole ten minutes?”
I snort because ten minutes is a complete exaggeration. I have to tell him something, though, or I won’t hear the end of this for weeks. “I just…” Crap. I’m going to have to tell him. “I saw him last week. He came into the center to get therapy.”
“What? And you’re just telling me now?”
“Would you keep your voice down?”
If it wasn’t apparent to Chris that I’m either talking about him or that I still have him on the brain, it most certainly is now as I glance back at the bar and meet his eye again.
It’s like being interrogated while you’re naked.
Shielding my eyes with my hand, I block him out so I can get through the details that Jamie thinks he needs to know.