Chapter 21
SUMMER
I don’t stop at my apartment to unpack my bags; instead, I go straight to The Pour House.
Sam is out of town until Monday morning; he’s planning on making it back just in time for his first class of the week, so until then, I’m on my own. It won’t be the first or last time I drink alone at my favorite bar.
And I always carry a book in my bag for times just like this.
The Great Gatsby from Asher feels like it burns a hole through my purse against my thigh.
I’m not sure why I brought it with me to my mom’s.
I’ve read it hundreds of times, and if I’d bought the copy for myself, I would’ve never risked shoving it in a bag for fear of damaging the special edition.
But I wanted to carry it with me. Despite hating the message Asher left inside…
I didn’t want to leave it behind when I was so far away from him.
I hurry across the street, pulling my jacket tighter around the red dress that I have yet to change out of. I nearly twist my ankle in the matching red heels and immediately rethink not stopping at home before coming here.
I stop just outside the bar, shivering in the cold air.
On second thought, maybe I should head home.
I’ve already made plenty of mistakes without being pissed off.
Drinking in a poor mood only ever leads to bad decisions.
And I am totally aware that there is a small, chaotic part of me that wishes Asher would be there when I walk in that door, but the odds of anyone being here, at a dive bar on Thanksgiving, seem slim to none. I’m surprised they’re open, honestly.
My breath puffs out in a cloud before me. Okay, I can get a drink, sprawl out in my favorite booth, and read my book.
Having thoroughly convinced myself, I push open the door and make a beeline toward the bar.
Dave grins when he sees me. “I didn’t expect to see any students here today.”
I purse my lips in a sad smile. “I didn’t expect to spend my night in a bar.” I lean against the wooden counter. “What about you? Couldn’t give yourself a day off?”
“No family in town,” he says with a shrug. “Figured maybe I could make some money from some sad sacks like you.”
He shoots me a playful grin, but I gasp in mock outrage. “Is this how you speak to paying customers?”
“The usual?” he asks, ignoring me. I nod, eager to put this entire day behind me. Spending most of my day in the car, coming home for just a couple of hours, and then getting ambushed by a blind date and a judgmental mother is probably the worst way I could’ve spent my break from school.
Dave turns his back to me as he starts making my drink, and I feel a prickling sensation tickle the back of my neck, almost like someone is watching me.
I clench my eyes shut and beg every god, goddess, and deity out there to let me just be imagining things.
I’m not.
He doesn’t wait for me to approach him. He comes to me at the bar.
“Whatever she’s ordering, put it on my tab, Dave.”
Asher is wearing a dark green button-up and black slacks. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, and I hate how attracted I am to that simple gesture.
“I can pay for my own drinks,” I mutter.
“I owe you a drink at a later date, remember?” He leans against the bar and looks me up and down.
His gaze lingers on my bare legs before coming back up to meet my scowl.
“You know,” he says, smirking. “Considering everything that happened the other night, I really thought you’d be in a better mood.
” My scowl turns into a full-on death glare.
He tsks at me. “You would think that I was the one who left before you woke up.”
Dave places my apple martini in front of me, along with a shot. He shrugs at my surprised expression. “It looked like you could use one. It’s on the house.”
I thank him, take both glasses, and spin on my heel, walking away from Asher.
“Care to comment, Ms. Nyx?” he continues.
I scoff. “Please don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have given me some bullshit hypocritical speech.
” I lower my voice theatrically to mock him.
“‘Summer, what we did was wrong. It’ll never happen again because it’s wrong.
We should’ve never succumbed to our desires; it’s wrong.
’ If I had stayed, I would’ve had to listen to you act like a broken record, and frankly, that wasn’t something I felt like doing. You’re cuter when your mouth is shut.”
He stares at me, perplexed, as we stop by the pool tables. “I have never said the words ‘succumbed to our desires’ before.”
I blink. “That’s what you took away from this?”
“Sorry.” He holds up a hand and laughs, though it lacks humor. “I’m still caught up on the fact that I woke up naked, in a bed that smelled like your perfume, and completely alone.”
My face heats with embarrassment. “Could you not?” I hiss before slamming back the shot. I grimace as the liquor burns down my throat, but Asher doesn’t leave.
He leans in closer. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Ms. Nyx, but we’re the only two patrons in the bar.” I give a startled look around as he smirks at me. “Everyone is with their family on Thanksgiving.”
“And why aren’t you with yours?” I shoot back at him.
“My sister lives out of state, and my parents and I had Thanksgiving lunch. Why aren’t you with yours?”
“My mother’s a nightmare,” I respond before taking a healthy sip of my drink. The crisp taste of apples washes over my tongue. He waits patiently for me to elaborate. I rest my hip against the pool table and sigh. “Whenever I visit home, she always tries to set me up with her friends’ sons.”
His fist clenches, and a little thrill zips down my spine at his reaction. He seems jealous. “And that bothers you?” he asks, controlling his features into something neutral.
“Would it bother you?”
“I’m a little old for my mother to be setting me up on dates.”
“So am I.”
He sips his beer before continuing. “So, the date didn’t go well, and you drove across the state? Was it really that bad?”
“I hid in the bathroom and called Sam for part of the day,” I say by way of explanation.
“Was Sam any help?”
“No.”
“And driving across the state and going to a bar alone helps?”
“Thus far? Also, no,” I say, giving him a pointed look.
“What’s the real reason you’re so upset about your mother trying to set you up?” he asks, a small smile playing along the edges of his lips.
“He was a gynecologist who lived with his mother.”
I watch as his lips tremble while he tries to hold back a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I’m studying child and adolescent therapy, not creative writing.”
He whistles. “That is rough.”
I shake my half-empty glass at him. “Hence the sudden road trip home that ends with me drinking alone on Thanksgiving.”
“You’re not alone,” he murmurs. I feel his pinky brush against mine as he shifts closer to me.
“Don’t do that,” I sigh, shaking my head and moving my hand away from him.
“Do what?” he asks softly, his breath fanning across my cheek.
“You know what.”
“Why?” He’s closer to me now, his voice no louder than a whisper. If I turn toward him, our noses will brush, maybe even our lips.
Absolutely not. Not after the day I’ve had. I won’t get sucked back into whatever this is just to wake up tomorrow and be told it was another mistake, that I was a mistake.
I down the rest of my drink and dash toward the door, leaving Asher sitting alone while I dart out into the night.