Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
ALEX
“ W hoa, the Death Star! ” Elliot beams as I give him his latest LEGO set. He looks so much like my little brother… well, how my brother looked before the crash.
He’s got the same mop of black hair and the same light green eyes.
“Can we build it now?” he asks.
“I’m heading out for the night, remember?” I say. “But another time, champ.”
He frowns. Deep down, there’s a little niggling ball of guilt. I try not to think about my brother, his wife, the crash, or any of it. Instead, I kiss my nephew on the head and then walk out onto the porch of my beachfront property.
I’m not surprised to see Julian has already knocked back two glasses of whiskey, his eyes glassy as he pours a third. Just like in prep school, Julian is the partier, always ready to take things to the next level.
He’s got a hungry look in his eyes like he’s on the hunt for his next romantic entanglement, which inevitably burns hot and then sizzles out just as fast.
“Care for a glass, my old, depressing friend?”
I chuckle wryly. “Who said anything about me being depressing?”
He looks out at the sea. “Alex, old buddy, old pal, you don’t have to say it.”
“I’ll have a glass. A small one.” I emphasize.
He grins. “Don’t worry. I know you well.” He pours the glass as I sit opposite him. “The kid all set up with the nanny?”
“Yeah, I think they’re going to build a LEGO set.”
“Did he ask you to build it with him?”
I grab the glass, taking a long sip. It’s entirely possible I’m delaying my response.
“How’d you guess that?”
“Because a blind man could see it’s not just LEGO the kid is interested in building.”
I’m not in the mood for his professional insights. I became Chief of Surgery. He went on to become a successful clinical psychologist. This means he’s always quick with an opinion, whether it’s welcome or not.
“What’s on the cards for tonight?” I say, changing the subject.
“It’s Valentine’s, so there’s only one reasonable course of action,” he replies. “We find two hotties and have our wild, wicked ways with them.”
“We’re forty, Julian,” I deadpan.
“Ah-ah. I’m thirty-nine. You’re the old one in this dynamic duo.”
I grin. “Fair enough. But don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this?”
“Are you going to give me the ‘settle down’ speech? It’d be a bit rich coming from you.”
“Just because I haven’t settled down doesn’t mean I want to sleep around.”
“You should try it sometime. You might realize that being an honorable man is wildly overrated. Anyway, it’s not as if you’ve been stubbornly searching for love, is it?”
I take another small sip of whiskey. Julian takes this as a challenge and drains his glass.
“Life doesn’t have to be so serious all the time,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s worth just taking each moment as it comes. Who knows how many we’ll have left?”
“It’s a little early in the night to be getting philosophical,” I mutter.
“Blame the bottle.”
“You’re annoying enough without the bottle,” I tease.
He smiles at the gentle ribbing. “Touché, my grumpy friend. Why don’t you do me a favor tonight?”
“I feel you’re going to ask even if I say no.”
“Put all the sullenness in that soul of yours into a box and pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“No—God, no. If we were at work, I’d tell you to think long and hard about your issues and find the best way to approach them. I’d tell you to meditate and write a list of all the different ways you could conquer your demons. But thankfully, we’re not at work.”
“I’m happy to come out with you,” I tell him. “But the whole one-night-stand thing has just never been for me.”
“How about you do me a favor and try ?”
“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“You always talk about how it’s not for you. You want the real thing. Yada yada yada.”
“When you put it like that, you make me sound like some wannabe hopeless romantic,” I say dryly.
He grins as if to say, And what exactly did you think you were?
“You never know. Going out with the intent of having fun might have a positive effect on you. You may even be able to let go of some of this grumpiness. And who knows? Maybe having fun will put less pressure on the whole thing, and you’ll meet your soulmate that way.”
“For the record, I don’t talk about finding my ‘soulmate’ that often at all. Just so you know.”
“I wouldn’t be the top clinical psychologist in the world if I couldn’t read between the lines.”
“That sounds like a slight exaggeration…”
He grins. “So, do we have a deal?”
He might have a point. Ever since all the stuff with Elliot’s mom… I don’t let my mind go there.
Damn.
Maybe his point is even more valid than I realized. We arranged this night to have some fun, but my mind won’t stop going to negative places. It’s like there’s something inside me hungry for darkness.
“I can practically hear the cogs in your mind turning.”
I laugh, playfully flipping him the bird. “Fine, just this once, I’ll be your wingman.”
He may call me dramatic, but he’s the one who punches the air.
Julian leans against the bar, gesturing to the end of it with a big grin on his face. “What about them?”
I look down the bar. The place is all decked out in red. A large inflatable Cupid sits above the bar, holding a bow and arrow with a heart on the end. Even the placemats have a Valentine’s theme.
“They seem a bit…”
“What?” Julian interrupts. “Fun?”
“Young?”
“Pfft, don’t give me that. You’re the one in your forties. We’re talking to them…”
As he drags me over, I remind myself of my promise. I agreed to be his wingman. Tonight is about having fun, after all, not getting lost in the implications of what could happen.
Sometimes, it’s as if I think I can surgically dissect life, but that’s just not how it works. I need to let go.
“Ladies, I’m so sorry for interrupting,” Julian says, smoothly sliding his elbow onto the bar.
The two women turn to us, all smiles, looking as drunk as my friend. They look college-age, wearing outfits that don’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I’m judging them. I’d just like my future partner to…
I stop myself. I’m not here to meet my future partner. Neither are these women, most likely. We’re all here for the same reason. I refuse to look at the seediness of the situation.
“Could I be so bold as to ask your names?” Julian says.
The women giggle, apparently not finding this one of the cheesiest ways he could’ve made this request. I try to hide the fact that I’m cringing. Hard.
“You can call me Tinker,” the tall brunette says.
“And you can call me Belle,” the woman with pink hair says as they turn to each other and giggle.
Julian glares at me, which tells me my expression is probably not as inviting as it should be. I plaster a smile to my face—or my best approximation of one.
I have to remember. Tonight, no grumpiness.
“And what do you do, Belle?” Julian says, but he’s looking at me, making wild eye gestures toward Tinker.
“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that…”
When Julian loops his arm around her waist and leads her toward a table in the corner, that’s my cue to pick things up with Tinker.
“So, what’s your real name?” I ask.
She purses her lips at me. “Now, why would you want to ruin the fun, hmm? You should ask to buy me some shots. That would be more fun.”
Truth be told, I’m not interested in having fun with this woman. But I promised Julian I’d make an effort. I’m fairly certain this type of so-called fun will never appeal to me, but it’s Valentine’s. Maybe I need an open mind as well as an open heart.
“Sure, what are you drinking?”
“Sambuca.”
Disgusting. “Delicious,” I say.
I order a round of shots and carry them over to Julian’s table. He cheers and claps his hands together like I’ve just discovered the cure for cancer. I resist the almost overwhelming urge to roll my eyes at him.
“I saw that,” Belle says after we all drink our shots.
“Saw what?”
Julian chuckles. “She saw you toss it over your shoulder, smartass. Stop being so stubbornly sober. You’re going to make me order some more.”
“I don’t think I could handle another.”
Tinker giggles. “But you didn’t drink it.”
“What’s with the names?”
I mean for the question to come out in a joking tone, but judging from the look the girls exchange, I sound like an aggressive asshole.
“Well,” Belle says. “We made a pact tonight. No names. No connections. Just fun.”
“You’re kidding,” Julian says. “We made the same pact. But aren’t you here for the texting event?”
“Who needs to text when we’ve got the real thing, huh?” Belle puts her hand on Julian’s arm.
When Tinker tries to touch me, I lean away. It’s rude, maybe, but I don’t want to be touched. Julian frowns at me.
Dammit. What is he expecting? I’m not going to throw myself at her. The last thing I want to do is drag her into the bathroom and have some seedy, quick, meaningless sex, which is probably what he’s planning to do.
Sometimes, it’s difficult to know if I’m the crazy one or if everybody else is.
“What do you do?” Belle asks Julian.
As Julian talks about his work—something he always enjoys—I look across the bar.
Three women are approaching the bar. One is tall, blonde, and dressed modestly. The other is a redhead, dressed anything but. It’s the one in the middle who interests me, though.
Is interest a strong enough word?
She’s got soft, light brown hair, somewhat tamed but with a hint of wildness that immediately ignites my interest. Unlike most other women here, she doesn’t wear a dress. She wears a sparkly black top with tight hip-hugging jeans emphasizing her curvy figure.
There’s something about her smile. Small, almost judgmental. It’s as if she feels just as out of place as I do here. Her red-haired friend throws an arm around her, saying something in her ear over the loud noise in the bar.
“Hey.”
I flinch when Tinker puts her hand on my arm.
She looks upset. Irrationally, she reminds me of Elliot and the dejected look he sometimes gets when I tell him I’m too busy to build a LEGO set with him.
“What’s up?”
“I asked what your job is, but if you’re too busy ogling somebody else, maybe I won’t even bother trying to make conversation.”
Julian is giving me some serious stinkeye now.
“I’m a surgeon,” I mutter, trying not to stare across the bar at the woman with the tight jeans and the obvious attitude.
“That’s an understatement,” Julian says. “He’s the Chief of Surgery. Ladies, you’re in the presence of medical royalty.”
He’s laying it on thick. It’s true. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, but I’d never describe myself as royalty.
“Whoa, that’s like, really impressive.”
I smile tightly. “Thank you… Tinker.”
Already, I’m thinking of ways to end this conversation. I don’t want a one-night stand.
I want to talk to the woman leaning against the bar, looking around with an expression that says, What the hell am I doing here?
I know the feeling, stranger.