Chapter 9 #2
Ava lets out what sounds like a low level growl. I turn to look at her. “Is there something wrong with your eyes?” I ask her.
“No. Why?” She frowns.
“You rolled them. I thought you might be in pain.”
Lauren sniggers and I see Ava gritting her teeth.
“I’ll get those drinks now,” I say. “What can I get for you all?”
“A gin and tonic for me, and Sauvignon for Sophie and Ava,” Lauren tells me.
“I’m okay,” Ava says quietly. “I still have some to finish.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the fact is, I’m tired of arguing with Ava Quinn. I’m tired of her looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.
Overall, I’m just exhausted.
I’ll buy her a glass of wine, and if she doesn’t drink it, it’s not my problem.
“I’ll ask Ryan if he’d like something, too,” I say, relieved that he’s stopped his pole dancing impression and is back to potting balls on the pool table.
“Great.” Lauren grins.
I nod at the three of them then walk over to the crowded pool area. As soon as I am out of reach, the three of them start talking in voices too low for me to hear, but I’m almost certain to be the subject of their whispered debate.
“Ryan,” I say, holding out my hand. “Happy birthday.”
Ryan blinks when he realizes who’s talking to him. It takes him another second to shake my hand. “You came?” I’m not sure he’s happy that I did.
“Just for one drink.” I don’t want them all to start acting on their best behavior because I’m here. I know they don’t like me. And I’m okay with that. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have another Bud, please.” He looks inordinately pleased.
In the end, I take orders from most of the people in here, because I can’t buy a few of the staff drinks without buying them for the rest. I can’t abide favoritism and my bank balance won’t suffer.
The bartender blinks when I start to give him the orders, but he and his staff are efficient, and it only takes ten minutes to hand out all of the different drinks to the right people.
When I take the gin and tonic and two glasses of wine over to the corner where Ava and her friends are standing, I see only two of them there. I hand Lauren and Sophie their drinks, then look around for her.
“Where’s Ava?” I finally ask, her glass of wine still in my hand.
“Yeah, about that.” Lauren shifts, looking almost guilty. “She has a headache. She just left.”
AVA
I’m halfway home when I hear footsteps behind me. If I had any sense they’d probably scare the hell out of me, but we have a lot of runners in Charleston and I’m used to them calling out right before they overtake me, to let me know there’s no harm coming.
But whoever it is doesn’t call out as the steps get closer. Confused, I turn and there’s no one in track pants behind me. Just one man running in a suit, his jacket flaring out behind him, his dark hair mussed by the breeze.
I turn my head back and scrunch up my face, because I really don’t need to talk to this particular man right now. He knows all my secrets and I hate that. I just want to go home and sleep for a hundred years.
“Ava!” he calls out. He isn’t even breathless. He probably runs marathons for fun.
I stop walking, because he knows I know he’s there. A moment later, he catches up with me and I can smell his cologne in the gentle breeze that surrounds us.
“What do you want?” I ask him, genuinely baffled as to why he’s running after me.
“I…” He runs his hands through his hair and blinks.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Myles speechless before. It’s kind of thrilling but also unnerving. I look at him patiently, goosebumps lifting the skin on my bare arms because the evening has gotten kind of chilly since the sun went down.
Chilly for West Virginia, anyway. We don’t get the worst of the blazing weather until mid-summer, but even now the days are warm and balmy. The evenings can be variable. Sophie has tried to explain the effect of the mountains on the weather systems here to me, but it went over my head.
“You didn’t need to leave the bar because of me,” he finally says.
“I didn’t leave because of you,” I lie. “I have a headache.”
“Yeah, that’s what your friends said.” His eyes catch mine. Why do they have to be so piercing? Even in the gloom of the evening it feels like they can read my innermost thoughts.
And none of them are good.
“But you didn’t have a headache when I arrived, so I assume I caused that headache somehow,” he says, brushing his hair from his face with his fingers.
“It’s not you.” I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. Part of that’s completely correct. How could I be annoyed at him for coming into a bar that’s open to the public? That would just be rude. And he was charming to my friends.
Yet I’m embarrassed to admit that I am a teeny tiny bit annoyed at it. I don’t want to be, but I am. I wanted my friends to see how aggravating he can be. Instead, they were both swooning over him and Googling him to see if he’s seeing anybody right now.
He isn’t, apparently.
The fact is, it’s been a long week. I’m overloaded with work and have to make a life-changing decision soon, and I don’t know what to do. I know what I want, but it’s the how to get there that’s confusing me.
“Then what is it?” he asks. “Did something upset you?”
“No.” I really am starting to get a headache now. I rub my temple with my hands and wince. It’s divine retribution for telling a lie.
Myles gently touches my hands and pulls my fingers from my face. His touch is warm and gentle and sends a shiver through me.
“Do you have any Tylenol?” he asks me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’ll go home and take some.” I turn to walk away but he catches my wrist.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“Honestly, I don’t need an escort,” I point out. “It’s a headache, not a broken leg.”
He gives me a look that I recognize right away. I call it his ‘stop fucking with me’ look. And my now-pounding head decides to let him have his way for once. So we start walking.
Luckily, I only live five minutes away, and I can blame my silence on my head. But the pain slicing through my brain does nothing to dim my awareness of him.
He doesn’t touch me again, but that doesn’t matter, because it feels like he’s connected to me. My body tingles at his closeness, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
When we get to my front door I fumble with my purse to locate my keys, then manage to miss the lock twice because I’m so tense. He gently takes the keys from my hands and slides it easily into the lock, turning it to open.
“Take two Tylenol and get right to bed. Okay?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask softly.
He tips his head to the side. “I thought you liked niceness?”
“I do. It’s just…” I shake my head, then grimace at the resulting pulse of pain. “I don’t like it from you.”
His brows lift but he gives nothing else away. “Take a glass of water with you to bed, too. Keep hydrated,” he instructs me.
“Okay. Thank you. Good night.”
He steps back, watching as I walk into my hallway. “I hope you feel better in the morning,” he tells me.
I nod and close the door, about to head to my little kitchen where I keep my medicine in a decorative lidded storage box on the top shelf of one of my cupboards. But then there’s a knock at the door. It’s so strong and sure that I know exactly who it belongs to.
“Myles,” I say, opening the door to see him standing there, his expression serious, his eyes blazing.
“If you want a baby, I can give you one.”