12. Shelby
SHELBY
There’s no place like home.
Or in my case, there's no place like the local dive bar that is cash only, still has a jukebox that takes quarters, and the fanciest beer on tap is Bud Light.
Home sweet home indeed.
“You know I stopped stocking your fancy vodka when you moved.”
I’m not in a smiling mood, but I can’t help it as Frank—the owner and proprietor of his namesake bar—slides a glass of some sort of vodka in front of me. “It wasn’t fancy Frank. It was Titos.”
“It didn’t have a plastic screwtop. Therefore, it was fancy.”
When I lived here, I rarely made my way down to the strip. Sure, on occasion, I’d partake in a show or go to a club when friends were in town. But when it was just me. When I needed to just sit back, have a drink, and clear my head. This is where I came.
Frank’s. A bar so off the beaten path, I don't even think it has a Yelp review. But it does have the best burgers in Vegas—and I love a good burger—and drinks so cheap you wonder how he stays open.
And it’s exactly where I need to be tonight.
I take a sip of the vodka he poured me, wincing at the taste. Oh my… I haven’t drunk vodka this bad since Gabi and I snuck out for our first Mardi Gras.
“How about maybe just a beer,” I say, shaking off the cheap liquor burn that has now hit my toes.
“You used to have a better stomach,” Frank jokes, but obliges and hands me a bottle. “I didn’t know if you were going to stop in this weekend.”
“You knew I was playing?”
He nods, tossing a towel over his shoulder. Do they teach that move in bartender school? “I heard a few things. Plus, I saw you on the television talking. I see you still have a way with words.”
“Might have a new address, but some things never change.”
“I can tell,” he says, resting his elbows on the bar so he can talk a little softer. “You seem to be doing better, kiddo. Considering the last time I saw you.”
I wince at the memory. The last time I saw Frank was the night Michael ended our relationship. I went straight from Chili’s to here and told Frank to keep ‘em coming. I don’t think he realized I was dead serious when I said that.
I don’t remember much from that night, to be honest. Not how I got home, or why I woke up the next day without any pants on. It wasn’t the pants off that was my question, it was why I found them in the microwave.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come in before I left town,” I say. “I meant to. It’s just…things got crazy.”
“No apologies needed,” Frank says. “But to make up for it, why don’t you tell me why you stopped in tonight. And don’t bullshit me saying it’s because you wanted to say hi.”
“How do you know it’s not that? Plus, I needed to eat, and I can’t find a burger in Nashville that’s better than yours.”
He raises a bushy gray eyebrow at me. “Because I know you, Shelby. And I might not have seen you for a few months, but I know when you’ve got something on your mind. And, damn girl, do you have something on your mind.”
Ugh. For someone who does her best to not show her cards, people can read me like a damn book.
After I stormed off from the press conference, I didn't know where to go. Obviously, hanging around the course wasn’t an option. There I’d run the risk of seeing Michael or Beau. Or Courtney with Beau. No thank you.
The next best option was locking myself in my hotel room. That would’ve been the safest. And I tried. But after an hour, I felt like the walls were closing in. I needed out, but I needed a safe place.
I needed Frank’s.
“Let’s just say it’s been a day.” I take a pull of the beer, trying to relax into my barstool.
“Care to tell ol’ Frank?” he asks. “Been a minute since I’ve gotten to play therapist.”
I smile and shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“Damnit. These guys don’t tell me shit. And when they do, it’s boring as hell.”
I laugh at his joke, because Frank really is one of the best advice-givers I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking with. But when I said I was good, it’s not because I didn’t want his advice. I just don’t know where to begin.
I want to think storming away from Beau had nothing to do with Courtney.
That I was just pissed at Beau for dragging me away from the press conference like a child.
But I’d be lying. It had everything to do with her, and the sudden jealous surge I felt sweep through me.
It was just a lot of emotions, and they were ready to explode out of me.
I needed to get away and freak out in private.
Fuck. I’m an idiot. Why should I care who Beau sleeps with? Why should I care about Beau at all? Sure, he’s my partner for the next four days, but that’s where it stops. He’s still Beau. The cheater. The cocky S.O.B. The pompous ass.
But he’s also the man I think was ready to go to battle with me today, not against me. The one who, if I’d asked, would’ve brought me into his arms and just let me cry, even if he had no idea why I was doing it.
Again…idiot.
I can’t be having these feelings for Beau.
If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s holding a grudge.
And I’ve been doing it brilliantly for twenty years.
So why am I suddenly finding myself ready to forget what he did?
Or maybe not forgive, but…move on? Part of me wants to, but part of me feels like it’s wrong to just let it go away.
He confuses me. His damn cologne makes me go stupid. And the golf pants? I’m such a whore for a man in well-fitted khakis, it’s sick.
I’m confused. I feel like I’m torn between the side of me who wants to remember that I hate him, and the other side who wants to do something stupid. Say fuck it, and kiss him.
To add insult to injury, when I did go back to my room, I was greeted by a text message from Michael. Smug asshole wanted to apologize if he was out of line with any questions, and wondered if we could meet for dinner to, in his words, “clear the air.”
I didn’t even respond. I blocked his number, along with Beau’s. Because the last thing I need is him trying to find me to try and fix me.
“Did you invite your golf friends?”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head as I get my bearings. “Invite who?”
Frank nods toward the door. “You’re the only golfer’s ever been in this bar. And now we can make him number two.”
I’m not that drunk yet, so I can’t be imagining Beau stepping through the door of the dive bar. He looks to the right and left, probably trying to see what this place is about, before his eyes come back to the center and lock on mine.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he grumbles, walking toward the bar. “Out of all the gin joints in all the world.”
“Humphrey Bogart you are not,” I say, spinning my bar stool to its original position.
I do my best to ignore him, but it’s hard when he decides to sit right next to me.
And he’s wearing that fucking cologne.
Beau doesn’t say anything, just stares ahead at the bottles lining the back of the bar. He doesn’t take out his phone. He doesn’t even look up at one of the two televisions that Frank sprung for a few years back.
This should be fine. If he’s not talking, that means we’re not fighting. If we’re not talking, I don’t have to pick fights to give me a semblance of normal. If we’re just sitting still, existing next to each other, nothing will happen.
Perfect.
And it is. We don’t talk for a minute. Then five. Beau does order a drink from Frank, tipping way more than he needed to on a draft beer and a shot of house whiskey, before eventually taking out his phone and scrolling on it.
“What do you want!”
My outburst not only startles Beau, but also Frank and a few of the regulars I came to know over the years.
“I wanted a drink. I came to a bar. I’m getting a drink.”
“Don’t play coy with me. You followed me here.”
He shakes his head as he takes a drink of his beer. “Don’t flatter yourself, Belle. I got in a cab, asked the driver to take me to a bar off the beaten path. He dropped me off here.”
“Oh! Was it Jimmy? Or was it Ernie? Both are good guys.” We both look up at Frank, who has a proud look on his face. “What? I have an arrangement with a few cab drivers. If anyone asks for a bar recommendation, they bring them out here.”
“I thought you liked that no one knew about this place,” I say.
“I do, but I gotta keep the lights on,” he says. “You two good?”
Beau nods, but I fish cash out of my crossbody. “I’ll pay up.”
“You’re leaving already? I just got here.”
I nod as I grab two twenties. “Yeah. I should get back to the hotel. Sober up before the morning.”
Beau’s hand comes out in front of me, essentially blocking me from handing Frank the cash. His knuckles are flaming red. What the hell? Did he get into a fight?
“Can you give us a second, Frank?”
Frank gives me a look to make sure I’m okay. I don’t know what look I give him, but apparently it was a green light. I’d say yellow at best.
“What are you doing?” I ask Beau, just wanting to get out of here and away from him.
“Currently? Making it so you don’t leave. Before this? Drinking. Before that? Trying to figure out why you were mad at me today. Before before that? I—”
“Oh my God, just stop!” I cry out. “You are the most infuriating man on the planet.”
“Which is interesting, since you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
“At least I’m not a stalker.”
Beau shakes his head a little. “How the hell do I stalk you?”
“Here! You’re here! In my bar!” I throw my hands up and wave them around, like I actually own everything here. “No way a random cab driver just happened to drop you off here.”
“Hey! Be nice to Jimmy!” Frank chimes in.
“You’re unbelievable,” Beau hisses. “Believe it or not, after I realized you blocked me so I couldn’t check on you, I wanted to be as far away from you tonight as possible. So tell me. How could I stalk you to this random-ass bar?”
“Hey! Watch it, fella!”
“Sorry, Frank…”
My head is bouncing back and forth like I’m watching a tennis match when I realize what he said. “How do you know I blocked you?”