4. lucas
FOUR
lucas
I walked into KC’s Taphouse and made my way to the bar. Monday Night Football was on, so the place was packed. The guy I was looking for was standing next to a pretty bartender doling out Yuenglings.
Sitting on the very end, back to the wall so the entire room was in view, I waited for him to come over. Owen Wilson was four years younger than me, but I remembered him from football.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Good to see you.”
I stood and shook the bar owner’s hand. “Same to you. Place is looking good.”
I’d been in one of the two times I had come home since I left, but that was five years ago. KC’s had expanded since then.
“Thanks. And thank you for your service. Ten years is a clip. Really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” I said, sitting back down.
“What can I get you?”
“Anything craft on draft. Dealer’s choice.”
Owen poured a beer, two actually, said something to the bartender, and came around to the edge of the bar to drink with me.
“On the house.” He lifted his glass, and I did the same. “Welcome home.”
I clinked his glass. “That welcome is why I asked to talk to you.” Between Owen and his dad, the Wilson family owned half of the buildings in Kitchi Falls. You’d never know it. He was as down-to-earth as they came.
“Go for it,” he said, scanning the bar before bringing his attention back to me.
“I haven’t gotten out much since I came back, but Mazzie tells me there’s some. . . resistance to my place? I know if there’s anyone who has their pulse on the town, it’s you.”
I could tell the answer already by his face. “Honestly, the place hasn’t changed much since you left. A few more tourists, but the regular folk?” He shrugged. “Still as keen to accept change as they are a snowstorm in January, despite the fact that we’re in upstate New York.”
I took a swig of beer. “I didn’t expect a welcome wagon,” I admitted. “But my business depends on a good reputation, and I don’t want Grunt Ink to get off on the wrong foot.”
I hadn’t gone to the trouble to get a loan, find a building, and put so much of my hard-earned combat pay savings on the line to be taking two steps back before the place even opened.
“They’ll come around. And those who don’t. . . they won’t be your customers anyway.”
“Speaking of customers, you’re really packing them in tonight.”
“Only gig in town for the games.”
I wondered how Mazzie’s opening would affect him. “Boots and Brews,” I mused, not wanting to say much more.
Owen seemed completely unaffected. “There was a bar on that block for years. Honestly, it’s a completely different vibe. And anything good for Kitchi Falls is good for me.” I liked Owen more and more as we talked. “Your place will be too.”
“Thanks, man,” I said, glancing toward the door.
No fucking way.
I’d been here for two weeks and hadn’t seen her once. Now, twice in three days?
Owen spun toward the door—clearly I was not doing a very good job keeping my emotions in check.
“Ah, the dynamic duo,” Owen said. “Don’t usually see them on game night.”
My entire body was aware of her.
Concentrating on my beer, I downed it, with Owen immediately refilling.
“Which one?”
Before I answered, he did it for me.
“Wait a minute. You dated Charlee,” he said. “I remember that now. The two of you were one hell of a good-looking couple.”
And she’d only gotten more beautiful.
“Yeah,” I admitted the obvious. “We dated.”
“Distance split you up?”
Pfft. Not exactly. “Nah, we broke up before I left.”
She was coming toward me.
Don’t do it, Charlee. Don’t. Fucking. Do. It.
“I’d say by the look on your face, it wasn’t an amicable breakup?
“Amicable? No.”
She wore jeans and a pale pink, long-sleeve shirt with two buttons revealing the tiniest bit of cleavage. Hair down. Very fuckable.
And just like that, she was in front of me. Close enough I could smell her. And didn’t she wear the same damn perfume, one I could smell for years longer than I should have.
“Hi, Lucas.”
Not here. Not now. At the risk of sounding like an absolute prick, I said, “I’m not doing this tonight, Charlee.”
If she was surprised by my abruptness, Natalie and Owen were too. But it was either that or make small talk with the woman who broke my heart—something I had no desire to do at the moment.
“Geez, you could have tried ‘Hi, Charlee’ instead,” she said, her voice an unexpected jolt to my dick. “I just wanted to welcome you back.”
I lifted my beer glass slightly, said, “thanks” and turned my attention to the game. As predicted, she didn’t wait long. Charlee and her friend moved on to the other side of the bar.
Owen whistled. “If you wanted to slam the door shut, you did a good job.”
I wouldn’t look at the high top where Charlee and Natalie ended up for the rest of the night. “Slam it. Lock it. Works for me.”
In response, Owen went to the tap to refill his beer. “I have a story to tell you,” he said when he came back.
While I appreciated the company and hearing how he and his current girlfriend had broken up on pretty bad terms, their first reacquaintance in this very bar going down in the same way mine and Charlee’s just had, I was sure of two things.
I was not Owen Wilson. And Charlee and I would not be getting back together.
Period. End of story.