He probably had, and anyway there was no way to know. Sam wasn’t above adding on a drink or two, but in this case, he might even be telling the truth. The total wasn’t as bad as it might have been. He’d just have to pay it. “Who took me home?”
Sam shrugged. “No idea.”
Brad glared at him. “You know a lot of what happened. Tell me.”
“One minute you were passed out on the table, the next you were gone. I was kinda busy, and it was closing time.”
“I was drinking with Simone…”
Sam shrugged. “At first, you were. Far as I know you bought her a drink. She had that one with you, but then you were pretty loaded. You ordered two more, but she left—went home. Said her kid sister was expecting her. You drank both drinks yourself, I guess, and then started buying drinks for other people. I didn’t even think you liked most of ‘em.”
“And you didn’t say anything.”
“I should get upset because you’re buying drinks? You were happy, I was happy…. Hell, you seemed happier than I’ve ever seen you—until you didn’t seem like anything at all.”
Brad found himself wondering, trying to force himself to remember. It wasn’t doing any damn good, though. He remembered handing her the drink as he slipped the drug into it. Instead of thanking him, looking at him and smiling, she’d looked at the bikers at the next table. That got him angry, and he’d bitched at the guys, but all he did, the one biker, was propose a toast—he remembered that. Simone had nudged him, urged him to drink up, and they had.
That was the end of his night, as far as he could remember.
It was maddening. She had to have switched glasses with him. Nothing else made sense. No one else had been close enough to do it. But the bikers had to have seen her do it. So they knew. Had they told people?
He pocketed the oversized tab. “Okay.” He wanted to ask Sam more about what had happened, find out what he knew. He wanted to know who had taken him home, but the words wouldn’t come, and Sam didn’t like sharing anyway. Getting information was like pulling teeth.
Sam reached under the counter and pulled out his laptop computer. He held it out. “I figured you’d want this kept safe. I found it on the floor when I cleaned up the place last night.”
Brad felt a sense of relief. “Oh, man, thanks.” Replacing it would’ve been a lot of work. Even with the important stuff backed up, losing a computer was always a setback. He had this one set up perfectly. It had all the utilities he used regularly. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now pour me a double, will ya?”
“You feel up to drinking tonight? I hate to discourage business, but…”
“Hair of the dog. I really need one or two to get my balance.”
As Sam shook his head, Brad took a seat at a table and opened up the computer. It looked okay. Not damaged. He ran his security program, holding his breath, but no one had messed with it—his secret software told him that. Apparently, the night had gone exactly as Sam said.
It didn’t seem that the word hadn’t gotten out that he’d been trying to dope Simone. If they all thought he’d just gotten blindingly drunk, well, he could live with that. It had happened a time or two before and probably would again. So, that was good, but it left a question unanswered. Simone had somehow seen what he was trying to do and swapped the glasses. It had to have been her. So why had she kept it secret? She had to have some reason for doing that.
No matter how he looked at the situation, it seemed that Simone had something to hold over him. That wasn’t right.
When she came in to start her shift, coming out of the office tying an apron around her waist and grabbing up the towel she used to wipe down tables, he glared at her. He hadn’t intended to, but he knew the hate he felt for her at that moment had to be showing in his face. It was clear now that he’d never really liked her. How could you even be nice to someone who made it clear she didn’t want to talk to you, much less be friendly? That was why he had tried to drug her. She pretended to be a nice girl, but he didn’t like her, and she needed to be taught a lesson. If she’d drunk the drink, he would’ve helped her to her car, then fucked her silly and left her somewhere. That would’ve shown her who she was messing with.
Well, when one game goes bad, you fall back and regroup. If he couldn’t get to her that way, well, he had other ways of dealing with bitches. Better ways, when you got down to it.
“Hello, Brad,” she said, sweet as anything, as if her shit didn’t stink. “Are you feeling okay today? You were getting a little loaded when I left last night.”
“Fuck off, bitch,” he snarled. “I’m right as rain.”
She just smiled. Water off a duck’s back was what it was. Okay, the lines were drawn. Now he knew she didn’t like him, and she knew he was out to slap that attitude off her face—that smug look of knowing he’d tried to drug her and that she’d turned the tables on his ass.
She had her order pad in her hand. “You ready for a refill?”
He looked down and saw he’d already finished his first drink. “Yeah.” He hated it, but if he wanted to drink, he had to order from her.
She went to get his drink. The front door opened, and who should come in but that fucking biker, along with the silent mountain who seemed to always follow in his wake. The men swaggered in the way those guys did and sat at a table, smiling at Simone, looking at her like they wanted her. That’s when it occurred to Brad that even though Simone had said she’d gone home to her sister last night, she might’ve gone with the bikers and screwed them. Both of them, the slut. Who really lived with their kid sister? When she saw the bikers, she flashed them a smile, and he was sure. That was what had happened. The bikers had seen him try to drug her and signaled her so she could swap the glasses, then the three of them had gone off to fuck and laugh about him.
His pulse beat in his temples, and he knew his face was growing red.
When Simone set the drink in front of him, he grabbed her wrist. “You think you’re some kind of hot bitch, don’t you?”
“Let go of me,” she said calmly.