But I’d be damned if I didn’t try.
I grab a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar.
“I think that’s enough.” Joey’s gruff voice is too loud in my ear. I blink, inhale, and turn around.
“What would you know?” I say to Joey. Or at least I think I said that. I’m swaying a bit on my feet, though hell if I admit that.
“Listen, kid,” Joey says and slaps me on the back, turning me away from the bar. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll save that for another night. Find one of the stragglers, have her take you home and fuck you hard, then we’ll talk, all right?”
I grumble in response. I never got around to telling him about Lauren before I started drinking. “Can’t,” I slur, looking at the few women left at the bar this close to closing on a weeknight. “Gotta get back to Lauren.”
Joey raises an eyebrow. “You got someone steady?”
“In a way.” She’s not my girlfriend yet, but she will be.
He guides me to the bar to sit, then fills a plastic cup with water. “Have her come and get you.”
“No.” I shake my head. It’s too late to have Lauren leave the house. I think. Fuck. What time is it? I put the cup to my mouth and take a sip. And why the fuck am I drinking water? I’m not drunk. I can drive to Lauren’s. I want to see her. I need to see her.
I stand and pull my keys from my pocket.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joey asks.
“Home. To Lauren.”
Joey snatches the keys from my hand. He’s too spry for someone his age. It’s not fucking normal. Even drunk, I know not to argue with him.
“Give me your phone,” he says. I’m hit with tiredness as I pull my cell from my pocket. Maybe I am drunk after all. I put the phone in Joey’s hand.
Joey just shakes his head and disappears into the backroom. I go around the bar and fill a glass with whiskey, slowly sipping it. A minute later, he comes back and hands me my phone.
“You better buy her some flowers, boy,” he whispers. “Make it up to her. You don’t want to lose this one.”
No, I don’t. I can’t. Because it’s her I love, her I need. It’s always been her.
Chapter 15
LAUREN
“HELLO?” I SAY, jerked into alertness the second I see Noah’s name pop up on my phone. It’s late. No one calls with good news this late. My heart instantly races.
“Is this Lauren?”
Uh, that’s not Noah’s voice. My mind gets ahead of me, and this is the coroner calling to tell me they found Noah’s body on the side of the road after he crashed his motorcycle.
“Yes.”
“This is Joey, from The Roadhouse. I got your man here trying to come see you. He’s drunk as a skunk. Any chance you can come get him? Already took his keys.”
“Yeah,” I say, heart slowing down with relief. “I’ll be right there.”
I hang up and swing my legs out of bed, too shaken to be tired. I pull on a sweatshirt, go to the bathroom, then take off, having to program the address into my GPS on the way. I’ve only been there once, and I wasn’t exactly in sound mind when I left.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pull into the gravel lot and text Noah. A minute goes by before he responds. Then it’s another two minutes before I see him stumble out of the bar. Tiredness has set in, and now I’m just pissed. It’s nearing three AM and I need to be at work at seven.
His face lights up when he sees me, and part of my anger melts away. He opens the passenger side door and gets in.
“You stink like smoke,” I blurt when he leans in to kiss me. His lips taste like whiskey.