Never Say Forever

A muscle in his jaw tightens, his answer almost grated from between clenched teeth. “He did what?”

“Didn’t you hear? And that wasn’t my first offer of the night. Bar tending certainly has its perks when you’re trying to get over someone.” Number one perk being the large lump of wood between me and him as I continue needling him. “Apparently, he had nine hard inches just for me.”

“I promise you, the only way he’d ever be able to deliver would be in instalments.”

I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my hand and hating myself just a little for letting him make me feel any sort of joy.

“I can’t believe you’d be impressed by that kind of lame ass pick up line.”

“I didn’t say I was impressed.” And just like that, my mirth stops like a tap.

“Were you interested?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even, I’d guess though his delivery is very pointed.

“That’s got nothing to do with you anymore.” I grab a cloth and begin to wipe the bar top vigorously. Confused doesn’t even touch how I feel seeing him here in front of me looking all kinds of gorgeous and attentive and possessive. I know I should send him on his way but I’m also conscious of the attention he’s drawing. I’ll be gutted, torn apart, if as a result of my goading he ends up in the arms of the gorgeous brunette sitting on the other side of him. I’ve been ignoring the dirty looks she’s been sending my way. She’s probably wishing for a stampede of customers to fall in through the doors. Not that it would matter because we’re overstaffed as it is.

I also don’t want to surrender his attention to the cluster of blondes who’ve just moved from a coveted table spot to stools at the bar. I guess I could go on; recount the looks he’s drawing as conflict churns inside me, my wrath and indignation swirling and softening like butter. He hurt me and that stings. But he was mine. This man who is as magnificent as the moon once shone for me. And now I stand before him, tired and grotty after a very long week, in a messy bun and an apron like a blacksmith while women who glitter like stars in their Friday night finery wait for their chance to orbit him.

Once he relinquishes my attention.

Or I his?

“I’m sure you have much better pick-up lines.” I lift my gaze though not my head, not quite realising what I’ve said until I notice his eyes widening a touch.

He picks up his drink and leans back in his seat, the sudden image of smug manliness. I expect words of supreme confidence to fall from his mouth; words that speak to his charms. Yet, what he offers tugs at my heart.

“None as good as yours, angel. I do love a girl with a pun.”

Love. It’s such a tiny word yet it creates such complications.

A girl. One of many. One of the crowd who paid for his attentions in ways more dangerous than money passing hands.

The glass poised still at his mouth doesn’t hide how his smile falls at whatever he sees in my expression.

“Hey, Fee?” Chad or Brad, or whatever his name is, touches my shoulder. “We’re so overstaffed. I’m happy to take one for the team, but Shellie says you’ve been here every night this week, so do you wanna go?”

“Leave early?” And avoid making more mistakes? Maybe even bigger ones? “Can I?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, Fee.” I hear Carson’s voice, but I don’t stop, and I don’t look back.

“Doing the same things and expecting different results is the definition of madness,” I find myself muttering as I pull off my apron and shove it onto the top shelf of my temporary locker. As I pull out my purse, my gaze snags on my reflection in the tiny mirror stuck to the inside of the door. “Face it. You have terrible taste in men.” I slam my locker door shut on my reflection and head out of the staffroom and through the darkened kitchen. No way I’m leaving through the front, sinister dark alleyway be damned.

I step out into the cold night, slamming the metal security door behind me.

“We should talk.”

“Jesus Christ on a bike!” I yell, my body almost jumping out from my skin. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” I continue, whipping angrily.

“Yeah, well. Skulking around back alleyways isn’t going to provide the best of experiences,” Carson’s low voice rumbles as he steps out from the darkness.

“The point of skulking,” I say, pressing my hand over my hammering heart, “was to avoid you.”

“Noted.”

“Because I’ve got nothing to say to you.” The remains of my adrenaline spike make my hands shake. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I hook my purse higher over my shoulder.