Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, then take a bite of the wrap. It tastes like ash in my mouth.

“She must have one hell of a unicorn pussy if you’re still this fucked up.”

I drop my food to my plate and glare. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I growl.

Smithy throws up both hands. “Hey, no offense. I’ve had a taste of unicorn pussy. I get it.” Grinning, he leans forward. “Dated this girl back when I was on the Patriots practice squad. She was almost sixty and a preschool teacher, but she did this thing when I was fucking her, like . . .” He squeezes and opens both fists simultaneously to illustrate.

I cringe. “Please stop.”

“And her mouth . . .”

I put down the wrap and cock my head to the side. “Do you want me to eat or hurl?” I ask. “It can’t be both, so you’re gonna have to choose.” Then I cringe again as I’m assaulted with an unwanted mental picture of twenty-two-year-old Smithy with a sixty-year-old preschool teacher with a “unicorn pussy.” “Damn you,” I mutter.

Smithy shrugs. “Okay. Then let’s talk about you. Let’s talk about how the only time you’re not in here, you’re working or chasing that—”

I glare, and he winces.

“Right. You.” He points at the food. “You’re losing weight and drinking too damn much.”

“You own a bar. You should be glad I’m drinking.”

“You’re one of my best friends. I know you don’t have a drinking problem, but you do have an Amy problem.” With that, he slides down the counter to help another patron, leaving me to contemplate my food and my general loneliness.

I never did agree to have dinner with Kace and Stella this week. I don’t remember a time when Kace Matthews wasn’t my best friend, and right now all I really want is to crack open a beer with him and tell him exactly what’s eating me. But I can’t. You don’t get to sleep with your best friend’s ex-wife and then complain about how she’s treating you. Kace and I already had it out about this, and he was cooler about it than I deserved, but he thinks I let things end this summer, and I can’t face the disappointment in his eyes if he knew the truth.

Maybe I could talk to Smithy, but having him be the one to call me on my shit decisions is making my pride bristle uncomfortably. Marston, Brinley’s husband, is a nice enough guy, but we’re not close enough that I want to pour my heart out. It’s just not that easy for me to open up like that.

Maybe it’s ironic, but this is the reason I always end up texting Amy. Loneliness and desperation make the perfect self-sabotage cocktail. And there were certain things I could talk to her about without feeling judged. I didn’t have to worry if her knowing about my shit father figure, for instance, would scare her off. Amy has her faults, but she always let me have mine too. I needed that.

By the time Smithy makes it back to my end of the bar, I’ve eaten half my wrap and a few bites of salad. It’s probably the most substantial thing I’ve managed all week. “Listen,” I say as he refills my water. “I want to get over her. I’m working on it.”

Smithy rocks back on his heels and folds his arms. “You’re like a junkie who swears he wants to get clean but keeps surrounding himself with the good stuff.”

I grunt. That analogy seems . . . well, fitting. “I can’t help that our lives overlap.”

His lips twist. “But you can help how much time you spend alone with her.”

I study my water, watching air bubbles rise to the surface of the glass. I don’t know how Smithy knows so much when we’ve been semi-secretive about the whole thing, but somehow it doesn’t come as a surprise. Smithy knows a frightening amount about what goes on in this town, and though he says it’s because people talk a lot in bars, I know there’s more to it than that.

“And you can also control whether or not you dip your wick, if you know what I mean.”

I rub the dull ache in my temples. “The nuns at St. Mary’s know what you mean, Smith.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I banged that nun in Jersey? At least, I think she was a nun, but maybe it was just a stage costume.” He chuckles. “Anyway, do you really want to be her booty call? Because she might not realize what she’s doing to you, but it’s pretty fucking obvious from where I stand.”

I cringe. Shit. It was bad enough when I was Amy’s dirty little secret, but everyone knowing I’m her toy might be even more mortifying. “I’m working on it,” I say. “Seriously, I want off this ride. It’s breaking me.” It’s the most vulnerable thing that’s come out of my mouth in weeks—since the day she broke up with me the first time, and I got loaded and poured my heart out to my little sister.