She blushed. She blushed bright red. She started to speak then stopped herself. Her gaze went all around the place, not settling on anything. She twirled her hair around her finger. Gina had fantastic long hair but she normally wore it like a shield to hide behind.
I picked at my cake and waited for her reply. It had some kind of mousse stuff in the middle. I wasn’t sure about that.
"We're just friends," she finally said.
I didn't want to push it but I needed to take my mind off my own problems and she'd never say a thing unless I asked. Maybe I could help her with things — because I was so successful myself in matters of the heart. Actually, she'd be better off taking advice from pretty much anyone else in the world but me. Like that homeless woman who hung around outside the club. I’d seen her with a big bunch of flowers once so even she must’ve had an admirer.
"But you want it to be more, don't you?"
She looked down at her hands, not answering. Ouch. I should've kept my mouth shut. Her face grew redder.
"Yes," she finally said in a barely audible voice.
I had no idea what she saw in him myself. Jackson had been riding high as a guitarist. He was super talented and playing in a really popular band. Then there'd been an accident and he'd stuffed up his hand. Now he sat at the corner of the bar, drinking and bitter with life. In truth, Jackson was probably the man I spent more time with than any other male in my life except for maybe Drew. But our relationship would never be more than crusty old drunk/snarky barmaid. He was a good-looking guy in his own way, but that way was far too hardened for me. He couldn't even have been that old, only in his 30s but I always thought of him as an old guy.
Jackson had been through shit in his life. Some of it, like the accident, was public knowledge and some he kept to himself. But that shit had scarred him and made him bitter. He’d given up the fight. He'd stopped playing in his band and never talked about it. All anyone knew was to not ask him about it. He was like an injured tiger, attacking anyone who came close. You'd think he'd eat someone like Gina for breakfast but I'd noticed he was gentle with her in a way he rarely was with
anyone else.
"He's a strange one, that's for sure."
Gina nodded. "But he gets me."
That said it all.
I’d thought Holden was the one who got me. The one who accepted me for who I was, no matter what. I’d been wrong. No man I’d met since had ever measured up though. They’d all seemed like second best, like some vital ingredient had been missing.
"I hope it works out," I said.
She grinned at me in a wavery way. There didn’t seem to be a lot of hope in that grin.
I tried another bite of the cake but, to be honest, it was a bit stale and not delicious. As I bent my hand around my fork, I grimaced.
"What have you done to your hand?" Gina asked.
My knuckles were a bit swollen but nothing too serious. Maybe I needed to bring boxing gloves into the bar so I could protect my hands if Holden came back in. Or maybe a shotgun. I’d point it at him and tell him to get the hell out of Dodge, like in some old-time Western. Or I could get revenge on him by setting him up with some chick who had the clap. A good dose of knob rot would be karma for him.
I checked my watch. I still had an hour or more before I needed to head back to the bar. I searched my mind for something to talk about. I sure as hell didn't want to talk about myself. I tried to focus on chatting but my head buzzed so much that I couldn’t make small talk. Gina didn’t seem to mind.
We both ended up sitting, staring into our coffee cups. Some easy listening music played in the background. One of those vaguely hipster bands. The housewives left to be replaced by kids on their way home from school.
Eventually, it got to the point where I had to go back to the bar. My stomach flipped around like a pit of snakes were fighting in there.
Surely he'd be gone. He had no reason for sticking around. He had no reason for turning up in the first place.
I had to do it. I had to get back there and face the rest of my life, one way or the other. Those drunks wouldn’t serve themselves. Well, they would but they sure as hell wouldn’t pay for it.
I wasn't normally the type to run away from trouble but I could not face Holden King.
Chapter 4
WHEN I GOT BACK TO the club he was still there. Not alone either but with a whole crowd gathered around. Mark had settled himself on the barstool next to Holden and chattered away like they were best buddies.
Razer and Violet had come back and joined in the fun. Even Jackson, still sitting on his usual barstool, had turned to face Holden.
A sigh wrenched through my body. They'd all taken sides against me. In my absence, they'd started an "I love Holden" club and that club, by default, would become an "I hate Carlie" club too.
I knew that wasn't the case. It was just my paranoia talking.