Birthday Girl

Jay McCabe, my ex-boyfriend, walks in, slowly and taking his time, entering a room like the star quarterback he was in high school and still waiting for a fucking applause. It’s funny how he got less good looking the more I got to know him. My spine goes steel-rod straight, and awareness makes heat spread up my neck.

Cole strolls in behind with a couple guys, and Elena Barros trailing them, and I see his arched brow and the slight snarl on his face as he glances at Jay and then looks over to me.

They don’t hang out, but they will find themselves at the same parties sometimes. My guess is Jay headed here with his pack and Cole followed to make sure I’m okay.

Jay scans the room and then his eyes lock on me, a little smile curling the corner of his mouth. I immediately avert my gaze, my stomach rolling.

I try to pretend he’s of no consequence anymore, but I think he knows he won. He should be in fucking jail after what he did to me, and he’s not, because two years ago, I was scared and pathetic.

I wish someone would hurt him.

And even better if that someone turns out to be me.

Cole strolls over while his friends walk around, chatting up people they know. He swings up the partition and comes behind the bar, an apologetic look on his face as he comes up

behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my fist wrapped in a towel and wiping the inside of a glass.

I feel him shrug. “Haven’t seen you. Just missed you.”

I breathe out a laugh, trying to relax my stiff body. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me at work.”

He nuzzles my neck, and we both know he’s just worried about Jay being here.

I put my hand over his, feeling the small scar on his thumb, and inhale his clean scent. He looks fresh and good-looking, a lot better than he did this morning. No one can shake off a hangover like him.

“You know, it’s bad for business if her boyfriend is hanging around,” Shel warns, walking by in front of the bar and setting down a tray of glasses.

Shel fancies herself like the bar owner in the Coyote Ugly movie. ‘You are to appear available but never be available’ type thing. The problem is this is a dirt bar in a small town, so either way, the tips won’t set any records. Whether or not my boyfriend is here.

Cole snuggles my neck, and I smile, feeling safe against the wall of his body. His friends’ voices carry as the level of noise heightens in the room, and I glance up at the clock, seeing it’s nearly midnight.

And it’s Wednesday night. Cole has work in the morning.

I draw in a breath, turning my head to look up at him. “You know, we couldn’t really afford for you to lose those hours today,” I tell him.

And if he’s out tonight, chances are he’ll call in tomorrow and lose more pay.

We still have bills from the old apartment that need to be paid, and I’ll do my fair share, but he’s damn-well helping. If he misses another day, I’m going to get loud.

But he just gazes down at me thoughtfully. “I’m not stupid, babe,” he assures me. “I already know everything you want to say to me, okay?”

“And you know you’re damn lucky to still have your license, right?” I jab at him some more. A DUI on his record is the last thing we need, and he tempts fate constantly.

Especially after everything that’s happened. How can he be so careless?

I glance down at our scars again, remembering.

“What would I do without you?” he says, his breath tickling my ear.

I jerk away. “Your own laundry, probably.”

But he just laughs, tightening his hold around me. “I’m sorry I’m a loser.”

“You haven’t always been.”

He cocks an eyebrow at my dig and walks me back into the bar, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m good at a few things, though, aren’t I?”