Through His Eyes
Everyone who’s paying attention shakes their head, so I head over to the bar by myself. I’m halfway to it, when I spot Lachlan standing over in the corner of the bar with a young, blond woman. He’s leaning against the side of the bar, and she’s standing extremely close to him. Her hand is resting on his forearm, but he’s not touching her. I can only see their profiles, but they look to be in the middle of an intense conversation.
My first instinct is to run and hide and that really pisses me off because that’s what the Quinn post-Rick would do, and I don’t want to be that woman anymore. At the same time, I don’t want to be the young Quinn who would’ve confronted him right here, making a scene. So instead, I do what I think the thirty-nine-year-old Quinn should do. I continue my walk over to the bar and order a drink. I’m generally a whisky kind of girl, so when the bartender asks what I would like, I tell him just to give me a double of whatever they have local, on the rocks.
After he hands me my drink, and I hand him my card, I take a sip. The whiskey goes down smooth, and I wonder which one it is.
“Excuse me?” I yell to the bartender before he walks away after dropping off my card and receipt. “Can you tell me who makes this?” I point to my glass.
“Bryson,” he shouts back.
Bryson? Where do I know that name from? I glance over at Lachlan, who is still in the same spot, still talking to the same woman, and it hits me. That’s his last name. Hmm. Could it be?
“Thank you.” I write down a tip, sign the paper, and take my drink back over to the table. Declan, Riley, and…what was her name? Oh! Venessa…are sitting at the table, but everyone else is on the dance floor. I decide I’m going to enjoy my drink and then head home—that way it won’t feel like Lachlan has chased me away, and I can call it a win.
“What are you drinking?” Declan asks when I sit across from him and Venessa and next to Riley.
“Whiskey.” I smile and take a sip. “Bryson Rye,” I add. Declan’s eyes widen, confirming my suspicions. Someone in Lachlan’s family owns a distillery. I want to ask him about it, but I would rather learn about Lachlan and his family from Lachlan himself.
“Quinn?” I recognize the voice without even having to look at him, and if I’m honest, I’m scared to look. If I see that girl attached to his side, I know it’s going to hurt like hell. Not that I didn’t see this coming from a mile away, but with all the convincing he’s been doing, I guess a part of me started to believe what he was selling. Stupid me.
“That’s me,” I say, taking another sip before turning to look at Lachlan. “In the flesh.” When our eyes meet, I see the girl he was talking to is standing next to him, shooting daggers my way.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and the walls I’ve kept erected for the last several years, the same ones I now realize I’ve lowered to let Lachlan in, fly back up. This is exactly why I haven’t dated, why I’ve chosen to focus on raising my daughter. Because no matter how much I want to leave Rick in the past, he’s still very much in the present. Haunting and taunting me from the dead. Controlling my thoughts and actions and feelings.
“I…” I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Lachlan isn’t Rick, and I’m no longer in a position to allow any man to make me feel weak. I’m allowed to be here. I’m a grown woman, and this is a public place. Sure, I came here with the hope of seeing Lachlan, but my brother and Willow and Gage and Evan are also here. I don’t have to be here for him.
“Where’s Kinsley?” Lachlan asks before I can answer his first question.
“She’s at my brother’s for the night.” My eyes flicker from Lachlan to the woman standing by his side. Her hand brushes up against his arm, in an attempt to get his attention, and it makes me realize one thing: Despite every reason why I shouldn’t be, I’m already falling hard for him. The question is, will he really be there to catch me like he said he would be?
Thirteen
Lachlan
I can’t take my eyes off of Quinn. The few times I’ve seen her, she’s either been dressed professionally or dressed down—in sweats or jeans. She rocks both like a beautiful boss. But right now, even though she’s sitting at the table, I can tell she’s in a dress. One of her shoulders is exposed, showing the thin black lacy strap of her bra. I know it’s her bra because it’s the same one she was wearing last night. She’s also wearing makeup. Not that she needs it, but the bit of color around her eyes make them appear mysterious. And her hair…it’s no longer in her signature messy bun thing she’s always sporting. It’s down in waves. My gaze momentarily drops to her legs, which are half under the table, one crossed over the other. She’s wearing tall as fuck heels. Jesus, she’s fucking sexy.