I don’t do happily ever after.
I don’t do babies and white picket fences.
Clara wasn’t the kind of woman for that. Truth was, no woman was truly going to go for that. But they were stubborn. They all agreed to my terms, understanding where I stood. But they all believed, deep inside, that somehow they could change me; that their love would turn me into a different man. And when it ended, they hated me. But when I left, I didn’t feel bad because I’d told them the truth.
So, no. Clara was not my type.
I knew that.
But that didn’t change me wanting her.
And on that night, I needed a release. I needed something to be easy, or rather . . . someone. When I walked into the bar, it was already crowded. A huge group of loud men surrounded the pool table and dartboards. All the booths were full. And as luck would have it, right away I spotted just who that someone to give me my release would be. I slid on a barstool beside her and ordered a straight shot of bourbon. She was a brunette with brown eyes, and she wore too much makeup. It didn’t take long to figure her out. Her name was Mandy and she’d just broken up with her boyfriend.
Easy.
An hour later, her hand was rubbing my thigh. An hour after that, I was signaling the bartender for our check. “I’ll take the check, Rick,” I called.
“Rick,” one of the waitresses yelled as he was about to answer me. “She wants another. I told her she was cut off, but she asked for the manager.”
“I don’t have time to talk to her right now,” he griped as he poured a drink. “You take her a cup of coffee and tell her she’s done. We’ll call a cab for her. We’re too busy to babysit her and make sure that group of knuckleheads over there doesn’t keep messing with her.”
Mandy extended her neck and started looking around, scanning the room, trying to find who they were talking about. “Oh my God,” she gasped, with a little chuckle, squeezing my thigh. “She’s plastered. Check her out. She can barely walk.”
When I followed her line of sight, I had to do a double take.
Clara.
It was Clara.
What the fuck?
“Do you know her?” Mandy asked, taking in my expression. But I didn’t answer her. I was too busy watching Clara now.
She was on her way back to her table from the bathroom, swaying like a buoy in rough water. Her blonde hair was tied up in an updo, strands hanging low, her blue eyes hooded with drunkenness. She wore the same thing she’d been wearing earlier that day, a white tank top and jeans. The men surrounding the pool tables watched her, some of them jutting their chins her way for their friends to take notice of her, others elbowing one another. She was a fucking target. But she didn’t seem to notice. She wasn’t noticing much of anything. The song changed just before she reached her table and she stopped, staggering from the abrupt halt. Closing her eyes, she swayed to the beat for a moment, not caring how she looked or who was watching. A tall, burly guy from the group came over and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back, and forced her to shake her hips in rhythm with his as he danced. She weakly pushed down on his arm, trying to get away from him, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her closer and said something in her ear.
My barstool screeched against the wood flooring as I forcefully shoved it back, flipping it on its side. I didn’t bother to pick it up before I headed her way. I can’t tell you this massive feeling of jealousy had hit me and I marched over there to kick that guy’s ass. Maybe that’s how I felt. It’s definitely what I wanted to do. He certainly deserved it behaving that way with a woman that was clearly too drunk. But I was livid with her. Clara was a smart woman; always on top of things and in control. So what the hell was this? Alone in a bar completely smashed. She was too smart to do something so dumb.
“Hey, man,” I grumbled as I stormed up to them, my shoulders back, my chest out. “I’ll take her. She’s a friend.”
The guy turned away from me, taking Clara with him. Then twisting his head over his shoulder, said, “She’s having a good time, man. She’s not ready to leave.”
“I think I need to go,” Clara uttered, her words slurred. “I’m not feeling well.”
“She wants to go, man,” I growled, pulling his shoulder hard. “Let her go.”
He released Clara, but only to spin her around so he could look her in the eyes. “You’re fine, babe. I’ll get you home tonight.”
“No. I don’t want to go home with you,” she laughed drunkenly. “You’re a terrible dancer.”
“Now you have your answer. Let her go,” I demanded, my teeth clenched. This guy was a total fuckwad. How many ways did she have to say she’s not interested? One should have been plenty.