Promise Me This(72)

Me: You know I’m always here, right, if you want to talk to someone?

Him: Thanks, Blue. I could definitely use someone to talk to. I confronted my dad the other day and it did not go well.

Me: Oh my God, did he . . .

Him: No. Besides, I’m way bigger than him now.

Me: How did it feel to confront him?

Him: Honestly, it felt empowering and pretty damn good. But now my mom isn’t even speaking to me. I totally upset the apple cart, so to speak, by calling my dad out. I’m pretty much not allowed back in that house.

Me: So sorry, Square. Maybe your mom just needs time. I would keep reaching out to her, even if she doesn’t respond. You guys have a special relationship and I think she’ll come around.

Him: Good advice. I kind of made a mess of things and it’s fucking with my brain.

Me: Understood. I’m here if you need to talk it through again . . .

Him: Thanks, Blue. You’re a good friend. Sorry I haven’t been around much, but I’ll get it together.

I had a feeling that was his way of telling me that whatever was transpiring between us was being placed on pause, as if I hadn’t clued in already. We were pretty good at the friend thing, anyway.

Point being that I needed to move on. Nate had demons he was wrestling with and you didn’t rush that kind of thing. Especially if all of his family stuff was floating to the surface.

If he didn’t think he could explore whatever was happening between us right now, I had to accept that. Besides, it was better in the long run if he could sort his crap out now. I could have never tried to have a relationship after my father died; I would’ve been a total wreck. So I got it. Shit was coming to a head.

***

The following night, we were sitting at our regular table in the back of Zach’s Bar. As soon as Cory and Dex started up an annoying game of beer pong, I stood up to get my own drink at the bar. I was not in the mood for their shenanigans tonight and even though Dex and I were on much better terms since the bowling alley incident, I didn’t feel like watching him get wasted, either.

I sat on a stool, ordered my beer, and then looked around the place, noting the mix of locals and university students here tonight. There was a guy at the far end of the bar that seemed familiar and I tried placing him without being too obvious. He looked up from his glass, our eyes met, and he tipped his chin.

Definitely hot with his arms and neck painted in color, he also sported black skeleton ear gauges and a buzz cut. He was the exact type I’d always been interested in, before my recent road trip seemed to change everything. Maybe this was precisely what I needed—to flirt with a guy who was more like me.

My eyes swept to the door just as Nate breezed through and my stomach immediately tangled in knots. He was with Quinn, Brian, and some other frat guys, but he definitely stood above the rest in stature. Or maybe just in my fucked-up mindset.

His hair was tousled, his jeans were tight, and he wore on one of those button-down shirts with the stupid horse insignia that he seemed to own a fair share of. Since when had I ever dissolved into Jell-O over a ripped, clean-cut, privileged boy?

My gaze travelled back to the guy at the end of the bar, just as he stood up and began heading my way. Usually guys like him didn’t play games, they just came straight out and told you want they wanted.

They may have looked all badass but even still, they were sometimes clueless in the wooing department. They didn’t always know how to satisfy a woman in the bedroom, no matter how much swagger they showed. My neck felt prickly hot at the image of Nate between my legs the other night.

As the guy approached, I took a sweep of the room and saw that Nate had left his frat buddies’ table and had gone to sit near Bennett. He chose a stool with his back to the wall, which gave him a clear shot of me. His lips tilted up and I raised my hand in a low wave.

His gaze was substantial, like a drag of fingertips across my flesh and I crossed my legs to keep from remembering how his tongue felt against my skin. I struggled to draw my gaze away from his probing eyes to concentrate on the guy in front of me now.

“Hey,” the dude said, his voice low and husky. In closer range, I noticed his green eyes and how much they highlighted the colorful tattoos on his bicep.

“Hey,” I said, trying to find my voice.

“I know you,” he said, clunking down in the seat next to mine. “You work the front at Raw Ink.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, suddenly remembering him. “You’re one of Lila’s clients.”

“Right,” he said. “She’s given me some kick-ass ink. Can I buy you another beer?”

“No need,” I said, holding up my hand. “I’ll probably only have one. I’m here with the guys from the shop.”