Say You're Mine(53)

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. It was a call. He didn’t answer it. Lydia would have to wait to find out if he was all right. He wasn’t even sure yet.

The bartender slid a glass toward him. “I went right for the triple.”

“Thanks.”

She smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Need anything else?”

His phone buzzed again. “No. I’m fine,” he answered, glancing at his screen. It was a text from Lydia. Of fucking course it was.

Are you okay?

He didn’t want to answer her, but she was his sister. And he couldn’t ignore her. She deserved better.

I’m fine.

A moment, and then:

Holt’s worried about you. So am I.

Screw him. He loved Holt, he did. But the man pressed on his last nerve, and he didn’t give a damn how he felt right now.

I’m fine. And don’t get me started on Holt.

He loves you.

Steven snorted. He has a stupid way of showing it.

Is Lauren with you?

He gripped the phone tighter. No.

Steve…

Picking up his drink, he frowned at it. He didn’t drink it, though.

No. I’m not discussing it with you.

Funny, you didn’t listen when I told you the same thing with Holt.

He swallowed and set it down untouched. I can’t.

Want to come stay with us?

He tugged on his tie and sighed. No. I’m fine.

That’s the one word that never actually means its meaning.

It was true, and he wasn’t. I’ll be fine. I just need time.

I’m here if you need me.

He set his phone down and picked up his drink again. His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t look. Didn’t want to talk to anyone or anything—

“You look like you could use some company,” some brunette said, sitting down beside him. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t want company. And he wasn’t all right. But she didn’t look the type to get the message. He set down his still full glass for the second time. “No. I’m not in a good mood.”

“That’s okay. Neither am I. What’s your story?”

He spun his drink in a loose circle, shrugged, and didn’t pick it up. “My girlfriend broke my heart today.”

“Same here,” the brunette chick said. “And she walked away afterward.”

Ah. So she wasn’t going to expect him to go home with her. Good. Steven glared down at his phone. Lauren had texted him. “I’m the one who walked away.”

“How did that make you feel?” the woman asked, resting her hand on his arm.

He pushed his full glass away. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want to drink himself into oblivion. The pain was his, and Lauren’s, and he needed to feel it. Just like she was.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”





Chapter Seventeen

Three nights.

That’s how long it had been since Steven found out she tricked him into staying at her place. Three days since she’d talked to him, or seen him, or even smelled him. He asked her to leave him alone…so she had. She only sent one text to him, that night, and that was it. It had been simple and short.

I’m sorry.

He never even read it.

On her way home that night, she saw him. He sat at a bar, with a glass of whiskey in front of him, and a pretty brunette on his side¸ chatting him up. When the brunette placed her hand on his arm, and he didn’t shake her off, Lauren’s heart shattered even more. She walked away after that. She didn’t need to see what came next.

Not even thirty minutes, and he’d moved on already.

That’s how much she meant to him.

All along, she knew how this would more than likely end. He would forget about her, and she would be left to mourn the loss of not only his touch, but also his friendship.

While he was fine.

She never should have let him in.

She stirred the icing, taking her anger out on it. Those first two nights, she cried herself to sleep. After doing the same last night, she refused to do it again. She shed enough tears over him, and what she thought he meant to her. It was over. They were over.

It was time to move on, since he clearly had.

The bell over the door jingled. She called out, “I’ll be right out.”

No one answered.

“Hello?”

Goose bumps rose on her flesh, and she froze.

If it was him…

Setting the spoon down, she walked out into the shop area. The second she rounded the corner, she let out a breath of, well…something. It wasn’t Steven. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, upset, or happy. Everything was all tangled up inside of her in a tight, knotted, unrecognizable ball. “Oh. Hey.”

Holt rested his hands on the counter. “How are you doing?”

“Great. I’m great.” She dried her hands off with a rag and forced a smile. “You?”