Sins & Needles(17)

“I never doubted you for a second,” I told him slyly and sniffed the drink. It was strong, fizzy, and fruity. I took a sip.

“Bourbon and Cherry Coke with a splash of lime,” he said.

It was good stuff and I wondered how he knew I liked bourbon, though I probably reeked of the moonshine when I got in the car.

“Want to go get a booth?” he asked. Before I could say yes, he grabbed my hand and led me across the bar toward the red leather booths that lined the side of the stage. I couldn’t help but notice the faces of the women as we walked past them. They all needed a bib from the amount of drool that was coming out of their mouths and I felt a tiny prick of pride that I was being seen with him.

I also couldn’t help but notice how firmly he was holding my hand, how warm and strong his grip was. I was met with a rush of cold separation when he finally had to let go once we reached the table.

I scooched in along the squeaky seats and settled back against the shiny cushions that had seen better days. Camden sat beside me, our legs touching, and we had a view over the whole bar. It was a great place to scope out the joint, though his proximity was distracting.

It was always best to steer any potential conversations away from me, so I got the ball rolling by asking him about life in Los Angeles and if he preferred it to Palm Valley.

“I did,” he nodded thoughtfully, his full lips wrapped around the straw of his drink. “I loved the beaches and the weather…warm enough in winter, cool enough in summer. I loved the culture, the bars, the shows, even the people when they weren’t being righteous assholes.”

“So why’d you move?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “It’s a long story. A…complicated story.”

“Those are my favorite types of stories,” I encouraged him.

“In a nutshell, it was cheaper and more advantageous for me to open up my shop here.”

I leaned in close and coaxed him with my eyes, trying not to inhale too much of his intoxicating scent.

He looked up to the ceiling. “And I needed to start over. Isn’t that why you came back?”

I looked at him quizzically. “What makes you think I’m trying to start over?”

“Isn’t that why people return to their past?”

Our eyes were locked together, each of us trying to suss the other out and poke around for the hidden meanings.

“So, then why were you trying to start over?” I asked, ignoring his insinuation.

He licked his lips and slowly twirled his glass around in his hands. I had to stop thinking about his hands, the heavy silver ring on his right thumb, the freckles that dusted over his knuckles. It was like I suddenly had a fetish.

“I went through a bad divorce. I couldn’t be in the same city as her anymore.”

I didn’t know why I found it surprising that he had been married—why wouldn’t he have been? Even though we were only twenty-six, he was too handsome not to have been snatched up.

“Oh,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.” He turned his attention to the stage where a disheveled band in skinny jeans was setting up. “To make things even more complicated, we have a son together.”

Okay, now that was surprising. He had a son? I felt a weird emotion slink past me. Disappointment? Jealousy? I couldn’t pick it out, except that it was negative.

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Three and a quarter,” he said with a smile. “His name is Ben.”

“I like that name.”

His eyes flushed with pride and his smile broadened. “Thanks. She’s got full custody and she seems to still hate my guts for whatever reason, so I don’t see him as much as I would like to. But at least I send more than enough child support each month. I write him letters too. She can’t say I’m a deadbeat dad.”

A wave of shame washed over my spine at the mention of child support. I pretended it wasn’t there.

“Well, look at you, Camden McQueen. You’re divorced and have a child. I think you’ve reached adulthood.” I raised my glass in the air. “I’d say that deserves a toast.”

He tipped his head to me and we clinked our glasses. After we nearly downed them, he slapped the table with his palms and said, “You want to see him?”

“Who? Your son?”

He moved over and brought his knee up on the bench. He rolled up his pant leg until I saw the smiling face of a beautiful boy etched permanently on his calf in black ink. It was an extremely lifelike tattoo, with expressive eyes and intricate shading.

“Did you do that?” I asked incredulously.

He nodded.