“Sort of. Have you ever loved someone so much that you want to hold them and protect them, while simultaneously wanting to just shake the living daylights out of them for being so difficult?”
Sydney smiles. “Well, yes. I told you I had a twin, right?”
I chuckle. “I’m in love with a woman who chooses everything over me. Her pride, revenge…handsome billionaires. The bottom line is, I love her with every ounce of my existence. But at the end of the day, I know she won’t choose me.”
Sydney frowns. “I’m really sorry to hear that. You should talk to her and tell her how you feel. Let her know where she’s letting you down.”
“She won’t talk to me,” I say dejectedly.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” If I had a shot at working things out with Cricket, I think my tantrum at President Baker’s birthday dinner sealed our dismal fate. I stare down at the dark, glass bar top, seeing a hint of my reflection. I look miserable. I came here to drink away my problems, but once I got to the bar, I didn’t really feel like drinking alone.
I just can’t shake the image of Cricket’s lips on his. The way she closed her eyes, like she was trying to get lost in a moment.I can’t believe she’s actually falling for a bomb-making monster.
“Let me ask you another question,” Sydney says. “Your girl—is she about five foot five, long blond hair, wears dresses that make her look like she’s attending a Hollywood movie premier?”
“What?”
Sydney points over my shoulder at the lounge entrance. “Kind of seems like she wants to talk.”
I turn to see Cricket, still in her sleek ballgown, standing at the door. She seems frozen; her eyes are fixed on me and the attractive bartender, like she’s trying to assess the situation.
“I hate to run after you started making all that,” I tell Sydney, looking at the half-filled blender.
She winks and waves me off. “Go. More for me.”
“I can at least pay—”
“Go.”
With Sydney’s blessing, I slip off the stool and make my way to Cricket. When I get close enough, I see her eyes are red, and her makeup is a little smeared.
“You already changed clothes,” she says.
“Well, you know how I feel about tuxedos.”
“She’s pretty,” Cricket says, nodding toward the bar. “Exactly your type.”
After a quick, over-the-shoulder wave to Sydney, I pull Cricket out of the lounge, and into the hidden back alley of Martinis. Looking up and down in both directions, I ensure we’re alone. “What would you know about my type?” I ask, dropping her hand. My tone is laced with such gruff agitation, I sound more like Linc than myself.
“Lance.” She covers her eyes with one hand. “I didn’t… I didn’t sleep with him. Every time he kisses me, I have to stop myself from cringing.”
I scoff. “He’s that bad of a kisser, huh?”
Cricket looks me in the eye. “He’s not you.”
Something immediately softens in me when I see her sad eyes. I’m powerless before this woman. I’m angry—furious, actually—for the hell she’s putting me through. But my heart isn’t in my chest; it’s in Cricket’s hands. I’m at her mercy. Like it or not, I always will be.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
She takes in a deep breath and holds it. It’s like she’s bracing herself. “Because I didn’t want you going to bed tonight without knowing the truth.” She breathes out heavily.
“What truth?”
“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she says, her eyes dropping to her elaborate stilettos. The kind with string crisscrossed around her ankles before tying at the bottom of her shin.
“Look at me,” I command. Cricket lifts her eyes like they are the heaviest things in the world. “You want me back in your life?”
