Pops:
Are you bailing again this time?
It wouldn’t matter the level of my success, how I have outgrown everything he is and how he tried to raise me,disappointment is always there. And maybe that’s what this feeling is that courses through me when I see his name: disappointment. And perhaps a hell of a lot of resentment that he makes me feel this way.
I swipe out of the message, not bothering to respond, and click through the other messages. Empty booty calls, as expected. Women who just want the benefits of the coin I spend on them and to ride on my dick for the short time we’re together, before it’s nothing but silence until they need another pick-me-up. I guess I have no one to blame but myself, because after all, that’s exactly how I designed my life to be.
I lock my screen and flick my phone onto my desk, trying to ignore the unwelcomed hollowness it brings. This was deliberate. I should be happy—Iamhappy.
I’m about to swig the rest of the whiskey in one go, but I look down to the smooth brown liquid in the glass, and instead of seeing the drink, all I see are big almond eyes. A warm brown with swirls of caramel, glinting with so much fire, sass, and beauty, I lose the air in my lungs again for a whole other plethora of reasons.
Because here I am alone, conflicted over women wanting nothing but my body when that’s all I asked for, all I was willing to give. I have let women down and broken hearts over never breaking this rule of mine. I won’t be tied to a woman, I won’t wreck my future and my life in that way.
But…
Then there is her.
Rosie.
And the idea of breaking my rule? Of wanting…more?More ofwhat, I haven’t got a goddamn clue, but looking at her, hearing her laugh, smelling her and that sweet spiciness, it agitates meagainbecause I’m not wanting to run in the other direction. I want an excuse to stay in her presence. I leaped andasked for a date like a fucking moron, and as expected, I was shut down. Normally I’d quit and rotate the roster—a guy can only stand so much rejection before his ego takes a hit. I think I’m a pretty solid guy, and I’m not usually one to worry about a letdown by a woman. I’m used to it, it’s standard, it’s expected; you can’t rely on them or trust them.
But…Rosie.
I heave a breath.Goddamnit.
I need to get out of here. It’s the darkness and the whiskey eating at me, stinging my chest and making my lungs feel tight. I throw back the drink, discard the glass on the trolley, and swipe my phone from my desk, flicking off a quick text and heading straight for Bozzelli’s.
Rosie
“So do you have any siblings?”Ugh.Small talk.
“Nope.” I pop thePand drink my martini, my eyes subtly scanning the bar before they make their way back to Kale.Kyle?Uhh, maybe it’s Kevin. Wait, fuck that, I’d never let aKevinstick his eggplant anywhere near my palace. A stranger named Kevin; that’s catfishing 101.
Well, whoever he is, I’m over it. He can’t hold a fun conversation to save his life, and the man wouldn’t know flirting if it climbed on top of him and started riding his dick. I look back over my shoulder to the girls at the table I left them at and just turn and head back.
I thought I’d change it up tonight so that the sex pest wasn’t the last person I’d kissed and the only person I seem to dream about, but alas, the pickings are slim and my patience slimmer yet.
“No dice?” Addy asks on a chuckle.
“Nada. Couldn’t even force it if I tried.” I throw back the rest of the martini and gesture that I’m headed to the bar. “Another?”
“Yes! Please,” Casey replies, downing the last of her own drink as Addison does the same.
“Yeah, who needs clear heads for day jobs.”
A flash of a deep navy Armani suit has my head snapping to the left as I make my way up to the bar. Perfectly tailored, a dark Rolex on his left wrist as he secures the button on the middle of his suit jacket. Like we’re moving in slow motion, I watch the strut, the haphazard flick of his hand through his hair like it isn’t perfectly styled, the pull on his sleeve, and the quirk of his lips as he winks at someone across the bar.
“Goddamn sexy asshole,” I whisper to myself as Caleb’s strides end up even with mine, and before I can change course, he’s standing next to me at the bar.
“Caleb,” I say in greeting, my tone low and laced with faux condescension.
“Rosebud, I didn’t see you there.” He grins down at me with the boyish charm I’m used to seeing, but his usual admiration of me is only brief—which is odd—before his attention moves to the bartender, who so happens to be Stella.
“What can I get you guys?”
“I’ll take a dirty martini, espresso martini, and a gin and soda, please.” I smile at her as she busies herself with the order.
“Addy and Casey here to?” Caleb turns to lean against the bar in search of the girls. I don’t turn to see if they find him; given the little wave he throws in their direction, I assume they did.
