“Sure is.”
“Knew you’d think so.” I can hear the smirk in her words.
“So, Elias,” Enzo drawls. “Where’s Jordan?”
I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You two looked pretty close on the fourth. That’s no more?” he asks.
Guilt sits bitter on the back of my tongue at the mention of him. After we fucked at the party, I still haven’t spoken to him much. Not that he’s reached out to me a ton either, but still. I feel like an ass.
“Nah,” I reply with a shake of the head. “We’re friends.”
“Elias is too wrapped up in Mister Married Man,” Katie blurts out, her hand slapping over her mouth as soon as the words are out.
“Katie!” I hiss under my breath.
“Sorry!” She at least has the decency to look mortified. “Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to come out.”
“Oh, he’s the one!” Knox blurts out beside me. His husband slaps his arm. “Ow, fucker. What was that for?”
Aston gives him alook, and my face heats as I bring the Solo cup to my mouth, downing most of it.
“Married, huh?” My gaze drags to the source—Enzo. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t place. “How scandalous of you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s done,” I reply with a shrug. “So, anyone wanna do shots?”
A collective“yeah”hits me and we all head back inside to do just that. Thankfully, the topic isn’t brought up again but, more than once, I catch Enzo studying me a little longer than normal, and when my phone buzzes in my pocket, it takes all of my willpower to not pull it out because I know who it’s from.
Without even looking, I know. And I’m drunk enough right now to forget why ending things with Zeke was for the best. So, I ignore that text the rest of the night, despite it burning a hole in my pocket.
It isn’t until much later, when I’m climbing into bed, that I check the message. Immediately wishing I hadn’t.
Zeke: Little slut… You can run, but you can’t hide.
Chapter Thirty
Zeke Alvarez
Four Years Ago
“Here on a Wednesday? I’m shocked.”
I huff out a laugh as I bring the scotch the bartender just put in front of me to my lips, taking a sip and reveling in the burn it offers on its descent. Lord knows, I need it.
Setting the rocks glass down, I cock my head. “Yeah, well, after the day I’ve had, I could use a few of these.”
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks, tossing the dingy white dish rag over her shoulder, hand going to her hip. If I’m not mistaken, her name is Trish. She’s newer, but friendly enough.
I’ve been coming to Rick’s every Friday for as long as I can remember. It’s a bar slash nightclub that isn’t too far from my office. It’s not a gay bar per se, but it is known for its colorful crowd on the weekends. I don’t remember how I stumbled upon this place, but it quickly became my go-to after the work week.
“No, thanks, sweetie, but keep these coming.”
“You got it.” She tosses me a flirty wink, clearly not realizing she’s barking up the wrong tree.
“Where’s Val?” I ask. “She normally works Wednesdays, I thought.”
About eight months ago, I met Valerie when she started working here. She’s normally the only bartender working when I come in, and we’ve become somewhat friends over that time. She’s naturally friendly and bubbly. It’s hard not to warm up to someone as genuine as her.
