I force my gaze to where she’s pointing her long, black-painted fingernail—a blonde guy, just like she said. I know I shouldn’t look, because I know it’s what’ll hurt the most, but I watch as he joins Sienna and her roommate. I watch as he touches his chin to the top of Red’s hair, before bending to whisper something into her ear. She grins before spinning around on the bar stool and throwing her arms around his shoulders. And I watch as he returns the gesture, splaying the large palm of his hand out on her slim back and rubbing his fingers in a circular motion in the spot where her bra clasps together beneath the thin fabric of her strapless top.
I watch all of it, and I realize that I haven’t felt so f**king sick, so ripped apart in four years.
“Look, I can send her the drink,” the bartender starts hesitantly. “I just didn’t want any misunderstandings. My boss would freak.” She gives me a sympathetic smile because all of the bitter emotions that are causing the inside of my chest to feel it is seconds from exploding must be playing out on my face.
Sienna’s moved on.
She’s f**king moved on already, and it’s barely been a month.
And the worst part of it all is that I know she deserves it. She deserves to be happy after what I’ve put her through not once, but twice.
But even the regret, the knowledge that I’m the cause of all of this—even that doesn’t make shit better for me. It doesn’t stop the fact that I wish I could trade places with that blonde shithead across the bar, just to be with her right now.
“Don’t send it to her,” I hear myself say, and Luisa grants me a swift, obedient nod.
“You got it.”
I don’t have to ask her for another beer, and then the next two that come after that. She brings them to me easily. She doesn’t mention Sienna again because Red’s whole party leaves the bar shortly thereafter, never noticing me. The next time Luisa mumbles more than a couple words to me is just as the bar is closing. She leans over the bar, like she did earlier, and looks me in the eye.
“You need a ride home.” It’s not a question, but a statement, and I smirk at her.
“Looks like I f**king do.”
“I’ll drive you in twenty.”
Chapter Six
Lucas Wolfe
When the bartender drops me off at my place a little before four in the morning, my plan is to keep my ass in bed all day. To sleep off my bad mood and the hangover. My plan is shot to hell when Kylie shows up at my place at 10:30. I know it’s her and not some intruder—though as f**ked up as it sounds, I think I would prefer the intruder if they left me alone while they took all of my shit—by the sound of her footsteps on the steps. She always takes them two at a time.
“Are you decent?” she demands in a muffled voice outside of my closed bedroom door. I drag my pillow over my face, smothering my groans. This isn’t the first time I’ve regretted giving her a key to my place, and unless I take it back today, it won’t be the last time. “Brenna’s with me, and I don’t want you scaring her.”
Brenna—Wyatt’s daughter from a one-night stand eight years ago. My sister has always been a part of the kid’s life, but since she re-established her relationship with Wyatt, she’s been spending more and more time with Brenna. And it f**king worries me. I don’t want to see my sister hurt.
Uncovering my face, I hurl the pillow across my room. It hits the door, and Kylie murmurs something that’s barely audible as I glare up at the still ceiling fan. “Thought you didn’t stalk on Sundays?” I growl.
“Not always. Can I come in?”
“Knock yourself out.”
She opens the door tentatively, a couple of inches at a time, until she’s standing in the doorway wearing a look that’s part amused, and part stern. It’s a look that’s already driving me bat-shit insane, and she hasn’t even said anything yet. “I called you this morning and wanted to check up on you since you didn’t answer. And your Jeep is missing.”
“It won’t be towed this time,” I promise. She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. I ignore her skeptical smirk and sit up in the bed, glancing around her. “Where’s Brenna?”
“I turned on the TV downstairs.” The moment the scowl forms on my face, Kylie drops her arms by her sides and comes all the way into the room. Her frown challenges my own. “God, calm down. She’s not four, I promise she’s not going to get into any of your shit—”
“The sound of your voice is killing me.” I don’t want to start Kylie on explanations. Not today. Now that I’m up, all I want is breakfast and something to help kill this goddamn headache. I point at her and turn my finger in a circular motion. She doesn’t protest, but faces the open bedroom door and stares out into the hallway.
“Rough night?” she asks.
I roll out of bed and walk across the carpet. “I’ve sure as f**k had better.” I grab some boxers from one of the top drawers and yank them on. “I’m decent enough now.”
Nodding, she turns around to face me. While I search for a pair of gym shorts, she slides onto the edge of my bed. I don’t miss the sideways look she casts down at my tangled up bedspreads.
Groaning, I shake my head. I’ve brought very few women home with me, and one of those was the exact same person who’s been f**king with my mind for weeks. “Relax. I don’t bring them back here, Ky, so you’re not sitting where I f**ked her.”
Half a dozen emotions form on my sister’s face at once. Disgust. Disappointment. Irritation. All of them make me sick to my stomach, so I keep my gaze off of Kylie’s brown eyes as I yank on a pair of Nike shorts. “Nice, Lucas. Really nice,” she finally says. She scuffs the soles of her blue Converse together for a moment and then sighs. “If you’re expecting me to bitch, you shouldn’t.”