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I slam the garbage magazine down on the table and I find myself even more frustrated than I was five minutes ago. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” I mutter.
This is the last shit I need. Getting caught up in some tabloid mess. Me? I have a young child to protect after all. Every decision I make impacts Stella.
“So what’s the plan here?” Darius asks, clearly in problem-solving mode.
The plan?! I can’t get involved…Even if the nice guy did manage to get the girl, I just…can’t.
Ronan seems to read my mind. “Wake up! This is your second chance with her,” he’s saying as he roughly shakes my shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up. Don’t self-sabotage like that, bro.”
I roll my eyes at my obnoxious twin. “Don’t you feel all smart with your internet psychology?”
“I won’t tolerate any slander about internet psychology. TikTok healed all of my childhood trauma,” Ronan jokes.
I scoff. “What childhood trauma? Our parents were fucking awesome.”
“The trauma of having to share a womb with your big head and your knobby elbows.”
I don’t dignify him with a response. I just bring my mind back to the dilemma at hand. The trashy gossip rag at hand.
I’m not getting sucked into this shit. At least that’s what I tell my nosy, opinionated siblings.
“Inez is not my girl,” I tell Karli. “Inez is my employee. A friend, maybe. But that’s it.” Then my eyes fan across the table. “And this?” I spit out, pointing at the tabloid. “This is nothing. Don’t make it into something it’s not. Family meeting adjourned.”
On that note, I stomp off toward my office and lock myself inside. I do my best to focus on getting through a routine admin day. I try to go about, robotically checking things off the to-do list. But I spend the next few days stuck in a funk that makes everything that much harder.
I’m worried that some tabloid freak is following Inez around. All day, every day, I’m fantasizing about punching him in the throat and tossing him out of this town.
My vigilante fantasy is just a daydream, though. I can’t allow myself to complicate life for Stella and me. Sheesh.
This mood I’m in is suffocating. During Thursday night’s awkward shift at the bar with Inez, I need a breather from all the reckless thoughts running around in my head. At the first opportunity—a slow down after the dinner crowd—I head out to the alley behind the bar for some fresh air.
The moment I open the back door and step outside, I see a couple of figures talking under the dim overhead light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust.
Is that…? I squint, stepping closer.Are you kidding me?
It’s that same reporter from the gossip article. The fake bug photographer. The stalker guy. And he’s just standing there, puffing on a cigarette, casually chatting it up with my cook, who’s out on his nightly smoke break.
No fucking way.
I don’t think. I just act. “Get out of here!” I shout, stalking forward toward the nosy asshole. Startled eyes swing toward me. “Go! Get the fuck out of here!” I bark like a rabid dog. Like a maniac.
I grab a brick off the ground. I chase the goddamn reporter away, running all the way down the darkened alley, not taking my eyes off of him until he climbs into the driver’s side of a compact hybrid.
“Yeah! And don’t you ever come back here again, you lowlife.” My voice echoes in the night as he screeches away from the curb.
When I stomp back up the alley a moment later, Joe is still standing by the backdoor, eyeballing me warily. “What the hell was that? What’s going on here?”
“That guy is a no-good tabloid reporter trying to get gossip about Inez,” I say, out of breath, adrenaline pumping.
My cook flinches visibly. He tosses his cigarette down on the ground and grinds it with his toe. “Shit—I didn’t know. Really. I wouldn’t have talked to him if I had known.” He pulls on the greasy strands of his salt and pepper hair. “He just came over and asked for a cigarette and then he started making small talk. I didn’t tell him anything about Inez.”
I press my lips together, pinching the bridge of my nose. This long night just keeps on getting longer. “It’s okay, I believe you,” I tell Joe. “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”
For a moment, I stand off to the side of the room and allow my eyes to sweep over the crowd. I make note of any unfamiliar faces. I keep an eye out for anyone who might be acting strange or keeping tabs on Inez. Any fucker who thinks they’ll come in here and start stalking her in my tavern has another thing coming to him.
God—what was I thinking, going after the reporter guy like that?
But when I glance behind the bar and see Inez merrily chatting and pouring drinks for her patrons, my head is racing even faster.
