Page 78 of My Unfinished Heart

“I have my ways.”

“Okay,” I say softly, letting her have her secret. “Kinda makes it seem like you wanted me back.”

“You know me, Archer. I like for my boys to have choices.”

I swallow hard, reaching for my glass again. Her boys. “Yeah, you were always really good about that.”

As though she senses I’m about to crawl back into my protective shell, she says, “Now tell me about this job of yours and what plans you have for the future.”

Most of my future plans revolve around learning how to run a bar, but I tell Helen about my art history plans instead and how I still want to teach it, but maybe not at the community college, which means I’m thinking of pursuing a PhD.

She leaves after we talk for about an hour, giving me another long hug, minus the tears, and reminding me to stop by Saturday, and that I already know the way to her house.

I wind up behind the bar with the shift lead, a skinny, heavily tatted Black woman named Kat—short for Katrina. She wears crop tops and short shorts, showing off her long legs. Her tattoos are all black line work, and they stand out on her lighter-toned skin. She’s extremely pretty but wants nothing from a man other than respect. I think I’m growing on her, but she’s understandably upset about West being gone.

I’m not ready to learn bartending yet, but I do want to know how we handle money. As the evening gets busier, she walks me through their system and teaches me how to wash the glasses. She keeps me working, and the crowd keeps us from thinking about why the fuck I’m here in the first place.

It’s nearing ten when she nudges me with her shoulder and says someone’s asking for me.

“Did you tell them I don’t know how to make drinks?”

“I made him his drink. He asked for you by name. Guy at the corner with the slutty glasses.”

I glance over at the dark-haired man in the open-collared blue button down. I recognize him, but don’t immediately recall from where.

“Hey,” I say as I approach, making it clear with the expression on my face that I’m having some trouble placing him.

“Liam Roberts. InVivion.”

“Ah.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it, his grip lingering a few seconds longer before letting go and giving me a very particular kind of smile.

Damn.

I didn’t see this coming. What a fucking day.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he says. “I saw you, and I thought I’d say hello.”

“How’s business?” I clear two empty glasses from the bar and try to decide how I want to handle this.

“It’s good. How’ve you been?”

“Some days are better than others.” I’ve been doing pretty well in terms of not thinking too much about Tristan, pushing the thoughts aside the moment they enter my mind. Right now, however, the way the small of his back arched as my fingers slid inside him is so fucking vivid, it’s like it’s actually happening. I can smell the goddamn soap he used to clean my face. My dick is even getting in on the action, threatening to rise in my pants, which aren’t constructed to hide that type of thing.

“Working?” Liam nods behind me at the bar.

“Sort of. I took over this place for a friend who won’t be around for a while.”

“I’ve never been here. It’s nice. One of my friends recommended it.”

“Who are you here with?” I ask, happy to stick with small talk while the memory of kissing Tristan makes my mouth ache.

“Just a few people I went to school with. Can I buy you that drink now?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“Do you have time to join me?”

I do, if only to get the barrage of images from the Four Seasons to stop their assault on me.