Page 34 of Say it Ain’t So

The club Wade chose was probably the most obnoxious place in the city. Anyone who was anyone wanted to be seen there. And lucky us, we had a way in.

Our boss, Lee Bridgewater, had worked here with Wade once upon a time. And Wade being Wade—the life of the party and all that—he’d kept in close contact with a handful of his bouncer and waitress friends. We didn’t have to wait in line, didn’t have to wait for drinks at the bar. It was as if this guy was a celebrity and not just some guy who used to work here.

Once inside, Wade made straight for the bar. The bartender caught sight of him before he got there and had a shot glass full of amber liquid waiting for him, and three empties on standby.

“What can I get ya?” he asked us as Wade slammed back his tequila and held out his glass for another.

Weston and Zane squeezed in next to Wade, tossing out their orders of a Jack and Coke and a Tom Collins before the bartender looked at me. Before I could open my mouth to give my order, Wade slammed back his second tequila, smacked his glass on the bar, then turned with a loud “Woohoo!” and strutted away.

I slid into the space he left and ordered a beer. Weston turned to look at me and Zane, only Zane cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone.

Nicky’s name was on the screen, blurring out a picture of the not-so-happy couple.

“I gotta take this,” Zane muttered. He grabbed his Tom Collins from the bar top and pressed his phone to his ear before heading off in search of a quieter place to talk.

Weston shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his face as he brought his whiskey glass to his lips. “Told ya.” He took a sip before turning his gaze on me. “Same fucking thing happened last time they dragged me out.”

“You telling me you’re scared to be left on your own at a bar?” I cast a quick glance at his thick, tattooed arms, chuckling as I lifted my beer to take a drink. The man never had an ounce of trouble finding someone to take home.

“Yeah,” he said, though it was far from any kind of admission, judging by his smirk. “Someone’s gotta help me out. I only have so many arms.”

At that moment, he draped one of his arms casually across the shoulders of a beautiful brunette as she tried to pass by with a group of women. She turned her face up to him, her smile growing wide as she took him in all his fuckin’ splendor. Seconds later, her friend, a blonde with hair down to her ass, squeezed under his other arm.

“Looks like someone’s getting lucky tonight!” Without a look my way, Weston tossed back his drink, then steered the girls out onto the dance floor.

I was used to this. Used to partying with Wade. Being left at the bar while he went and did—I looked across the room, finding him climbing one of the dancers’ cages—whatever it was he did.

This was fine. I could see the sights. Drink my beer. Instead of heading home and wallowing in my fucking loneliness like I had the past two years, maybe I could find a girl. Someone to take my mind off what I’d lost, to give me that future I’d never thought I’d have.

Halfway through my beer, the people beside me cleared out, leaving the bar open and feeling as abandoned as me.

Inside my head, something whispered pathetic.

I turned, ready to call it a night. Wade was nowhere in sight, though I swore he was close to fucking someone in the middle of the dance floor the last time I saw him. Zane was still tucked into the corner by the restrooms, phone to his ear as he fought with his girlfriend. And Weston…

Well. Weston had not one, not two, but three lovely ladies clinging to him as they danced.

I shook my head and laughed.

So much for needing a buffer.

With one last long drink, I set my glass on the bar, ready to head home for the night. Only, something stopped me. Something in the form of a short little blonde who barely came up to my pecs.

“Hey there, gorgeous. You wanna dance?” She had her head cocked back, making the blunt cut of her hair look like sharp daggers hanging around her face. Her eyes were pretty—though it might have had more to do with her elaborate makeup than with the specific shade of brown.

I had to admire her courage. Someone as short as her, coming up to someone as big as me in the middle of a crowded club, with no wing-women at her side? There was a certain level of fearlessness in that action that called to something I thought I’d buried deep inside me long ago.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” I hadn’t even finished speaking before she was grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the crowded floor. Once there, she turned and pressed herself to me, holding on and grinding her body against mine.

I wasn’t sure where to put my hands. Her tiny waist was too low—I would have had to bend over to hold on, and with the crowd as wild as it was, I probably would have lost a tooth if someone smashed into my head. Her chest was large and… Well. Whatever she had going on there didn’t feel natural.

None of this did.

The whole time she was holding onto me, all I wanted was to walk away. To turn around and wander off. To find that spark I’d buried and follow it to the kind of freedom I’d always loved.

I was too old for this shit. For bumping and jumping and getting jostled by strangers I didn’t care about. For pretending like this thing with this girl—did she say Trina or Trista when I asked her name?—was going to go somewhere when I knew it wasn’t.

The only thing I was getting tonight was a whole lot of frustration, while my dick got petted by someone with far too much boldness stuffed into a tiny package, and my body got bumped and bruised in the madness of the dancing crowd.