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I grunt.

Why the fuck is Logan giving her a nickname?

More importantly, why the fuck do I care?

“Does that piss you off, old man?” Logan asks, his mouth tipping into a shit-eating grin.

“Why would that piss me off?” I throw my napkin onto the table and push back from the booth. “You lot are acting like children.”

“Very convincing,” Mallory says dryly.

“Where are you going?” Rory calls after me.

“To take a piss somewhere none of you can talk to me.”

Their laughter follows me across the bar.

I need at least five minutes alone before I can tolerate this lot again.

Maybe ten.

* * *

A few hours and several beers later, everyone has left.

Rory offered me a lift before they went, but I told her I’d walk. She looked at Blair, looked back at me, and smirked like the irritating little shit she is.

Now I’m sitting alone, still staring at the bar.

I can feel the alcohol. Nothing too crazy, but there’s that familiar buzz of false confidence that comes with having one too many.

Fuck it.

I get up, walk over to the bar, and plant myself on the stool directly in front of Blair.

“You lost?” she asks, side-eyeing me.

“Nope.”

“Your table’s over there.” Blair points toward the now-empty booth.

I glance over my shoulder. “Everyone left.”

“And yet, somehow, you’re still here.”

I lean my forearms against the bar. “Starting to sound like you want me gone, Blair Bear.”

She sets a glass in front of me.

I look down at it. “That’s water.”

“Very observant.” Blair raises a brow, resting one hand on her hip.

“I ordered a beer.”

“No, you sat down dramatically and stared at me.”

Fair.