No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(14)

Over the next hours, I lost myself in pouring drinks, making small talk to those occupying the ten stools at the bar, and observing the crowd at large like I always did. The night finally ended at 2:00 a.m., and I cut out right on time, more tired than usual.

Rubbing the back of my neck as I made my way to my bike, I remembered why I was so tired. I’d gotten up early. Even earlier the day before.

And the reason why I got up early on both days? Hannah.

Fuck. There goes my Zen.





Sunday night, play-by-play action flashed brightly on the big screen across my living room, but I didn’t care. I dropped my forearm over my eyes to block out the light and did my best to ignore the noise.

Carmen made her presence known for the umpteenth time, sidling her ass between my body and the edge of the couch, carving a space for herself in inches that hadn’t been left for her. Irritated, I growled and scooted back, giving her enough room to sit where she hadn’t been invited, propping my body at an angle on my hip, wedging my ass into the crack of the couch.

She claimed my bicep as a pillow, and I lost my arm (and the last quarter of the beer, in the now-useless hand attached to it).

At the soft sound of clinking glass getting louder, I shot my free arm up from my eyes, knowing my roommate Mason brought in refills. “Mase, beer me.”

A cold wet bottle filled my palm seconds later, and I leaned my head up, bringing the rim to my lips to take several swallows. I shifted the bottle’s neck between my fingers and dropped my arm over my eyes again, blocking out the rest of the world as best I could without moving off the couch.

“What’s got him so broody?” A sweet voice rose above a blaring insurance commercial, belonging to Stacy, a girl Ben had started seeing.

A snort came from Ben. “That’s not broody. He’s grumpy.”

Right he was. I didn’t brood.

“What are you now, the three dwarfs?” Laura, Mase’s girlfriend, added the snarky comment two seconds before her squeal pierced the room.

I cracked open an eye, tilting my head to see right as she tried to dodge Mason, who was already airborne in a lunge. He nailed her, and she rolled helplessly before he pinned her to the rug. “You know there’s nothing dwarf about me.” He growled into her neck. “Do you need a repeat demonstration during halftime?”

Ben shouted at the TV, “Aw, come on!”

Sighing, I tuned out the racket. I wasn’t in the mood. Hannah had defined me as a player. A more accurate definition would be a man who’d been fractured—and was attempting to cope. And yet, mind-numbing sex with Carmen, my version of therapy, hadn’t pulled me out of the shitty day I’d had. Although God and Carmen both knew I’d valiantly tried.

My only other distraction was the football game, but it sucked ass in the first quarter, which only heated my temper further.

The cascade started earlier when the noon deadline passed. No contract had been faxed. My email box sat empty. No missed calls or voicemail. When I rode my bike over to Hannah’s store, the lights were out, the shop locked up tight. My half dozen calls and two voicemails had gone unanswered.

Had Hannah and I crossed that fine line between business and personal? Barely. More like the line got blurred. But then we’d forced it into clear business focus. Or so I’d thought.

In hindsight, Hannah had always been the Ice Queen, even if the persona was only a mask. Why had I expected anything different? The fact that I had and got blindsided meant I’d been played. And lost.

And I didn’t like losing.

Kristen expected me to deliver her a team player. They all had. And even though I’d moved the deadline up a day, it had become crystal clear that instead of spending tomorrow doing intensive research for a school paper due that afternoon, I would be scrambling to find a last-minute replacement for Invitation Only’s baker.

Nothing I could do about it on a Sunday night, though. I blew out another lungful of stagnant air, downed the rest of my beer before dropping it against the cushions, and sank deeper into the couch, hoping to numb out with sleep.

Sometime later, Carmen moved off my arm and I fell forward. I stretched out onto my stomach, claiming the rest of the couch in a face-plant.

“I wouldn’t do that, Carmen,” Ben said, his voice low.

The warning in his tone made me crack open my eyes, but Carmen had propped up against the couch, and I couldn’t see anything beyond her wavy red hair.

“Shut it. He has full access to my pants. It’s a given.” Carmen’s feisty retort made no sense.

“Your funeral,” Ben replied, louder.

Alarm bells rang inside my head, starting to penetrate the grogginess of my brain.

“What the f*ck?” Carmen’s screech sliced through the haze.

I shoved against the couch, pushing upright. “What the f*ck’s goin’ on?”

My snarl silenced the room, game announcers giving play-by-plays the only sound amid the tension. Carmen made a show of standing and turning to face me. She held my opened wallet in one hand and a yellow, three-inch sticky note square in the other.

“Your room. Now.” Her brows furrowed over sparking blue eyes.

“No.” My irritation escalated. She knew what frame of mind I was in, and yet she still poked a waking bear.

“You don’t want to do this out here.” Her feistiness flared into rare form.