The First Taste(106)

I put the Glenlivet back on the counter, sliding it into the corner farthest from his reach. I don’t want to talk about Andrew. “Give me back the phone.”

“I paid him a visit,” he says, sticking my cell in his pocket.

Blood drains from my face. No. Reggie can be ruthless. And, as I saw at the flea market, Andrew can be confrontational when pushed. He puts his hands on Reggie just for the way he spoke to me. How would he have reacted having Reggie in his territory? “You didn’t,” I say, hoping this is another one of his lies.

He screws the top off the bourbon and picks up one of the glasses I’d gotten out for Andrew. “I went by the garage to offer him ten grand to stay away from you. That’s how much I love you, Amelia. Ten grand.”

My stomach knots. I don’t even have to ask if Andrew took it. It’s the thought of Reggie going to his workplace, to where Bell might’ve been, that has me seething. “How dare you,” I say.

Reggie looks surprised. “Me? He took the money! The schmuck didn’t even realize I would’ve paid double.”

“You have no right to interfere in my life. No right.”

“I did it out of love.” He sighs. “Did you hear what I said? He took the money. You should be thanking me.”

I don’t believe Reggie for a second—I don’t. But the fact that Andrew didn’t show tonight tugs at my conscience. He made it clear I’d hurt him enough for him to walk away. I don’t know if I could fault him for taking Reggie’s money when we were over anyway.

I shake my head, disappointed I’d even consider the possibility. “Give me back my phone, and get out,” I say. “Take the bourbon with you. I haven’t been able to stomach it in a long time. Hell, take the Glenlivet if you want. Just go.”

“Have you forgotten who owns this apartment?” he asks, sniffing as he scratches his red nose. “I can come and go as I please.”

“No, you can’t. This is my place. We agreed on that because you f*cked another woman. Remember?”

“Oh, come on with that shit already.” He wipes his hairline with his sleeve and fills the second glass. “I’ve taken my punishment like a good boy. How long are you going to throw that in my face?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, crossing my arms. “Stop coming around, and I’ll stop bringing it up. Win-win.”

“That’s not a win for me. I want you back.” He passes me the drink. I put it on the counter. “I want you on my arm and in my bed. What’ll it take? What do you want to hear?” he asks. “I regret all of it.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “And that should surprise me?”

“No. You told me I’d regret it, and I do, and you said I’d come crawling back, and I have. Just tell me what you need me to do to make things right.”

I glance at the glass of bourbon he poured me. I haven’t so much as looked at Maker’s Mark since he left because it reminds me of him. What do I need? To move forward for good. To close this chapter. To take back my life. I pick up the drink, study it, and take a sip as I look him in the eye. Bourbon’s f*cking good. Why shouldn’t I drink it if I want? “Nothing,” I say. “I don’t need anything.”

“Everyone needs something. I need you. I need my life back in order.”

“And what do I need?” I ask.

“Love. Money. Your business, your home. I can give you all of that.”

“I’m better off than you think.”

“I don’t believe that. You needed me once; it’s still in there. You might pretend not to love me anymore, but love doesn’t vanish just because you walked in on me with another woman.”

“Actually,” I say, “you might be surprised to hear that’s exactly what happened. It’s as if I was wearing a blindfold and it fell off in that moment, and . . . I’ve been seeing clearly ever since.”

The muscles of his stubbled jaw tighten. “You’re just saying that because you’re still angry. To get back at me.”

“I’m really not.” I peer at him. “You know things were starting to change between us before you met her.”

“Because of that f*cking sinkhole you call a business.”

I take a step back at the rage in his voice. If we were together, I’d be disappointed he’s this drunk after his obvious effort to do better. “Why do you care so much?” I ask. “You’re with Virginia now.”

“I lied about that. We’re not together.”

Andrew was right. Reggie claimed to be with her to get under my skin, and he succeeded. “You can’t expect me to believe anything you say—especially when it comes to her.”

“It was over before it began,” he says. “I swear. I haven’t even seen her in months.”

“Really?” I lean a hip against the counter. “So if I called her up right now, she’d back that up?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “She might lie. We didn’t exactly end on good terms.”

“I see.” I can’t help my shit-eating grin when I ask, “Did you cheat on her too?”

His cheeks are pallid, as if he might be sick. “No. She assumed when you and I split that I’d be with her, but I never wanted anything—”