Deconstructed(33)

Uh-oh.

I had spent the most unusual afternoon at the Bullpen before going for a coffee with Ty at some fancy place with people on computers and confections that I literally didn’t know how to pronounce. In fact, if I had said, Give me a cup of coffee, the cashier might have been confused.

By that point, I’d had so much caffeine that I probably wouldn’t sleep that night. But even if I managed to close my eyes, I would probably be haunted by the two hot guys wrestling around in my head.

As I had sat there with Juke at the Bullpen before Ty arrived, nursing decent coffee (for a bar), I had tried to study my ex without looking like I was watching Dak. I wasn’t sure I succeeded, because every now and then our gazes caught before I quickly darted mine to the button on my cuff right next to the jelly stain. Or Juke’s jittering leg. My cousin needed a drink. Dak’s refusal to even glance his way other than to set a little silver milk pitcher on the bar told me that Juke wasn’t going to be served what he craved.

The whole situation had been bizarre to begin with, and then Ty had walked through the door of the bar into my side of town. Correction. My old side of town. But I had to give the dude credit for coming north to meet me. He showed up wearing a pair of Brooks Brothers khakis. Or what I assumed to be Brooks Brothers. I wasn’t exactly versed in modern preppy. He’d paired them with a tight polo shirt with short sleeves that hung up on his toned biceps, and flashy sunglasses perched on his burnished locks. He looked straight off a yacht.

Juke wasn’t as impressed as I was. And my ex–soul mate standing behind the bar looked like he had a bad case of acid indigestion. Or the red ass. Maybe both, but I was certain he didn’t like Mr. Million Bucks heading my way. And that made me oddly pleased.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Ty said as he slid onto the stool next to me. He peered over the bar to my cousin and flashed his 5,000-watt smile. “Hey, I’m Ty.”

Juke made a sound that might have been approving but probably wasn’t. More of a choking sound he covered with a cough. “Juke. I’m Roo’s cousin.”

“Roo?” Ty shot me an amused look.

“Ruby. We always called her Roo. Like that baby mouse on Winnie the Pooh.”

“That would be a kangaroo, Juke. Thus the ‘roo’ part. And I don’t go by childhood nicknames anymore.”

Juke made a sour face. “So sue me.”

“Well, I think that nickname is as cute as you are,” Ty said, giving me a little wink. He then slapped the bar. “Yo, can I have a Mic ULTRA?”

Dak turned and cocked his head. “We don’t have Michelob. But you’re welcome to choose any of these on tap. Four-dollar happy hour on tap and well.” Then Dak turned back around and slid some empty mugs to the side of the bar before pulling out a few Miller Lites, popping the tops, and hooking up the two guys who were still talking about some pitcher and the nasty slider he’d thrown when he played at UNC.

“Well, this guy is a charmer,” Ty joked with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t get perturbed like most guys would. I liked that about him. “You two drinking coffee, huh?”

“I wasn’t in the mood for a cocktail, and Juke wanted coffee.”

Juke made another noise that sounded a lot like “Fuck off.”

Ty hooked an eyebrow and called out, “Bud Light is fine.”

Dak said nothing. Just grabbed a frosty mug from beneath the bar, slung it beneath the tap, and filled it. He didn’t even bother to let the foam settle. Just slapped it down kind of rudely in front of Ty and said, “Start a tab?”

“Nah.” Ty pulled out his wallet and tossed a five onto the bar. “I think one here will be enough.”

The foam dissolved, leaving it only three-fourths full. I tossed Dak a glare, but he didn’t see it because he was too busy being an asshole and keeping his back to us.

“Jeez, tough bar,” Ty joked, taking a slug of his drink and smiling like he hadn’t just been cheated out of some decent beer. Or what was considered good beer by my family. Bud Light was for special occasions—otherwise it was PBR or Busch.

“Y’all datin’ or somethin’?” Juke asked, sipping his coffee and making a face.

“Yeah,” Ty said.

“Not really,” I said at the same time as Ty.

I may have blushed a little and tried to cover it by taking a big gulp of my coffee. Ty Walker and I were not dating. Okay, so maybe this could be considered our first date since we weren’t standing in Printemps discussing carpets or paintings from Scandinavian auction houses. But as first dates go, this one blew. “We’re going to Gritz and Glitz together in a few weeks.”

“Gritz and what?” Juke asked.

Ty caught my eye, looking extraordinarily pleased at my statement. So I guess I had just agreed to go to the stupid gala with him.

“It’s a benefit,” I clarified, staring at Dak’s broad back even though I didn’t want to. My eyes kept wandering toward him, like they had never gotten the memo that I was totally over him. “To raise money for charity and stuff.”

“That’s a weird name for it.” Juke shrugged and trained his eyes on the bottles of whiskey seductively reflecting the bar light. My eager-to-catch-a-new-case cousin had fled, to be replaced by a man who likely needed rehab, if the way he couldn’t rip his gaze from the mirrored shelves was any indication.