Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(68)

“I thought you looked sleep deprived.” Grace stands in front of me, her jaw set stubbornly. Look who else is pretending to be fine. I wonder if I look half as unconvincing as her. “Can I get you another beer?”

“Give him another. On me.” Vince climbs off his seat and tosses a twenty on the bar. “I’m heading home.”

“Tell Jackie I said hello.” Grace’s smile is wistful.

Because she misses the way things were?

“I will, Gracie.” With that, Vince leaves.

Grace swipes the money off the bar, sets me up with another beer, and goes back to ignoring me.

I take my time nursing the beer. The next mouthful I take is disgustingly warm. The crowd has thinned considerably, which makes sense. Nine o’clock on a weekday isn’t the busiest time for a pub in a business district.

A few more patrons slide from their seats to take their leave as a woman sits next to me, her flowery perfume scenting the air.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you in here,” the blonde says. I look not at her but at her reflection in the mirror in front of us.

I take another swallow of my warm beer. “How have you been?”

I wish I didn’t know her, but I do.

Biblically.

Her name’s Kara. We spent a few nights together a while back. My eyes flick to Grace as she pours drinks in the background. She hasn’t looked over here yet.

“What are you up to these days?” Kara holds a five-dollar bill in her hand.

“Working,” I answer, unable to be unkind.

Grace appears in front of us a moment later. “What do you need?”

“Change for the jukebox.” Kara hands Grace the bill. Grace turns to the cash register and then Kara turns to me. “I’m interested in a package this weekend if you’re available.”

If that offer’s not poorly timed enough, Kara runs her finger over my sleeve as Grace returns with five ones.

“The platinum,” Kara says.

Fuck. There’s no way Grace didn’t hear that. There’s also no way she doesn’t know what Kara’s referring to.

Grace’s face goes blank before she walks over to the older woman she works with.

“I don’t know if you remember, but we had some fun….” Kara is saying.

The older bartender, Candace shoots daggers at me over her shoulder.

Grace takes to the same hallway again, her steps accelerated.

“…thought you might be up for an encore.”

I leap off my barstool and leave Kara talking to herself.

“You can’t go back there!” Candace warns in a husky voice that, I admit, holds enough authority that I almost stop.

“Two minutes,” I call as I traipse down the hallway. “Then you can kick me out.”

I enter the mouth of the hallway as Grace exits the office door, purse and keys in hand, coat on, and—God help me—tears running down her cheeks.

“Gracie,” I say. It’s a plea.

“Don’t.” She huffs in an uneven breath.

“Come on, Gracie.”

She starts toward the red-lit exit sign, calling back to me, “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re only back here because you saw me cry.”

“So?”

She pivots—which means she’s stopped. I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever delay I can get. She swipes the tears from her face and none take their place. Which is a relief.

“Who’s the girl?” she asks.

I’ve never lied to Grace. I’m not starting now.

“Kara,” I admit, and it’s like chewing thumbtacks. “We…dated, for lack of a better word. She just asked me out.”

A bitter laugh escapes Grace’s throat and she looks at the ceiling—for strength? For patience? Hard to say. She probably wants to brain me with her handbag right about now. I would deserve it. I’ve been a selfish ass.

“And what did you tell her?” Grace asks.

“I didn’t answer her. I ran after you. Which is an answer in itself.”

The purse in her hand drops a few inches as she straightens her arm. She’s no longer darting for the door.

So.

I guess we’re doing this right here.

Right now.

I don’t have a speech planned, but one tumbles from my lips anyway.

“Here’s the thing, Gracie. You hurt me. And when it happened, it felt very similar to the way Hanna hurt me.”

Grace flinches.

“I took your rejection like a man. I stood firm while you peppered me with buckshot. While you delivered a waking nightmare at my feet. I loved you, but you didn’t love me back.”

She swallows but says nothing. I feel like I’m dangling from a cliff face by a thread, but I’m not done yet.

“After I walked out of your house, I vowed to get over you. I got over Hanna. And we weren’t just dating. We were engaged.”

Grace feels guilty. She feels like our splitting up is her fault. I can see it in the lines creasing her forehead—she worries she broke me. But she’s the one who’s broken.

I love this woman. Still.

Forever.

I take a step closer to her and keep explaining.

“For a while after the wedding, every time I pictured Hanna, I ached. Every time I saw something that was hers in my house that she’d left behind, it hurt. I once found a plastic spatula from our gift registry and put a hole in the wall. But the anger eventually faded. The pain. The ache. It all subsided. Soon she didn’t take up as much headspace as she used to. She became less and less a part of my day, then less and less a part of my week, until finally, her image blurred completely. Even now, if I try to picture her, I can’t quite fill in the gaps.”