Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(10)

“Put up with what from me?”

“You think I’m a useless manwhore too.” Knees drawn up, I let my head fall back against the wall. It kind of hurt. “Everyone does. I’m the worst, just ask my family and friends.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Eric, she doesn’t think you’re a bad person.”

“Save it.”

A pained groan. “Come on, you’re wasted. Time to sleep it off. Things will look better in the morning, I promise.”

Either the lights had gone out or I’d closed my eyes. Hard to tell which. Maybe I wouldn’t bother going for a walk after all; every inch of me felt heavy and tired.

“Eric, get up.”

“I’m fine here,” I mumbled morosely. “Don’t worry ’bout me.”

Some sighing. “Maybe I should wake Andre or your brother, get one of them to help me get you back inside.”

“No, don’t.” Slowly, painfully, I crawled back up onto my feet. Everything seemed fuzzy and horrible and sad. Real sad. “See, I can stand on my own.”

“All right.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Okay.” She held her hand out. “Keys?”

“Huh? Oh. Right.”

Blessed with sobriety, Jean got the door open in no time. “Come on.”

With one of my arms over her shoulders, she directed me toward the bed. Her head turned this way and that, checking everything out. Old framed collectors’ edition LPs and the state-of-the-art record player. Thing looked more like a sculpture than something to spin vinyl on. The fully stocked bar cart in the corner and my sprawling gray sofa that matched the dark walls. A lamp shone dimly. Mood lighting and nothing more.

Jean was looking around the bedroom with interest and a slight smirk on her face.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “But for someone who objects to being labeled a manwhore, your whole apartment looks designed for seduction.”

“It’s all part of the overall package.” I defensively waved an extended hand at my five-hundred-thread-count sheets. “If a girl comes back to your room, you’ve got to show her a good time. That takes attention to detail. Clothes. Ambience. Lighting. Music. The whole experience. You’ve got to do it right.” I tried to puff out my chest a little, which was tricky given that I was still half-leaning on her for support. “That’s like a point of principle with me.”

“I have noticed that about you. You’re very principled,” she said, turning to dump me across the bed.

“Don’t sound so sarcastic.” The mattress bounced beneath me, making my head spin even worse. “Whoa. Everything’s spinning.”

“Come on, get your legs up on there.”

I grumbled, but did as told.

“You’re going to bed wearing all your clothes?”

“Depends.” I gave her a sexy smile. “You want to undress me?”

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Whatever. Her loss.

“Let’s lose the boots though, huh?” Without another word, she started tugging at the laces. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

“Thanks for this. You’re real nice, Jean.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m not nice.”

She dropped one of my shoes on the ground. “You’re not so bad.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to paf … pass…”

“Pacify?” she suggested.

“Yeah. You don’t have to do that to me.” I laced my fingers over my chest and stared at the high ceiling. “Even my own brother and his girlfriend think I’m useless.”

Not commenting, she got to work on my other boot.

“I can sort of see why. Obviously, getting Nell pregnant wasn’t so good.”

Both her mouth and eyes opened wide. “You got her pregnant?”

“Not this time. Last time, when she and Pat were broken up.” I grabbed a pillow and shoved it beneath my head. Might as well be comfortable if I was going to bare my soul and shit. “She lost the baby in a car accident. I thought Nell would have told you all this.”

“She mentioned a miscarriage, that’s all.” In slow motion, she set the boot on the floor. “Eric, I’m so sorry.”

“’S okay.” The less said about that the better.

Her eyes turned liquid in the low light and she sat on the edge of the bed. With both arms, she kind of hugged her belly. “God, that’s so sad. You must have been devastated.”

“It wasn’t looking like I was going to be much of a dad.”

“The baby hadn’t even been born yet. You might have been great.”

“I had a book.”

That was the single best thing I could say for my parenting potential. I had a book. On pregnancy and the first few months. The darn thing wasn’t even half-read. Joe had gotten it for me. Got me a whole little library of them actually. Each less read than the one before.

Pathetic.

And if it sounded pitiful to my own ears, I could only imagine what Jean thought of me. For a while she said nothing, just sat there while I stared morosely at the ceiling, wishing we had never started this conversation. Maybe everyone was right and I was the worst. Dwelling on my failings was infinitely preferable to thinking about the baby.