You're to Blame(48)

“That fire I was telling you about? You just threw a stick of dynamite on it.” The gleam in his eye is bright and shiny.

Derks leaves me alone once again. I take a seat in Lydia’s section, disgruntled and sexually frustrated. We don’t know much about each other, but she and Rachel are becoming fast friends.

“What can I get you, sweet girl?” Lydia smiles. From anyone else, the term of endearment would come across as an insult, but from her, it’s sincere.

“Tequila with a lime, please,” I order, resting my chin on my clenched fist.

“Oh boy, tequila is the heartbreak drink, the one we girls go to when shit is messy.”

“Beyond messy,” I offer, picking up the glass she places in front of me. It burns but refreshes my taste buds on the trip down my throat.

“How’s Jacob doing?” she asks. My eyes widen at her question. His name, once again, is like ice water on a fire.

“You know Jacob?” I fiddle with the lime, gliding it around the rim of the cup. It leaves a tart trail of juice for me to enjoy.

“Everyone knows Jacob.” Her eyes burn into me, begging me to understand something my brain isn’t capable of at this moment.

“He and Duke are friends,” I state.

“Sure are.” Lydia mops the spot in front of me. Her defense isn’t for Jacob, though. Her worries are for Duke.

I down the rest of my drink. “I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I? I’m such an asshole.”

“You aren’t an asshole.” Lydia pours me another drink.

“You have no idea” —I down the entire drink like a shot— “of the thoughts I’m having.”

“If I knew you were going to shoot it back like that, I’d have put it in a smaller glass, girl.” She holds up a shot glass and slams it on the bar top.

“Have you ever wanted someone so bad, but you knew it was a horrible idea?” Lydia is an outsider to my world, but she makes me feel safe.

At my question, Lydia’s gaze shifts behind my back. I follow her trail.

“Randy?” I blurt out. “You have a thing for Randy?”

“Do you have to scream it out loud?” She laughs. “And you’re one to talk. You have a boyfriend in a coma and a heart-on for his friend.”

“Did have a boyfriend in a coma.” I roll the glass from side to side.

“What?” Lydia’s eyelids droop, and she checks me over. “Girl, tequila hit you quick. Jacob’s still in a coma.” She offers a kind smile. “I get it, I really do, Charlotte. You’re in a hard place.” She sets two shot glasses between us and pours tequila to the rims. We each take one and clink them together.

“Thank you.” I lift my shot glass up and pour it down my throat, swallowing the burning liquid.

Lydia kindly fills my glass. No words are exchanged, like she knows I need just enough tequila to feel the warmth, but no conversation. After what happened with Duke and me on the dance floor, a breather is necessary.

The staff bustles around the bar, sweeping and lifting chairs onto the tables. I pull out my phone to see the time and drop it back into my clutch. How’d it get so late?

Derks and Lydia wipe the leftover spills off the bar and count down the cash drawers. Their wandering glances make me anxious. I spin the glass one way and reverse it to the other, aimlessly distracting myself from finding Duke.

He’s somewhere under this roof.

Is he wondering how I’m feeling? Because I sure as hell am wondering how he feels after our impromptu dance. Did his heart still race minutes after we released each other? I suck my bottom lip into my mouth at the thought of his lips on my earlobe. That boy is capable of destroying me.

Lydia carries three cups in her hands and goes to sit them down, but trips over something on the floor. She staggers into Duke’s chest, and liquid covers the front of his shirt.

“Oh shit, Duke. I’m so sorry,” Lydia apologizes. Mortification covers her cheeks in a pink shade. She yanks a rag from her apron and dabs his shirt.

“It’s all good, Lyd.” He gently places his hand on hers to stop her. “I’m heading out anyway.”

“If you’re headed out, why don’t you drop Charlotte off at home?” Derks recommends. His smirk spreads wider and wider as Duke stares at him like he’s just kicked a child’s dog.

Fuck you, too, then, Duke Anderson. Maybe I don’t want a ride from you. I’m not too drunk to miss the hidden message. He’s not pleased with Derks offering up his services.

“I can drive,” I argue.

“Sweetheart, I know you can outdrink most grown men, but it’s probably best.” Lydia pats my hand. Her eyes scream out in apology because, even though we don’t know shit about each other, she still knows this thing with Duke is slowly killing me.

“Come on, bar star.” The humor in Duke’s voice causes my heart to hiccup. “Let’s get you home.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” I protest, tucking my clutch under my arm and waving to Derks and Lydia over my shoulder.

“Bye, love.” Derks grins.

Duke’s hand rests comfortably low on my back, guiding me out into the parking lot. His truck is in the first spot, and he politely opens the door, no words and minimal eye contact, as I slip by him into the seat. He hates me. I pushed him.