Hero(50)

That would have killed me if she’d managed that feat.

The flirting, though, was enough to do some serious damage. The truth was I didn’t even know why I was there in the first place. Caine didn’t need me here for this and he certainly didn’t need me there to witness him flirt with a woman who was obviously an old flame.

I didn’t want to watch them rekindle something.

My stomach was sick. I wanted a stiff drink, far away from him.

I stood up abruptly and a bewildered Caine got to his feet too. “If you’ll excuse me I think I’ll call it a night.”

He frowned but nodded.

I nodded at Farrah. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Fucking lie!

She bestowed upon me a vague smile. “You too.”

Without sparing Caine another glance, I walked out of the restaurant and headed through the hotel to the bar. I found an empty stool at the bar and settled in.

The young bartender smiled at me. “What can I get you, madam?”

Ugh, when did I become a “madam”? Just one more thing a drink would help me forget about. “Glenlivet on the rocks.”

The bartender didn’t even blink at my order and he was back a few seconds later with the drink. I took a sip, letting the heat of the scotch slide down my throat and spread out across my chest. I instantly felt a little more relaxed.

For a while I sat there, nursing my scotch and playing around with my cell. Rachel had sent me a picture of Maisy sitting on her husband Jeff’s back. Jeff was flat out on his stomach on the floor, and his hands had been tied behind his back.

Your kid worries me, I texted in return.

A few seconds later my cell pinged. I know, right? It’s hilarious.

I grimaced and shoved my phone in my purse. To Rachel, Maisy was hilarious. To the rest of us she was a demon child.

“Can I get you another?”

Surprised by the closeness of the voice, I felt my body give a little jerk. A young guy in a suit was sliding onto the stool beside me. I took him in, feeling a little buzzed. He was attractive and there was a sparkle of good humor in his eyes that I liked.

What the hell?

“You may.”

He grinned. “What’ll it be?” I told him, and his grin widened. “Scotch?”

I smiled unhappily. “I’m drowning my sorrows.”

The guy waved down the bartender and ordered two whiskies. When his attention returned to me, he said, “Why is a pretty thing like you drowning your sorrows?”

I made a face.

He laughed. “What?”

“Pretty thing? Really?”

“I just say it like I see it.” He held out his hand. “I’m Barry.”

I took his hand. “Alexa.”

“So, Alexa, I’ll ask again … why are you drowning your sorrows?”

Wrapping my hand around the glass of scotch the bartender put in front of me, I tilted my head in a coy gesture. “Guess.”

“Hmm … career troubles?”

I snapped my fingers and pointed to him. “Bingo.”

Barry smiled and leaned closer. “Well, why don’t we see how long it takes me to make you forget about your troubles?”

“What the hell? I’ve got nothing to lose. Give it your best shot, Barry.”

And he did.

We talked about music and movies, and I argued fervently in favor of the Red Sox while he argued for the Mariners, and we did it in a flirty, suggestive way that soothed the wounds to my feminine vanity. We didn’t discuss anything serious and for a little while it was wonderful to be buzzed, relaxed, and admired.

I didn’t know how long we’d been sitting there, but my second scotch was nearly finished and I was thinking it was time for another when Barry suddenly slid his hand along my thigh.

“Why don’t we take this up to your room?”

Looking down at his hand on my leg, I had to admit that there was a part of me that actually thought about it. I wanted to forget what it felt like to feel Caine all around me, and surely the old adage was true—the best way to get over someone was to get under someone new. With the scotch hot in my blood, that suddenly sounded like very good advice.

“Or better yet, why don’t you remove your hand before I break it?”

The breath went out of my body at the menacing voice.

I stared up at Caine, who towered over us, his dark gaze scorching Barry.

Barry flushed and started a stumbling slide from his stool. “Sorry,” he mumbled.