In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(78)

“Hey, f*ck off,” I say, pulling the paper away and stuffing it back in the envelope.

“Will,” Rex says, disapprovingly, and pulls me into his side.

“Hey,” Will says, hands up, “at least it’s clearly written and imaginative. That’s more than I can say for about 90 percent of the stuff I read.”

Rex glances down at the envelope curiously. “Do these people have the final say?”

“For journals, yeah. They send your piece out to three people in your field and those are the readers. It’s just so frustrating because I read the comments that they make and it’s obvious that they didn’t read the whole article, because they say that I didn’t do things that I totally did. Just, in the second half. Anyway, whatever. It was a long shot to begin with.”

“Let me get the first round,” Will says, “as someone technically in the publishing industry, to express my sympathies that basically everything involved in it is crap.”

I can’t tell if he’s f*cking with me or not.

“Thanks, Will,” Rex says. Then, to me, “I’m sorry, baby.” He squeezes my hand and I shake my head. His clothes smell like pine and I take a deep breath of him.

“Were you in your workshop today?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You smell so good,” I say, as Will comes back to the table with a beer, a whiskey, and a martini. He puts them down in the center of the table and gestures to me. Is this some kind of test? Like, I’m supposed to guess what drink Will thinks I’d want? What the hell? Rex rolls his eyes, grabs the beer, and slides the whiskey to me. Will sips his martini and looks at me across the table. I stare back at him and down my whiskey like a shot.

“So, what do you think of Holiday?” Will asks. “You’re from Philly, right?”

I nod. “It’s okay. I like how clean everything is here. It smells kind of green. And the woods by Rex’s are beautiful. There’s not much going on, but I can’t lie. It’s nice to be able to walk around here and not worry about if it’s safe or not. I feel like I could walk through the woods in the middle of the night and be fine.”

Unease flickers in Will’s expression, but he just nods.

“Yeah,” Rex says, “unless you meet any serial killers, right?” He bumps my shoulder with his.

“I only said that once,” I mutter. Out loud, anyway. “Did you grow up here?” I ask Will.

He nods.

“I left for college but came back for a few years after to stay with my sister. That’s when I met Rex.”

“Where did you go for college?” I ask. I mean where did he live, but it came out the way all academics say it: tell me your pedigree. Let’s see if my school was better than yours.

“NYU,” Will says.

“So, you like New York?”

“Yup.” Will drums his fingers on the edge of the table in a fidgety gesture of boredom and I’m reminded of why I don’t like small talk.

“Here, I’ll get the next round,” I say, though Rex still has half a beer left. “Gin?”

“Vodka,” Will says. “Dirty.” He waggles his perfect eyebrows.

Rex is looking back and forth between us like a betting man at a dog fight. I nudge his knee and he stands to let me out.

“Can I have a Corona?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He starts to say something to Will as I walk away from the table.

“Can I have a Corona, a gin martini, dirty, and a Maker’s Mark, neat, please?” I ask the guy behind the counter.

“Is the martini for the guy who was just up here?” the bartender asks.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“He was drinking vodka before. Is he switching?”

“Oh no. Thanks. I meant vodka.” God, am I drunk after one whiskey? I guess it was a double.

I put the drinks down and Rex slides over to make room for me in the booth, resting a hand on my thigh when I sit down.

“Thanks,” he says. He’s downed the rest of his first beer. I smile at him. God, he really is so nice.

“Cheers,” Will says.

Will and Rex start talking about someone who lives in town, filling me in on the backstory, and I sip my drink a little slower. But it’s official. I’m basically drunk. Damn, I’ve turned into a lightweight since I moved here. Not that that’s a bad thing. Honestly, tending bar makes it pretty easy to be drunk whenever you want to. And I don’t want to end up like my dad, working all day and then drunk on the couch watching sports all night.

I wonder how he is. And my idiot brothers. I haven’t heard from them since I called the last time, no surprise. At least Colin hasn’t sent me any more nasty texts. My mind drifts to my dad’s house, the smell of Rex’s beer making it easy. When I was in middle school, before Sam moved out, I’d do my homework at the kitchen table while my dad and my brothers watched sports in the living room. I wanted to be able to see them so it felt like I was part of the family, but if I sat too close someone would eventually step on my schoolbooks or spill a beer on my homework. I ended up not turning in a lot of worksheets because they reeked of beer.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been spacing out, but Rex is handing me my phone, which is ringing. It’s Leo. Rex is looking at me with curiosity and a little concern.