Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Oh. That makes sense.” He gave a sheepish smile. “I walked. Little farther than I thought it was, but I needed the air anyway.”
“Good job planning ahead.” Chances were very high that I’d chase down a ride for him later. Letting him stumble his way home through Rainbow Cove wouldn’t sit well with me.
“I try. Sometimes I fail.” He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes, being the one who does all the planning sucks.”
“I hear you.” I occupied myself with wiping down the bar rather than give in to the temptation to pat his hand. “This is why I try to roll with life more. Planning is an opportunity to wind up disappointed.”
I could be more honest with him than I might be with a friend because he likely wouldn’t remember specifics of our conversation.
“Yup.” After taking another long swallow, he got more insistent, tapping the bar. “I’m done making plans.”
“Uh-huh.” I highly doubted that. Anyone smart enough to make it through medical school and hold down a doctor job was not the type to suddenly become free-wheeling overnight. But I nodded because my job was to be the sympathetic bartender, not his life coach. Besides, if his change in mindset kept him from going back to whoever had caused the heartache, so much the better.
“I am,” he insisted before draining the rest of his cocktail. “Spontaneous bad decisions from here on out.”
He gave me a speculative look, almost like he was seeing me for the first time. Undoubtedly, even I looked better through vodka-soaked lenses. His lust might not be real, but my ego still liked the appraisal in his eyes, the slow way his gaze crawled over me as if he wanted to catalog each muscle group. Blood rushing south, my body was more than ready to volunteer to be the first of those choices he’d regret later, but sadly, my personal code of ethics also blared loudly. He’d already suffered some sort of emotional blow. He didn’t need a new set of reasons to hate himself in the morning. Quinn wasn’t my responsibility, and any bad decisions he wanted to make weren’t my business, yet something about him made me strangely protective, even if that meant protecting him from himself.
Two
Adam
As I predicted, babysitting Quinn took up the remainder of my evening. He’d become flirtier the more he drank, and I’d kept him talking in large part to keep him off his phone. No drunk texting or ill-fated swiping right on my watch.
“You sure you don’t want to eat something?” I prodded as I put the last of the clean glassware away. “Kitchen’s closed, but there’s always stuff left, especially after a slow night. I could get Horatio to heat you up something.”
“I’m not hungry. This is tasty though.” He held up his almost empty glass. I’d figured two cocktails to get him tipsy, but at least four to get wasted. However, this was drink three, plus whatever sips he’d had of the rum and Coke, and he was way, way more toasted than I’d anticipated. The low tolerance level was another sign that he rarely did things like this and one more reason for me to go all protective over him.
“Thanks. And enjoy that last drink because no more for you.” I said it all teasingly, but I wasn’t kidding about cutting him off.
“But I like it.” He pouted sexily, complete with full lower lip and puppy dog eyes, but I wasn’t swayed. Much. My body liked every damn thing about him, but my mind knew better than to go there.
“First, we’re closing soon, and second, you passed buzzed quite some time ago.”
“I know. It’s wonderful.” His smile was way wobblier than the ones I’d seen him give when sober, but his dimples still made me need to smile back.
“Glad you’re happy.”
“I’m not.” He sighed dramatically, dimples beating a fast retreat as his face crumpled. “But I can pretend for a little while.”
“Yeah. That’s probably all most people can do.” I swallowed hard.
He might be drunk, but there was a truth to his words. I knew plenty of happy people, especially lately, as all my friends had coupled up and left me the last single guy standing. I wasn’t miserable. But true happiness? That tended to be fleeting at best, and I knew more about pretending than I cared to discuss.
“To being a damn good faker.” He polished off the rest of his drink in a single swallow, then set it down with an unsteady clatter.
“At least drink some water if you’re not going to eat something.” Not waiting for his agreement, I put a large glass in front of him. “Your body will thank you later.”
“You’re nice.” He was sweetly earnest. Later, that sweetness might turn teary, but right then, it made him as bad at flirting as he was at drinking.