Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,51

found an empty seat at the bar. She tossed her bag on the floor at her feet, scanning over the menu.

The bartender came over and took her order—a burger and fries, and a beer to go with it.

She didn’t even care that she didn’t drink beer. She didn’t care that she hadn’t had a bar burger and fries probably since the last time she’d done so with Logan, who knew how long ago. She didn’t care that he continued to pop into her mind, as if he actually belonged there.

She didn’t care about any of it.

When her order arrived, she practically chugged the beer before moving on to her food. She needed to stop feeling. That was the solution.

And as the night wore on, the prospect of no longer feeling became more and more obtainable. She poured back drink after drink—after awhile, not even tasting it anymore.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Logan appeared at her side. She looked at him, tilting her head to the side. “You keep doing that.” She said abruptly.

“Doing what?” he asked, confused. It was clear to him that Abby was a bit tipsy.

“Popping up. It’s really quite annoying.” He laughed then, shrugging his shoulders casually. “Sit down, have a drink!”

“I don’t think…”

“No, Logan. That’s exactly right. Don’t think. We’re not thinking anymore today.” She called for the bartender—a younger guy, probably putting himself through college—and ordered a shot of whiskey for Logan. “I know you don’t really like whiskey, but I’m afraid you need to catch up. I’m already way ahead of you.”

“I really think—” But she didn’t let him finish, reaching up and touching her finger to his lips.

“Shh. No thinking.” The bartender returned, placing the shot of golden liquid in front of him. He stared at it for a long moment before reaching out and tossing the glass back. His throat burned as it went down, spreading through his chest. “Another!” Abby squealed, clapping her hands as she laughed.

She was radiant again, spilling over with life. She’d let go of all of her inhibitions. She’d forgotten about all of the baggage she was carrying around.

She was free.

It was hard to deny Abby under normal circumstances—but seeing her now, as he’d remembered her being, she was impossible to say no to. And so he did shot after shot, taking orders from her—laughing with her, enjoying himself.

“Mr. Bartender, Sir—we would like a shot of your finest tequila,” Abby ordered, a devilish grin on her face. She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her white top. “Remember this?” She questioned, and he watched as she leaned forward and picked up a moistened napkin from the bar and then brought it back to the exposed flesh at the line just above her tank top. She then sprinkled some salt on her fingers and dabbed it on, scooting herself closer to him. When the lemon arrived, she placed it between her lips.

It was something they had done often when Logan had worked at the bar.

He was hesitant, unsure of what to do with himself. He knew there was a reason why he wasn’t supposed to do this, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was.

And so he gave in, leaning over and placing his mouth on her warm skin, tasting the salt. He then picked up the glass and poured it back before leaning forward, touching his hand to her chin.

Just before their lips met, Abby dropped the lemon, as she’d always used to do.

And then, finally, the moment they finally came together, it was as if something had erupted. A sudden passion, laying dormant and unbidden, stirred to life deep inside them. It shocked them out of whatever drunken stupor they’d gotten themselves into and Abby pulled back, stunned as she reached up to touch her lips. And then she reached over and touched his, wondering if he felt it too.

“You still willing to share that room of yours, Mr. Sheppard?” she asked, holding his eyes.

“Have you changed your mind?” She wasn’t sure what he was asking her about, but all she could do was nod. “Should we go now then?” She nodded again, reaching into her purse and grabbing several bills. She tossed them to the counter and reached down to grab her bag—only to find that Logan already held it. “Right this way,” he held out his arm, guiding her in the right direction.

The hotel was only just across the way, but they were required to take a shuttle