Fall to Pieces - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,48

to the drink with a silent question as I raise a brow at Luke.

"Your friend is here already," he says.

"Are you serious? Did she come in drunk?"

"She certainly did. I've been watering her whiskey down for the last hour."

"Damn." She is hellbent on destroying herself.

After a few minutes, August comes stumbling out of the ladies' room, holding onto the wall for support. "You," she grunts as she heavily plops down into her seat.

"You're welcome," I tell her, unashamed of being a bit snide in response to her attitude.

"For what? I didn't thannn you for nothin'."

"Sure, you did. Your message to me earlier said, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’”

August rolls her eyes and stirs her cocktail straw around her glass. "Are you married to this place or something?"

"I'm friends with the owners, and they feed me dinner. What's it to you?"

She shakes her head and purses her lips. "It's nothing to me."

"Okay, then. What now?”

“Nothing, now. If you don’t have any more insightful suggestions for me this evening, I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

“Look, August, come on, darlin’. I can’t keep watching you fall to pieces. It’s heartbreaking.”

“Fall to pieces? That’s what you think this is?” She laughs like I just said the funniest damn thing in the world. “Oh, Chance, you have no clue what it looks like to be in pieces.”

I swallow the words threatening to erupt because she doesn’t know enough about me to make such a big assumption but it’s not worth fighting over. “You’re right,” I say, lifting my glass as a mock toast to her statement. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Yeah, I will,” she says, stumbling away.

Luke seems a bit concerned about the banter, but I wave him down, so he doesn't worry.

I expected the place to fill up quickly tonight since everyone has likely been stuck inside all day. Sure enough, at about a quarter of six, groups of people pile in—more than I've seen here on a Thursday in some time.

I'm finishing my burger when a ratty looking guy in a pit-stained shirt approaches August. At first, I expect her to shoo the guy off, but nothing should be a surprise with her. She's talking to the guy, flirting too. Her hand is resting on the guy's arm, and she's in a fit of giggles over whatever he said.

I do my best to ignore the scene, slowly sipping my Bud Light. I can't help but look over every couple of minutes, which I should have stopped doing two minutes ago.

The guy is kissing her neck, and she's chugging down drink number who knows. He takes her hand, yanking her out of her chair. "Let's get out of here," he says.

I can pretend I didn't hear what he said, or I can step in and stop her from going home with a drunk who can't even remember to change his damn shirt before leaving his house.

A minute passes, and I see her dancing around with her drink, stalling the guy. At least something is still working in her head. I think.

"Come on, baby girl, let's go."

"I ain't your baby girl," she responds with a sarcastic snicker.

The guy slides his arm around her small waist and tugs her toward the door, but as lucid as she is, she plays it off nicely with her spinning dance moves. "I'm staying," she says.

The guy doesn't listen, though. He keeps pulling her, and my blood is starting to boil.

He's able to drag her just far enough to where they're standing at the back of my stool, having a quiet discussion. I turn to find August staring at me, but she doesn't seem concerned with the interaction. "Come on; I want to see what's under that cute little t-shirt."

I move on instinct like I'm supposed to be protecting August from the sludge that walks into this bar sometimes.

"She said no," I tell him.

"And who the hell are you, telling me what I can and can't do?" This situation is what has had me worried. This guy is looking to either get laid or have a fight.

"The lady said no." August slips away from the guy, places her drink down next to me, and walks out the front door. This guy won't let anything get in the way of him following her, and I'm pissed that she's putting me in a position where I feel like I must watch over her. "Dude, just leave her alone. She's mourning the death of her ex-boyfriend." I hate having to spill her private life to him, but