A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,91
locker, or throw eggs at my car, or pour glue in my shampoo. They’d do something else if I was all fucked in the head.”
“What would they do?”
“My captain would give me words. He’d sit me down, tell me to focus. To get my head out of my ass. He’d tell me to do more passing drills. More shooting drills. More one-on-one drills.”
“That last one sounds fun,” Dean says, wiggling his brows.
“One-on-one drills with you and me sounds hella fun.” I cup his cheeks. “I thought you were ending this.”
Dean shakes his head. “No. I don’t think I can.” He lets out a long exhale. “But, Fitz, I still don’t have any idea how to make us work. I have no more answers today than I did yesterday. All I know is you need to focus on your job for the next thirty days or however long, and I think you can do a better job at that if you’re not doing naked stripteases for me over FaceTime.”
I let out a low rumble, then tug on the waistband of his jeans. “Let me show you my striptease right now.”
And that’s what I do.
Still, the morning marches to a cruel end.
I pack my bag, zip it up, and unplug my phone from the wall where it charged this morning.
A message from Ransom sits on the screen.
Ransom: You ready? You better be. We’re gonna bring it.
I send a quick reply.
Fitz: Let’s fucking do this.
Ransom: World domination, bro. World domination.
Fitz: Nothing less.
I close the thread, one more reminder that Dean is right. Best to shut this thing with him down for now. For a while.
Fifteen minutes before I need to go, Emma rings the buzzer. She comes upstairs, where I give her a hug and tell her I expect regular updates.
“You’ll get more than you can handle,” she says.
“I can always handle your updates,” I tell her.
She stands on tiptoes to give Dean a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
“Be sure to come by some time,” he says.
“And let me know if you ever want to go to the National Gallery.”
I roll my eyes, cutting in. “Are you guys trying to kill me here? You’re making me ridiculously jealous.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll livestream the Van Goghs for you,” she teases.
“It’s not the Van Goghs I want to see,” I tell her.
She shoots me a duh look. “I know, James. I know.”
We walk out together, the three of us, and as I wait for the Lyft to Heathrow, I walk with Emma a few feet away. “Thanks again,” I tell her.
She smiles. “I had a feeling about the two of you.”
“You were right,” I say.
“Call me when you figure out what you’re going to do.”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“Like I said. I’ll be here.”
She waves goodbye and leaves, and I return to Dean and the Lyft that’s pulled up.
I nod toward the car. “Come with me to the airport.”
“Ah, the old airport goodbye.”
“Give me the airport goodbye, babe.”
“As if I’d do anything else.”
He locks the door to his flat, and we get in the car to head to Heathrow.
37
Dean
We stand in front of security at the airport. The man I just spent the most fantastic six days of my life with is boarding a plane in less than an hour. He is leaving, and this is ending, and my stupid heart aches.
It aches more than I ever imagined it would.
If this is heartbreak, I don’t ever want to feel it again.
Goodbyes are awful.
He’s inches away from me, looking somehow even more handsome than the night he walked into my bar. Because now I know him. I can see beyond that cocky grin. Beyond that swagger. Beyond all that charm. I’ve seen inside his heart, and I know how incredibly big it is. He gives me this look, a look that seems to say everything. This sucks, why am I leaving, why aren’t you coming with me, why can’t I see you every single day?
A look that says What’s really happening in a month? What will things be like after this . . . pause?
Part of me thinks maybe I’m reading too much into his expression. But part of me knows that’s exactly what’s on his mind.
“I guess this is it,” I say.
Fitz grabs my face with both hands, pulls me close, and rests his forehead against mine. “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you,” he whispers, all rough and packed with emotion.