necks, sashes across their cocktail dresses, and heels that looked like they could serve as a weapon if need be.
Across the dimly lit bar, it was hard to make out which one was the bride, but when one of them leaned forward on the bar, a tiara glittered under its lights. Her sash was white, and the rest were silver, and hers boldly proclaimed her to be the bride. Which was a pity, because she was the only one that pulled my attention from my now dismally watered-down drink.
Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, tendrils sliding in between her cleavage as she leaned over the bar, her ear toward the bartender as the bartender spoke. The angle of her head meant that her gaze absently found mine.
I nearly looked away but held it for a moment longer. Will used to tell me I had the type of stare that intimidated; that made someone else turn away first. But the bride, or the soon-to-be-bride, locked eyes with me and then her rosy lips did the most unexpected thing—they smiled. Slowly. Confidently.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I turned away first, tapping the condensation blots on my napkin. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked toward the group again.
The bartender loaded up the counter in front of her with drinks in all colors and sizes and then came back down my way. “Another?”
I pushed my half-empty glass in front of me. “No, thanks. The check, please.”
“You got it.” She took the glass and efficiently checked me out on the computer. I watched her closely, because I could feel a different pair of eyes on me. Burning into me. Maybe that was crazy. Maybe it was all my imagination. Maybe those greyhounds were stronger than I realized.
But after I signed the check and stood to leave, I chanced another look across the bar. Sure enough, the blonde was still looking at me, smiling over the rim of her glass. She was beautiful—in the kind of way that would intimidate if it weren’t for her welcoming smile. I hesitated, nearly moving toward her. To get her name, to hear anything fall off her perfectly rosy lips.
I shook my head. She was the bride. Maybe she wanted one last liaison before committing to wedded bliss—but she’d have to find it elsewhere. I hadn’t come to this bar to pick up any women—especially a committed one—so I’d go back to my room alone.
Once out in the hallway, away from the soon-to-be-bride’s gaze, I felt like I could take a deep breath. I stared down at my phone, ignoring the missed texts and phone calls from tonight and focused instead on the voicemails.
Without thinking, I tapped the first one and put the phone to my ear, hearing my best friend’s last message to me.
It was like listening to a script I knew by heart. Maybe because I did.
“Hey, Liam. You’re not answering, so I assume you’re not coming. It’s fucking cold, so you’re probably better off.” He laughed and the sound of wind around him obscured some of what he was saying. “Your balls would probably shrivel off anyway. What little is left of them after your winter in Canada.” A moment of silence as he made a sound like he was shivering. Then, blurting in his loud, Will way, “Hey, after this, let’s get together. I’ll come to you. Let me know when your work isn’t sending you to the other side of the country and we’ll paint the town red. One night. Like old times.”
The voicemail ended, but I held the phone a moment longer. Hearing his voice like that nearly made me believe he wasn’t gone. That any moment now, he’d call me to make plans and this time I wouldn’t bail on him. This time I’d answer. And we’d sort out our fucking shit and be the duo we’d always been.
But reality came back in like the bastard it was, reminding me that Will was gone. There wouldn’t be any opportunities to paint the town red, no visits to hash things out. Will had called me one final time a day before he died, and I’d purposefully hit ignore on my phone—too busy with work to give him five minutes of my time. After I’d fucking bailed on him.
I didn’t think it was possible to regret something so much.
3
“You have your eye on someone?” Lauren asked, nudging me with her elbow.
“Whoa,” I said, turning my