The Hardest Fall

Jumping in my seat, I tried hard to focus on the bartender who had spoken to me. I remembered seeing her the last time I was there, but I couldn’t come up with a name. Had I even heard her name? Frowning a little, I leaned forward.

“Uh, yes. Thank you,” I whispered. “Beer. Whatever is on tap, please.”

“I’m gonna need to see an ID.”

I reached into my back pocket and handed it to her. When I glanced Dylan’s way, I got caught up in his gaze, and I stopped breathing altogether.

How necessary was air anyway? Pretty overrated, if you asked me.

I watched his jaw harden, his mouth become a straight line. We couldn’t look away from each other. He looked pissed off, maybe rightly so, and I didn’t know what he saw when he looked at me. I had thought I was prepared to storm in and yell at him, but in reality, I wasn’t prepared to see him at all.

My emotions were at war. I’d missed him so much—so much—yet I couldn’t do anything about it…not until we talked, until he gave me a chance to talk, though I wasn’t going to leave it up to him.

Then Dylan was walking toward me and I was already breathless.

The moment he made it to where I was sitting, he reached for the beer the bartender had already placed right in front of me, right next to my ID. I hadn’t even noticed it. Guessing what he was about to do from his angry strides and ticking jaw, I reached for my beer before he could, sloshing it on the bar top in the process.

I could feel my legs shaking when he put his palms on the counter and leaned forward. I had a moment of hesitation on what to do—lean forward, wrap my arms around his neck, and hold on for dear life like a monkey and hope he’d find it cute or get away from the anger I could see blazing in his eyes? I leaned away, holding the beer mug protectively against my chest.

“Leave.”

One word—he gave me one word, and I felt the hurt deep down in my chest. I could only manage to shake my head from side to side.

“Zoe, leave.”

I hated how harsh my name sounded coming from his lips, but I found my voice anyway. “No.”

Nothing could make me leave that bar without talking to him.

He gave me a long, dark look, and I held my breath. Then he leaned back and straightened, walking away without another word as if I wasn’t even worth another second of his time.

I spent ten minutes sipping and nursing that beer, ten minutes, and he didn’t even give me a single opening to say anything, staying as far away as possible.

“Dylan!” the female bartender yelled, and I flinched. His eyes moved over me as if I didn’t exist. “I need to take my break—cover for me?”

He gave her a sharp nod then spoke to the other guy who was handling the bar taps. A few seconds later, the guy was covering the customers where I was sitting, because Dylan didn’t want to be near me.

Starting to get more pissed off with every passing second, I downed the rest of my beer to the sounds of Drake and asked for another one from my new bartender.

Only, instead of getting me a fresh one, he put a shot of tequila, a slice of lime, and a salt shaker in front of me.

“On the house,” he said with a smile.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dylan

I watched Brian place a shot in front of Zoe and had to physically hold on to something to stop myself from going over there and breaking his nose. Zoe grabbed the shot glass and smiled at Brian before swallowing the drink in one gulp. Scrunching her face, she reached for the lime and sucked on it.

I looked away from her—because that was my only viable option—and watched Brian’s reaction. The bastard was smiling down at her, leaning in, talking and talking and talking.

Zoe didn’t seem to respond to him, but that wasn’t stopping Brian from flirting. For a second, I thought about going over there and telling Brian she was into older men, but I decided to ignore them. It hurt—physically hurt to look at her, and that pissed me off even more. I’d been so angry the moment I’d heard her voice asking for a drink, and then even angrier when I saw the look on her face as her eyes met mine.

A few minutes passed—or maybe just a few seconds—and I had to look again. This time Brian was placing another beer in front of her, ignoring another customer who was waiting to place an order.

Slamming two bottles of beer on the tray that was waiting to be filled with orders, I stalked toward them. If she had flirted with him…if she had smiled at him, laughed with him, talked with him, looked at him—done anything, I don’t think I’d have felt as much anger as I did. I think I’d have felt relief more than anything.

“You can get back to your orders, Brian,” I ordered, my tone bordering on murderous, and instead of waiting around to see what he was doing, I helped the waiting customers. Brian fell silent, and Zoe’s eyes followed my every move.

“I can cover for Lindy, man,” Brian insisted, not so wisely.

Brian had started as the new bartender only two weeks before, so he was supposed to listen to whatever I said. If he didn’t, I would make him.

“Get back to your spot. Handle the orders.” When it looked like he was about to protest yet again, I took a small step toward him, my temper flaring. We were standing right in front of Zoe, and I leaned forward so only he could hear me. “It’s not quiet enough for you to play around, Brian, and stay the hell away from her. Get back to your work or get the fuck out of here.” I leaned back. “You understand me?”

His brows inched up toward his hairline and he raised both hands in surrender, backing away.

Ignoring Zoe, I poured a whiskey for one customer and got two beers for another. Even though I didn’t want to, I could still see her out of the corner of my eye, could see how quickly she was gulping down her beer.

All of a sudden, I couldn’t bear to have her around. I couldn’t get away from her perfume, that fucking sweet berry scent. I couldn’t look away and not remember how good it’d felt to feel her soft skin, to have her underneath me, how responsive she was to my touch, how her eyes had sparkled when I’d run to her side after the game in Tucson, how good it’d felt when she looked into my eyes for more than a few brief seconds…her blue panties, her wet hair, her wounded eyes…her arms around me, holding on…how excited she got when she was eating pizza, how she called the damn thing a love circle…her fucking shy smile, her orgasms…

All of it played like a fucking movie in my head.

Anger burned through my insides.

“You’re done,” I said, coming to stand in front of her. “I want you to leave.”

I looked straight into her eyes, and she returned my gaze without a flinch. I couldn’t tell if she was already drunk or not, couldn’t tell what game she was playing at.

“I’m not going anywhere, not before you talk to me.”

“What gave you the idea that we have anything to talk about? If you want me to call Coach to pick you up, let me know.”

Her eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint, and she sat up straighter in her seat. “If you want me to leave, you’re gonna have to drag me out of here.”

I braced my hands on the bar top and watched her.

“Don’t try me. I have nothing I want to say to you.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. “Then just listen to me.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Not interested in that either, buddy.”