Page 31 of Changing Tides

“I had no idea.”

He stops mopping and looks up at me. “You seriously didn’t recognize her?” he asks.

“That’s what happens when you get so much ass. You can’t keep up with it,” Anson teases.

Parker turns to him. “Lucky for you, that’s not a problem you’ll ever have.”

I drown out their bickering as I berate myself for not recognizing the girl I spent one hell of a night with all those years ago. I’m sure she thinks I’m an asshole.

And she’d be right.

But she does look different. Her hair is longer, and her lean body has gained some beautiful curves that weren’t there before.

“Earth to Sebastian.” Parker brings my attention back to him as he snaps his fingers in my face.

I push him away. “What?”

“Are we going out tonight?” he asks.

Wednesday night is two-dollar draft night at Whiskey Joe’s. The three of us usually head straight there after work.

“Of course.”

“Then, let’s get this shit done and get out of here,” Parker exclaims.

We walk into Whiskey Joe’s, and Anson grabs a table near the stage while Parker and I make our way to the bar.

Audrey, a sultry redhead, slides up to the old scarred bar. She leans over it in a way that makes her voluptuous breasts, which are currently peeking out of her low-cut tank top, spill over to give us a nice show.

“Hey, Sebastian. I was beginning to think you guys weren’t gonna show up tonight,” she purrs.

I place my elbows on the mahogany wood and lick my lips as my eyes go straight to the spot she wants them to.

“Now, you know we’re here every Wednesday,” I say.

Parker’s throat clears behind me, and her eyes lift to him.

“What can I get you guys?” she asks.

Parker slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Three drafts. Keep ’em coming,” he grunts.

She stands up and reaches for three glasses and places them under the taps to the left.

“Someone is grumpy,” she mutters under her breath.

Once she’s taken the money and handed over our order, Parker walks away.

“Thanks, Audrey. We’re at the table by the stage,” I inform her.

“Got it. I’ll have Heather bring your next round in about thirty.”

One of the local country bands greets the crowd to a round of thundering applause.

“I have to hit the head,” Parker says as he kicks his chair back and stands.

When he’s out of earshot, I look at Anson.

“What crawled up his ass?” I ask.

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