Page 58 of Undeniable

The lights were still on at the bar, although they were supposed to have been closed half an hour earlier. I found the reason Dylan couldn’t close up and the reason I wasn’t asleep, sitting at the bar, laughing at something the bartender said.

James looked over when the bell above the door chimed as I pushed through it.

His smile dropped as I stalked forward. The last thing I expected was to get a call in the middle of the night asking me to pick up James from the bar.

I had half a mind to leave him there, to let him rot and think about what an idiot he was. But if I didn’t go pick him up, I knew Dylan would be the one to have to take care of him. And with a wife and almost three kids, he didn’t need the added stress.

“Let’s go,” was all I said when I stopped in front of him.

“Sorry, Ivy. I didn’t know who else to call, and with Madison pregnant—” Dylan apologized.

“It’s not a problem,” I said because it wasn’thisproblem.

“Come on, Killer,” James drawled and I groaned. His eyes were glazed and he smelled like he’d drunk the place out of whiskey.

“Let’s go, bud,” Dylan rounded the bar and helped James out of the barstool, which he very ungracefully stumbled over.

James was muttering something about it being “just like old times” as I hurried ahead to get the door. By the time we were outside, James decided he no longer needed any help and somehow managed to get himself into the passenger seat of my car without falling.

I thanked Dylan again and turned to leave, but he stopped me with a hand on my forearm.

“Wait, Ivy, umm…” The wariness in his expression made me instantly nervous, and I glanced back at James. I’d left the car running since I didn’t expect to be there for more than a minute or two, and he was fidgeting with the dials and pressing buttons, probably changing all of my very specific settings.

“I just wanted to tell you that whatever’s been going on… I think he feels pretty bad about it.”

I shook my head, hoping he’d stop before he really started. “Dylan, it’s—”

He held up his hands in surrender and stepped back onto the curb. He pushed his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Whiskey starts flowing and people start talking,” he said by way of explanation. “Just wanted you to know.”

I didn’t respond other than to thank him again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Quickly I slid into the driver’s seat of the car to find the air conditioning cranked up as high and as cold as it would go while James aggressively air drummed to a Taylor Swift song he’d found on the radio.

If I wasn’t so furious, I would’ve laughed. I turned the volume down to half of what it was and backed out of the parking spot onto the deserted street.

“Do not puke in my car,” I warned James, who rolled down the window.

He rested his elbow on the ledge and draped his hand over the side, opening his palm like he was trying to capture the warm air. He readjusted in the seat and leaned back. Even beneath the thick material of his jeans, I could see the powerful muscles of his thighs flex with the movement. He tilted his head back until it hit the headrest and sighed loudly enough that I quickly shifted my eyes back to the road.

“I’m not going to puke, Killer,” he said in a quiet, annoyed voice. Like he had any reason to be annoyed at me.

We didn’t say another word to each other most of the drive. I was silently fuming, hoping that I would be able to get some sleep before having to be up extra early the next day. I’d nearly been asleep when I got the call from Dylan that James was drunk as hell with no way to get back to my parents’ house.

When I walked into my room to find it empty, I thought he’d made the wise decision to sleep somewhere else or leave altogether. It would’ve been a blessing since I’d spent all day trying to forget the hurt on James’s face.

I knew I didn’t owe James any sort of explanation for what I did after he broke my heart. But I did wish I’d told him sooner if only to keep that look off his face. Especially since it was that look that kept me from falling asleep for nearly two hours after my head hit the pillow.

Next to me, James alternated between quietly singing whatever song happened to be on the radio to belting the lyrics like he was performing it for a sold-out arena.

He was still completely tone deaf.

“Come on. Sing with me, Ivy,” he yelled between verses.

“Umm… no.”

“We used to sing together all the time,” he said a little quieter, like that was reason enough for me to do it with him now.

All I could manage was a noncommittal “hmm” in response. We used to do a lot of things together.

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