Page 103 of Beyond Oblivion

At first, the fire in my throat felt like it was chasing away the edges of reality, but by the fourth—or maybe the fifth glass, it had settled into a numbness I’d come to rely on. From the stool to my right, Travis stared at me like I was the stray dog he didn’t want but couldn’t bring himself to abandon. He had that mix of pity and exasperation that my brothers did so well.

“Trent, that’s enough,” he said, his voice calm but insistent.

He knew I’d been teetering on the edge for weeks.

I laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, Trav. And trust me, we’re not even close.”

Travis leaned forward, elbows on the sticky surface of the bar, his eyes locked on mine. “Jorie!” he called to her. “He’s done. Cut him off.”

Jorie wandered over, her towel slung over one shoulder like always. She gave me a sympathetic look before glancing at Travis. “I’m way ahead of you, already closed out his tab. I hear the girls have had to do the same almost every night for weeks. I just can’t bring myself to issue a temporary ban, poor guy.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’m calling it. He’s done,” Travis said flatly.

I groaned, throwing my head back. “Oh, come on! It’s cheaper than therapy.”

“I don’t know, liver disease is pretty expensive,” Jorie said, crossing her arms. “And I like you too much to let you self-destruct on my shift.”

“Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.

“How’s Cami?” Jorie asked.

“She hates me,” I murmured.

“No,” Travis interjected. “What she hates is that you’re never home anymore.”

I leaned forward onto my elbows, staring at my empty glass as if at any moment, it would start to commiserate with me. That’s when she showed up—a blonde knockout who looked like she’d stepped out of a shampoo ad, complete with a slow-motion hair flip and an amateur runway strut.She slid onto the empty stool beside me, oozing confidence and an air that screameddivorce pending,all wrapped in a designer dress. Someone who I, before I’d started to pursue Camille, wouldn’t have hesitated to happily escort straight to my bed.

“You should come join me and my friends,” she said, her voice low and syrupy. With a subtle tilt of her head, she motioned toward a booth packed with equally flawless women, all dressed like they were heading to a club, highly suspicious for a regular Wednesday night.

I glanced up, half-annoyed, half-amused.

She took that as a green light, resting her hand on my arm, leaning in so her freshly glossed lips were just a few inches from my face. “What do you say? We’ve got tequila, bad decisions, and more fun than you can handle.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t just casually offered an orgy. “Seems better than sitting here brooding all night.” She looked to Travis. “You’re both invited.”

Travis scoffed. “Not even if I was drunk, desperate, and just had a lobotomy.”

She ignored him, her cherry-red nails slightly digging into my arm—just in case she didn’t seem eager enough—and gave me a wink that probably melted weaker men. I leaned back, and for a split second, her smirk wavered.

“The fuck outta here,” I sneered.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I stood, brushing her hand off like lint on my jacket. “You see the ring. I’m married—to the love of my life. So, take your tequila breath and your Dollar Store perfume somewhere else, Desperella. Not interested.”

She straightened, brushing off her rejection with a practiced toss of her hair. “I’m sorry. Are you stupid?”

“Beat it, Stormy Daniels, we’re busy,” Travis said, excusing her by nodding toward her friends.

She wrinkled her nose. “Your loss.”

I faced forward, steadying myself with the edge of the bar. “Pretty sure dodging aCrying Gameshower scene in the morning counts as a win.”

From my peripheral, I saw her mouth fall open, and then she flipped around, stomping back to her table.

“Great,” Jorie said, exasperated. “There goes my tip. I’ve been kissing their asses for hours.”

Travis stood, putting extra cash on the bar to make up for the loss, then grabbed my arm with no regard for personal space. “C’mon, we’re going before they all come back to defend her honor.”

I shook him off, stumbling but catching myself on my stool. “Get off me, monkey! I’m fine.”

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