Page 25 of Bee

Rye is here.

Instantly, my mood perks up.

It's only been a few hours since I've seen him but I'm looking forward to seeing him again. I wonder if he's having a good day.

This is what I need in my life.

A good person who isn't going to judge me. I've never stayed in AA for very long but maybe Rye can be my sponser or something like that.

Yeah, this makes sense. He knows what I've been through. Helped me throught he worst of it.

It doesn't even cross my mind that he might be tired of me. He's a good guy. The kind of guy that I'd see in one of those hallmark movies. A good influence.

With a little bit of pep in my step, I park my bike and make my way to the door of the bar.

My eyes go wide and I'm stuck, frozen in the doorway.

Rye's eyes dart to me for a second before they go back to the man in front of him. The same one he's got his gun trained on.

So much for him being a goodie two shoes.

10

Rye

This feels weird.

"Baby, just one more drink." A young woman that I've only seen a couple of times lays her head down on the bar, all the while she's lifting her glass up as if she's waiting for me to refill it.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I think you've had enough." I mutter and move away while her girlfriends try to persuade her to leave.

I've been running this bar for years, but this is the first time I've felt like maybe I'm not supposed to be here. Like there's something missing.

I already know what it is.

Bee.

When she told me this morning that she was going to head home, I didn't want to admit to her that I didn't want her to leave.

She had no reason to stay with me. She was through the most dangerous parts of the detoxing. She was proving to be capable of not running straight to another bar. More importantly, she'snot my responsibility. Still, I wish there was a reason for me to keep her around. I like having someone to come home to. Someone to talk to besides the random customers looking to drink their emotions away.

Most of all, I love the way it felt to have her in the bed with me.

Every night that we slept together we started on opposite sides of the bed, but at some point in the night the both of us sought comfort in each other's arms. Most people look at me and just because I'm big and rough around the edges, they don't think I'm the type who likes to cuddle.

That shit is fucking awesome.

The feel of a soft woman tucked softly under my arm, her hair fanned out over my chest, her leg hooked around mine. It's perfect, at least it was with Bee.

Now, I'm alone again, and it's actually sort of depressing.

Looking around the bar, I realize that it's slow. I'm grateful for it.

Instead of worrying about who needs their drinks filled, I have the time to try to dig through my feelings for Bee. I know I shouldn't get attached, but it's hard. She's exactly my type of woman. The type that's always gotten me in trouble.

That should be enough of a warning, but of course it's not.

My mind is flooded with thoughts and images of Bee during the time she stayed with me. Even at her worst, she was absolutely breathtaking.

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