Page 14 of There's No Us Without You
I can’t deal with him right now. Or ever, if I’m being honest.
I grip the handle of my suitcase and suck in a deep, calming breath as I run a hand down the front of my shirt. The cool air from the air-conditioner sends a shiver racing over my skin, andthe familiar smell of stale beer and wood from last night has me wrinkling my nose.
When I finally gather myself, I take a few steps forward until I realise I have a spectator. I almost lose my footing again, except this time it’s because of the heated glare being directed my way.
I’m tempted to turn right back around and forget this place ever existed.
What the hell is with this bar and beautiful men? Is the universe just spitting on me now? It sure feels like I’m being punished for something.
The gorgeous, tattooed man holds up a bottle of whiskey—the same brand Emerson was drinking last night—and gives it a slight shake, sending the amber liquid swirling around the inside.
For a moment, all I can do is stand there, my grip on the handle of my suitcase tightening further as I contemplate my next move. I’m not ready to suffer through the heat outside again, so I’ll take my chances and suffer through the heat washing over my skin from this man’s glare instead.
With my eyes lowered, I make my way over to the spot I was sitting at last night. When my arse is planted firmly on the stool, I throw my handbag on the bar, leaving my suitcase standing next to me, and distract myself from the beautiful stranger by glancing around.
It’s nowhere near as crowded as it was last night, and in the daytime I’m able to appreciate how beautiful it is. Industrial copper lights hang from exposed beams, and the high ceilings incorporate large windows to let in the natural light as well.
Everything about this place is warm and comforting—something I haven’t felt since my dad was alive—from the mahogany bar top and black stools to the matching copper pendants hanging above the booths lining the sides and back wall.
A young couple sits in a corner booth to the right-hand side, while a group of men play a game of pool at the back. The faint chiming and ringing of the poker machines in the background has me wishing I was brave enough to try my luck.
Surely it can only go up from here.
When a glass slides across the bar, hitting my hand, I’m brought back into the moment.
“On the house,” the man says as he places the bottle back on the shelf behind him, his eyes finding mine in the mirrored shelving.
“Thanks,” I say, holding up the glass before throwing it back.
My mouth waters, and my left eye does some weird twitching thing, but the burn isn’t as jarring as I remember it.
With a dip of his chin, the man stalks off, leaving me to stare at myself in the shelves in the centre of the square-shaped bar.
Well, there’s no time like the present to sort out my housing situation, so I pull my phone out again and bring up the classifieds for house rentals. On my wage, I can’t afford a place on my own, and I’m not about to ask Tony for a raise.
I don’t want to owe him like my dad did, so it’s best I stick to our agreement for now.
If I can find a room to rent temporarily, I can get my life together enough to find something more permanent.
The restaurant I work in is close by, so I search for the closest surrounding suburbs—ones that won’t cost me an organ for one Uber trip. At some stage, I’ll buy a car. For now, I’ll just be content not living on the streets.
Pursing my lips, I scroll through the ads. There are a few...
Older man wanting student.
That sounds super suss.
Family renting out a granny flat.
Nope, that’s a babysitting job waiting to happen.
Nice older woman looking for a companion. Has to like cats.
Allergic to cats, so no.
I keep scrolling before landing on one that looks promising.
Recently retired couple looking for a live-in house sitter. Clean room, own bathroom. Must be fine with being alone for long periods.
