Page 1 of There's No Us Without You
ONE
Eden
I slammy shot glass on the dark timber bar and raise my hand to signal to the bartender for another one.
Or twenty.
Whatever it takes to erase the memory of catching my fiancé bending my mother over a chair, her dress hiked up around her waist, not even ten minutes before I was to walk down the aisle.
It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. I believed my mother when she insisted there was nothing more satisfying than marrying your best friend.
Yet here I am, perched on a stool in this crowded bar, wearing my wedding dress, and downing shot after shot of tequila. The only thing missing is a tub of chocolate ice cream to catch my tears.
A giggling brunette to the left of me stumbles on her ridiculously high heels, spilling the contents of her drink over my bare shoulder. It smells like pineapple, and at first, I don’t mind the coolness of the icy liquid until it seeps down between my breasts, making them stick together.
“Whoops,” she says, while haphazardly wiping the mess from my skin with a flick of her hand.
“It’s fine,” I say, snatching a thin paper napkin from the pile in front of me.
Sighing, I dab the rest of the sugary liquid from my shoulder and breasts before crumpling the napkin up and dropping it on the bar.
With a shrug, the woman gives me a smile I’m sure works on most men, then races off, screaming the lyrics to whatever upbeat song is blaring through the speakers.
Pretty sure I’ll be deaf by the end of the night. Although, I am grateful for the bass vibrating through my entire body. It’s the only thing reminding me my heart is still beating.
It could be worse, I guess. I could have married the lying, cheating arsehole.
The bartender finally saunters back over, a bottle of tequila in his hands. He dips his chin as he fills my glass again, an eyebrow raised.
I sniff and lift the glass into the air. “Cheers,” I say to no-one, before throwing the shot back.
In all his bartender glory, the man gives me a sympathetic smile. You know, the ones people use when they feel sorry for you?
Groaning, I ignore him while holding the glass out again.
I don’t need your sympathy, buddy. I just need you to keep the shots coming.
I’m hoping at some point there’ll be enough alcohol flooding my system that numbness will take over, and I won’t feel the pressure on my chest any longer.
“Last one,” he says, shaking his head as he pours another round.
I smile at him, my eyes barely open. “Has anyone ever told you how nice you are?”
He only grunts and slides away to tend to another demanding customer, so I throw back the next shot, the burn now a welcome distraction.
Although, I’d take anything at this point. Even a plate full of Brussels sprouts—the most hated vegetable on the planet, and something my dad always tried to force me to eat.
God, I miss him.
Someone takes the stool to the left of me, sending a rush of warmth spreading over my body. The air shifts, the hairs on my arms rising in response to his proximity. I’m assuming the person is a man, considering the clean, earthy scent now infiltrating my nostrils.
But I ignore the way my skin tingles and continue to zone out all the tone-deaf, drunk people who have no idea what personal space is.
I swear if one more person bumps into me, I’m going to lose it completely.
“Rough night?” the man says as he leans in to yell over the music.
The touch of his warm breath against my neck sends an involuntary shiver racing over my skin, so I use a hand to cover the side of my face.
