Page 70 of Vicious Arrangement
I down my drink, and after a minute, Josh comes and refills.
With another sip in me, I slow a little, letting the music in the bar move through me, the chatter and laughter shift in the air without touching me.
There are some hot girls here, some eye me. But I drift my gaze past them. I never pick up from here. I’ve been tempted before, but I’m not now. Not one of them causes a blip on my radar.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes. I pull it out, but it’s Aria.
No fucking way am I answering it.
The lights fade, and then light up.
A text this time.
Aria:There's rudeness and then there’s you. What’s wrong with you? Sometimes you’re not likeable. You owe that sweet little boy and his father an apology. They’ve left by the way. Call me back if you’ve got the balls.
Okay. I’m not touching that right now.
I place my phone face down on the bar.
And inexplicably, that rage bubbles up again. I sip the whiskey, watching a couple flirt and another argue.
She didn’t have to text and throw truths out. I’m acting like a ball-free wonder, a castrati of special talents. Fuck, and using both Asher and Josh to underline my behavior? Does she think I don’t fucking know how stupid, ridiculous, and obnoxious I was? How unfair? I’m aware my levels of likability are rock bottom right now. Tell me something fucking new.
I suck in a breath and try to calm down.
How the hell am I going to apologize for this?
When the drink’s half done, I set it down and give in to the urge to flip the phone back over.
Great, five missed calls from Asher.
I get up, put a coaster over my drink, and take my phone outside the bar where I call Asher, my jaw tense.
“Dude, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he says, jumping right in. “You know there’s nothing at all between me and Aria. She’s about as interested in me as she is in catching a cold. And I like her, as a friend. I like her for you. So what the fuck?”
I suck in a calming breath. “Sorry, I’m… I’m sorry, I flipped out.”
“I’m not really the one you should be apologizing to. But yeah, I noticed that. What gives? Why? Shit, man, do you like her, like her or something?”
He knows I like her, but putting it like that, like we’re fucking teens, is… I don’t know, jarring.
We’ve talked about my interest in her, how there are feelings, which to me are complications, I don’t want, but his stating this outright now, after my flip-out is a message I don’t want to hear.
At all.
So I don’t respond. Just the sounds of the bar behind me keep me company, along with people on the street smoking or heading home.
Finally, he sighs. “Is that your first thought? Run to hide in the bottom of a glass? You’re better than that, man. And you need to figure your shit out.”
In the background comes a small voice. “Can I hide in a glass? What color is it? An’ Daddy, you said a bad word. You owed me the bad candy!”
The last words are shouted with such glee that I’m flooded with shame, even as I grin.
And then I start to laugh. That fucking kid…
“Can you put me on speaker?” I ask.
Asher does, and suddenly Josh’s whisper of “I miss Noah, Daddy.” comes through loud and clear, and oh boy does that guilt hit hard.
