Page 18 of The Bourbon Bet
His condescending laughter filters through the phone. “Enjoy your dates with Rosalia.” He hangs up, leaving me alone with my disgust and worry.
She has no idea about the real game being played. Rosalia thinks she's choosing between her integrity and her livelihood, but she's actually just a pawn.
“Sir?” Tom asks.
He’s staring at me, probably wondering why I’m sitting like a statue, not getting out of the car. I rub a hand roughly down my face. The guilt and anger have been driving me to distraction ever since I learned Rosalia had accepted my brother’s deal. I can’t decide if I’m disgusted with myself or disappointed in her.
“Lost in my head. I’m going,” I tell him, opening my door.
Getting out of the car, I straighten my suit jacket. I push open the door to Novel Idea. The bell overhead chimes softly, but it might as well be a fork scraping on glass.
The bookstore is nearly empty now, the day winding to a close. As if pulled by a magnet, my gaze lands on Rosalia at the counter. Her hair is slightly disheveled from a long day’s work, a strand falling across her cheek as she chats with an elderly woman. A tangle of emotions tightens around me: desire, longing, anger, and shame.
“Same time next week for the book club, Mrs. Abernathy?” Rosalia asks, smiling as she hands over a receipt.
“Wouldn’t miss it, dear,” the woman replies, patting Rosalia’s hand. “You take care now.”
Mrs. Abernathy shuffles toward the exit, passing a table filled with kids around twelve or thirteen years old packing up their bookbags. I overhear them discussing an upcoming science fair. A boy drops a book with a robot on the cover in front of a girl.
The picture pulls me even farther into the past, to a conversation I’d had with my father when I was around the same age as those kids. I’d come home from school excited about a new friend I’d made in science class.
“Dad, I invited Lennox over to work on our robotics project together tomorrow,” I’d told him excitedly.
“What’s the boy’s last name?” he’d asked.
“Hayes.”
Dad pushed the paper he’d been looking at aside, giving me his full attention. “His Pa works at the distillery.”
My bony shoulders had hunched in a shrug. “So?” I hadn’t understood why that mattered or why my father’s expression was so stern.
He pointed to the chair across from his massive desk. “Sit down. It’s time we had a talk.”
I’d obeyed, even though I’d had the urge to run and cover my ears.
“You need to be careful about who you let into your life.” He pinned me with his cold and authoritative stare. “People will always want something from you, whether it’s money, status, or connections. They’ll pretend to be your friend, but in the end, they’re using you for their gain.”
“Lennox isn’t like that,” I’d protested. “He’s a good guy.”
My father’s laugh was a harsh, humorless sound. “That’s what they all say. But trust me, son, everyone has an angle. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be. In this world, you can only rely on yourself and maybe your family. Everyone else is just looking for a way to exploit you.”
I’d ignored the advice, thrilled to find a kindred spirit, someone who’d shared my love of science. We’d spent countless hours together, talking about our dreamsand aspirations. But as time went on, Lennox began to ask more and more questions about my family, my vacations, and the perks of being a Blackstone.
At first, I’d been flattered by his interest, eager to share my world with my friend. But as time passed and we entered high school, Lennox started asking for favors—small ones at first, to borrow money he never paid back, or an invitation to exclusive Blackstone events and parties. I was happy to oblige, believing that’s what friends do for each other.
It wasn’t until I overheard Lennox talking to another classmate that the truth sucker-punched me. Lennox was bragging about how he’d befriended the “Blackstone jerk” for the perks.
I shake my head, pulling myself from the painful memory. Rosalia is arranging bookmarks while chatting with a blonde woman. The soft lighting catches in her hair, giving it an amber glow. Despite everything, my pulse quickens.
Anger surfaces, although I’m not sure if it’s aimed at her or Thorne. I’d been looking forward to this coffee date, but his phone call and her agreement tarnish it. The betrayal stings.
Guilt follows quickly. Am I any better? I’d agreed to the bet first, treating her livelihood like a poker chip. I press my fist against the knot in my chest.
She’s wiping down the counter and laughing at something the blonde woman said. I think her name is Paige, and she owns the bakery a few doors down. And is Rosalia’s closest friend. She turns in my direction. Her eyes widen, and she pales before glancing away, no doubt remembering our coffee plans made days ago before this bet complicated everything. Did she think I wouldn’t show? She doesn’t know about my brother’s asinine bet, so maybe it’s the guilt of agreeing to her deal with him.
Rosalia straightens her shoulders and gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Sebastian. I’ll be ready for our coffee date as soon as I close up.”
There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place. Resignation? Determination? Whatever game we’re playing, she’s decided to face it head-on.
