Page 49 of His Promise

Lonely. That’s what Colter Gruco is, and as I take him in now, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s isolated himself in the most desperate of ways. He doesn’t accept his family’s love, although I get why. He goes far out of his way to avoid sex with anyone who might, God forbid,feelsomething for him. The night we met, I thought he paid for sex because he wanted to hurt people. It’s beginning to seem more likehe’safraid of being hurt.

Join the club.

“Fine.” I get back on the stool, my right side burning from the nosy eyes trained on me. I face Colter and try to ignore the people staring this way. “But no more making fun of me.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you.”

I shoot him a glare and he shrugs. “All right. No more making fun of you.” He lifts his mug and pours the last sip of beer down his throat. I didn’t realize he’d drank more.

“Here.” I slide him my mug. “You can have mine.”

“Not a beer girl?” he asks. His lips twist in a smirk that he can’t help.

“Not exactly,” I chuckle. “I’m more the Manhattan type.”

“Ah.” He pulls my mug in front of him.

“Well, technically, I don’t know that for sure. I’ve never tried it.”

“What?” His eyes widen like he’s genuinely surprised. “How are you thirty-two and have never tried beer?”

I shrug and try to mask my embarrassment. “I wasn’t the party type in high school, and then after that, I got married. He didn’t drink beer.”

“What’s his name?” Colter asks.

I eye him suspiciously, and he shakes his head. “Not for me to look up, for you.”

He continues when I don’t reply.

“You keep saying, ‘my husband’ and ‘he’. He isn’t Candyman. He won’t appear if you say his name.”

He might.

“Try it,” Colter prods. “Who didn’t drink beer?”

My throat closes up, and I hate Colter for pushing this. He’s right, though. I can admit that. Nothing will happen if I say it, and Colter knows about him already. He doesn’t know my real name, so there isn’t any reason he might use this to make a connection.

“Abi.”

“Devin,” I spit out, the word bitter on my tongue. “His name is Devin, okay?”

Colter glances around the bar. “See.” He gestures to the open space with a wave of his hand. “No Devin.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’ve been told.”

Colter holds my stare and I want to storm out of here, my hatred for him as strong as ever. But some part of me doesn’t hate him. My annoyance breaks and I laugh. Colter smiles at me, and for a moment that seems to last an eternity, I’m trapped. I’m as frozen as I’ve ever been, my body locking as my mind stops, but it isn’t from fear.

I break his gaze and train my eyes at black and white photos hanging behind the bar. “Okay, seriously. What is the story here? How are you,suit-wearing, mansion living, politician, a regular here?”

My question is, surprise surprise, met with silence. I move my gaze from the pictures to Colter. He’s staring at me, his expression unreadable, and his thumb is idly tracing circles of frost on the beer mug.

He breaks eye contact and shifts the mug. “You really need to try this,” he says, sliding it to me. “You’re depressing me.”

“Hmm.” I pull the beer in front of me and pout my lips as if pondering. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were purposefully changing the subject.”

I don’t plan to give him a hard time about this one, but I can’t help but be annoyed he does this shit. As if it matters to me what his story is about hanging out in a tiny bar. But that’s Colter. I didn’t want to unveil my past, so I guess I can’t expect him to want to—

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