Page 98 of Bar Down, Baby

But what she’ll hear is that I’ve fucked prostitutes. That I’ve paid for sex, used them, and left them to pick up the pieces.

Until I can figure out how to explain this to her in a way that doesn’t break her, in a way that doesn’t destroy us, I don’t know what to say.

So, I’ve blamed it on practice. On my players. On needing to get up early, needing a good night’s rest, and knowing there’s no resting when she’s in my bed.

The real pisser is that without her in my bed, I can’t sleep for shit.

Hence the triple Americano that I’m currently stirring milk into.

“Derek?” A familiar voice catches my attention from behind me.

I turn around and blink, surprised to see Karlie standing right there, holding a cup of coffee that smells like pumpkin pie.

“Hi…” I trail off, not wanting to call her by the name she’s given me.

“Good to see you,” she says, leaning in for a hug.

I hug her lightly because I suppose that’s the polite thing to do.

“You too.”

“Are you here alone?” she asks, looking around.

I frown and then realize she’s looking for Megan. Who she met the last time I bumped into her when we were getting ice cream on the other side of the river.

“Yeah,” I say, returning to stirring my coffee. I pop a lid on and make to leave, but she stops me.

“Do you want to chat? For just a minute? It’s been a long time since we caught up. March, right?”

I hesitate. It feels weird. I haven’t used her services since I met Megan.

That’s been a long time that she’s gone without a regular customer. I used to call her at least once or twice a week. And that was for a solid two years. It’s strange to think that someone who I saw so regularly has been gone, and I haven’t missed them. It’s shitty of me.

“Sure,” I say.

She nods to where her jacket is sitting at a table along the back window, and I follow. We sit, awkwardly sipping our coffees.

“How is Megan?”

It feels wrong to hear her saying Megan’s name. But it would be shitty to say so. I just smile and nod.

“Good. Healthy. She’s getting big.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says, her smile wide and genuine.

Karlie was always pretty. If I had met her in a bar, I might have been interested.

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good. You know, busy.”

“That’s good. Busy is… good… right?”

“Yes, of course,” she says with an easy smile.

“I just—well, I saw you here, and I hadn’t seen you in so long, and—”

“I know,” I say.

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