Page 91 of One Week Wingman

I sigh. That’s not jealousy I feel, watching them go off home to meet their partners, happy and in love.

Nope, not jealous at all. I’m young, free, and single, and nothing’s holding me back.

Except the distinct lack of wingmen.

“That just leaves us,” I look over at Flynn. “The two amigos, last single men standing. What do you say we go cause some trouble?”

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want to take a breather?” he asks, looking at the row of empty shot glasses on the bar in front of me. “You’ve been out partying pretty much every night since you got back from—”

“I’m fine!” I interrupt. “Great. Fan-bloody-tastic.”

“If you say so.” But Flynn doesn’t look convinced. “Hit me up if you want to just hang, maybe talk a little.”

“About what?” I ask, gesturing for another round. “Which of these gorgeous women here tonight should be at the top of my list?”

I gesture around the bar—just as the door opens, and Roxy walks in.

Dammit.

I freeze, just drinking her in. She’s dressed in her usual bartending uniform: black T-shirt, black jeans, and her clunky, comfortable boots. But even next to the glam, dolled-up girls packing the bar, she’s the most beautiful woman in the place.

Hell, in the whole damn city.

Flynn follows my gaze. “You ever going to tell us what went down at that reunion?”

“Nope. Nothing.” I say curtly, tracking Roxy as she slips behind the bar, and greets some of our regulars, smiling widely.

Then she sees me, and her smile disappears. She glares furiously, turning her back to me.

Flynn whistles. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

Suddenly, I can’t wait to get out of here. “If you’re not coming to party,” I tell Flynn, getting down from the bar. “I’ve got places to go. And women to see.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

For all mybig plans of a night on the town, I find myself back at my apartment. Alone.

The place is too empty. Silent. I never minded it before, I always relished my bachelor pad, but now, after the clutter and noise of Roxy’s parents’ place, full of warmth…

Nope.

I cut off those memories, because I know where they lead: Up to her old bedroom, and that ridiculous twin bed. Images of Roxy in her baggy PJs, and the way her body felt beneath them, moving against me…

I need to get laid.

Replace those memories with something new. Move the hell on, instead of pining after her, the way I’ve done every night since I got back.

I grab my phone, and scroll through the contacts list, idly running through my hookup database. There are plenty of names here, and any one of them would happily come over to distract me a little more, but my heart isn’t in it.

None of them are her.

I sink back on the couch, miserable. Why the hell am I feeling like this? Roxy’s the one who blew everything up. Jumping to the worst conclusion about me over those texts. Hell, I hadn’t seen Fiona in weeks, let alone invited her to show off her…assetslike that.

But did Roxy stop before blaming me? Thinking I was some cheating, lowlife bastard?

Nope.

She told me exactly what she thought about me, and right in front of Natalia, too. Which means the vineyard deal is dead. They’re not returning my calls, and it doesn’t take a business genius to figure out, that means partnership is off the table.

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