Scorched (The Frenemy Series Book 4) Page 8

  “Oh, my God,” I groan, shaking my head and handing it to him. “Does Walt know his lead bartender is a fucking pothead?”

  “Walt is a seventy-two-year-old hippie who runs a hole-in-the-wall bar between a set of train tracks and a Jiffy Lube, Alex. Who the hell do you think I got it from?” he asks with a snort, taking it from me as he fishes a lighter out of his console. “Do me a favor, though, and don’t tell Evie. She doesn’t know I smoke.” I conceal my amusement at his words and manage a nod, gathering my things as we pull into the lot. I’m still trying to find my purse strap in the dark when I hear him light up and the distinct smell fills the car. I move to open the door and his strained voice pulls me back. “You want some?”

  “Uh…” I laugh nervously, shaking my head. “I’m your boss, Mason. I probably shouldn’t be getting lit with you in the middle of a parking lot.”

  “We’re on vacation,” he shrugs as he blows out a thick plume, gesturing for me to take it from him a second time. “Pull the stick out of your ass and chill the fuck out. I promise I won’t tell anyone you were cool for ten minutes.”

  Despite my better judgment, I smirk at his shitty insult and take it from him, warily holding his eyes as I take a long pull and hold it in without much effort. His eyes begin to widen slightly as he watches me, and the corners of his lips turn up in moronic pride.

  “Damn,” he sings out, making me blush as he takes it from me and teases the ash away. “Boss bitch came to play.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I say a moment later as I exhale, resting easier against the back of the seat. “I wish I could fire you so much.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he admits, his low laughter fills the car, and he passes the joint back to me. “I kinda wish I had fought harder to be Dash’s replacement so I could fire you, too, but here we are.”

  “Yep,” I smirk. “Getting scorched together in a parking lot like a couple of fourteen-year-olds.”

  I take another hard hit and hand it back to him, the feel of his heavy eyes falling on me pretty hard to deny. Almost as hard as it is for me to force my gaze away.

  “So, why’d you leave Austin anyway?” he asks, making me shake my head. “Oh,” he nods, taking one last hit before he stashes the rest back in the ashtray. “Well, fuck ‘em. You’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you, but you’re cute and you’ve got a nice ass,” he shrugs. “You get on my fuckin’ nerves, but someone out there’s gonna love ya.”

  “Oh, my God!” I blurt, his blunt words sending me into a fit of giggles as I smack his arm hard and step out of the car. “I’m totally going to fire you.”

  “Not tonight you aren’t,” he winks, cutting the engine and pushing his door open. “Vacation.”

  When we make it through check-in unscathed, the exhaustion of the day floods me as I step onto the elevator behind him. I need a drink. I need a long hot shower. I need pajamas and I need something loaded with enough sugar to land me a spot in one of those cheesy diabeetus commercials from the eighties.

  I’m stuck somewhere between deciding which comes first and trying to reassure myself that I refilled my goldfish Marvin’s automatic fish feeder before I left my apartment this morning when a ding pulls me back.

  I glance up and see the floor we’ve been waiting on illuminated, and I bite on my lip before I tighten my grip on the handle to my bag and wait. Finally, the doors slide open and I move to take my first step of freedom, catching myself and turning back to face him.

  “Thanks again,” I offer. “I know there are probably about fifteen things you’d have rather done than ride back here with me.”

  He holds my gaze, his softening eyes surprising me for a moment before he shrugs, feigning indifference.

  “Closer to twenty,” he admits, making me snort. “But you’re welcome.”

  *

  After standing at the foot of the bed for fifteen minutes in a towel, arguing with myself, I finally give in and put on a fresh set of jeans and a t-shirt and grab the key to my room.

  There’s something unsettling about being back in my old stomping grounds, literally inside the very hotel I’d spent more nights than I can remember with my ex. I never told Evie that this was the hotel, the same one that had me running for the hills the first chance I got. She’d been so thrilled about the location being available, I could never admit my aversion to it, but being alone here after all this time? I can’t deny those sinking feelings now.

  The bar downstairs is maybe the last place on the planet I want to go right now. However, some days, a girl just needs a stiff ass drink and no level of ‘maybes’ will make that go away.

  I could order room service, but that sounds awful. Even considering the emotional baggage I’ve tied to this walk to the familiar bar downstairs, no one wants to pay twice as much for a watered-down drink that won’t even arrive for a half hour.

  Besides, I told myself the day I left this city that my days of hiding out to avoid possible confrontation were over.

  I push myself toward the elevator with my key, wallet and phone in hand before I can lose my nerve.

  It’s not even a big deal. I’m getting a drink in a place I used to hang out. Who cares if I run into someone I used to know? If things go to plan, I’ll be shitfaced in an hour anyway and probably won’t even remember seeing anyone.

  As far as plans go, it’s a pretty terrible one, but solid enough to get me back downstairs to the lobby.

  By the time I’ve approached the entrance, I’ve told myself I don’t care enough that I’m starting to believe it. If nothing else, I’m more ready for that drink than I’d been before I got here.

  You’re being so dramatic, Alex, I tell myself, internally shaking my head. You haven’t even been to this bar in two years. The chances you’ll see anyone you know in this place is slim to no-

  “Lexi?” his voice breaks my thoughts, infiltrating my pep talk and making my stomach drop to my feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Instantly, I’m barraged with brown eyes, light hair and the thick arms I’d like to rip off, just so I have something to smack his perfect, smug face with. The memories I’ve been trying like hell to forget come flooding back and despite my best efforts, everything I said didn’t matter on the way down hits me like a wall.

  A thick wall of tattooed regret in the hotel lobby.

  For the love of God.

  What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?

  mason

  It’s been a long day, one I’d gladly do all over again save for a few of the more annoying parts, but the fact remains – I need to get my life together for a few minutes so I can chill the fuck out. First things first – I’m burning this fucking shirt. Not because I really give a shit what anyone thinks about it, it’s a kickass shirt, but because if I have to listen to one more lumberjack joke, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.

  Second, I need to wash the combined effects of car funk and the debris of twelve hours of sarcasm the hell of me. Granted, the last hour or so wasn’t terrible, but don’t get it twisted. She was only being nice because I was doing her a favor. And I only did the favor because I’m not an asshole. And even when I am, I’m not trading lumberjack jokes for listening to Bridezilla go off on a week-long tangent about how I never do anything for her. I don’t know when she got so freakin’ dramatic, but I’m starting to think Dash has been onto something with that one. I love her to death, but the chick is burnt.

  Last, and speaking of my best friend, I need to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do for the bachelor party I only found out I was half-responsible for today. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I knew I had to plan something, but I had no idea this was going to be a joint thing. When she brought it up over dinner and I told her what I’d been thinking, she quickly shot it down and asked Alex to help me with that, too.

  I glanced at Dash, hoping for some reinforcements since I didn’t kill him for fucking my sister, but apparently, he’s totally given up on being cool and just lets Evie do wha
tever she wants.

  Funny how that worked out, right? He accused me of letting her get away with murder for years and now look at him.

  Sucker.

  He makes her happy, though, and that’s really what matters. And to be fair, he’s been a pretty shitty ass wingman for the last few years anyway. I guess the least I can do is send him out on a high note.

  Before I can figure out what I’m gonna say to accomplish any of that, though, I definitely need a drink.

  I need many drinks, and despite my planning, the small bag of snacks I’d packed to hold me over this week is missing one crucial item – whiskey. And lots of it.

  With a plan in place, I pull my shoes back on and grab my key, the promise of alcoholic relief tugging me faster toward the lobby.

  It’s a Monday night. Maybe down here, I can get some quiet time alone. Maybe here, I’ll be able to drink my troubles away, forget about my long day and wash out the memory of the snotty ass passenger.

  Down here, me and my new wingman Jack Daniels can get some shit figured out in peace.

  I slip into a stool on the far end, rambling off my order to a pretty redhead that looks like she’s never been interested in anything, let alone her job tonight.

  I glance around at the two televisions sitting on either side of the room and internally cringe when I see the only thing playing tonight is the news and some family sitcom. Another quick look at the bar shows plenty of room, but not much privacy, and my decision is made for me. I spot a booth in the back corner, one that looks like it’s enough out of the way to give me what I need without making me look like a creeper. I’m halfway there when I hear her voice, my eyes rolling instantly and of their own accord.

  “I, uh… I’m here for a wedding,” she manages, the shake in her voice obvious enough that it pulls my eyes toward her. “I didn’t know you-” Her words fall off and she clears her throat, my eyes finally finding her in time to see her stammering up at some guy like she’s scared of him or something. “When did you...?” she tries again, not much better. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, either.”

  “Jess …” he trails off this time, gesturing toward the redhead I’d just gotten my beer from. “You know,” he shrugs. “We thought it’d be fun to work together.”

  “Oh,” Alex says, her features falling slightly. “I didn’t see her.”

  “Yeah, we’re both here most nights now,” he replies.

  His expression is one of pity and I can see instantly that she not only recognizes it same as me, but that it’s making her feel as badly as it would anyone else. Maybe worse. I’ve seen that look before. Hell, I’ve received it once or twice myself and it fuckin’ sucks.

  I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy – which just so happens to be the very person I’m watching endure this douchebag right now. How’s that for irony?

  Besides, I think I kind of hate him more than I hate her right now anyway.

  “There you are,” I call out, pulling her watery gaze toward mine, feigning relief. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

  “What?” she asks, her eyes moving instantly from dread to confusion, my arm winding around her shoulders doing nothing to ease either.

  “I was going to order you something, but you didn’t tell me what you wanted,” I offer. “Wasn’t sure if I should get you your usual or if we were feelin’ a little freaky tonight.”

  She stares up at me, taking in my forced smile and blinking away her impending tears before she clears her throat and seems to exhale.

  “Oh, um…” she trails off, shaking her head clear. “Yeah, I need a drink.”

  “I bet you do, sweetheart,” I say, internally smirking at her flared nostrils as I give her arm a quick squeeze. As I face the guy still staring back at her, I can’t help but shake my head. “Wedding planning, amiright?”

  “Absolutely,” he replies, his smile more reluctant than I’d expected. “Hey, I’m Bastian.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you are,” I snort, ignoring his proffered hand and glancing back down at Alex to find her eyes wide with amusement. “What do you want to dri-?”

  “Tequila,” she says immediately, cutting my question short and I let my eyes widen.

  “Wow,” I smirk, tossing her a wink. “Lucky me.”

  She manages a surprised giggle at my words and as the sigh leaves her this time, it sounds like one of relief.

  “Well, there was a chick over there a minute ago. She didn’t look very impressed with anything in this place, but I’ll see what I can do and meet you back at our table,” I shrug, smiling smugly at her ex when his nostrils flare. “Been a real pleasure, Bastian.”

  chapter twelve

  alex

  “Oh, my God,” I groan, resting my head in my hand when he makes his way back to where I’ve tucked away into the back booth. The sound of the shot glass sliding toward me gives me hope and instantly, I savor in the burn as it slides down my throat. “I don’t know why you did that for me but thank you.”

  He waves me off, smirking slightly as he pushes another shot my way. I throw that one back with the same level of ferocity, wiping the excess from my lips before I slump back against the booth and push out a deep, cleansing breath.

  “That bad, huh?” he asks, gesturing toward the bar where my past is currently lingering. I feel the pinch in my chest and shake it away, a simple nod the only answer I can muster at the moment. “That sucks,” he offers, reaching for his own glass and using it to push his second, still untouched drink toward me. “Truly.” He raises his glass in an effort to toast me and I can’t help but hesitate. “Come on. Don’t leave me hanging, Lexi.”

  My eyes are still slightly narrowed as I reach for the glass, enough that I hold it back for a brief moment and lean forward speculatively.

  “Don’t call me Lexi,” I insist immediately. “And why are you being nice to me?”

  He rolls his eyes, tossing his drink back before he leans against his own corner and shakes his head.

  “You’ve seen my sister, right?” he asks, pulling a nod from me. “Yeah. She gets hit on a lot and guys are fuckin’ clueless half the time, so I’ve had my share of walking in on awkward conversations,” he admits. “And I’ve been on the receiving end of a few of them myself,” he shrugs, gesturing toward me. “The two of us might not have the best history, but if it comes down to me picking between helping you and helping those two?” he smirks, shaking his head as he glances behind us at where Bastian is still standing in his ridiculous suspenders. “I’m going with the chick who knows how to make a drink.” I glance down at the old fashioned he’s currently clenching, unable to contain the small smirk on my lips. “Homegirl didn’t even put any cherries in this old-fashioned. Can you believe that shit?”

  Echoes of our argument the week before filter into my thoughts and I glance up to find his eyes dancing in unexpected comradery.

  “Seems pretty unforgiveable,” I nod my amused agreement. “How she’s not out of a job is beyond me.”

  He catches my lighthearted dig and surprising me again, responds with a snort.

  “It must be her sparkling personality.”

  “Unlikely,” I reply with a giggle and he gestures for another round, the two I’ve just shot down like a bad pickup line loosening me up enough to not care quite as much about the person getting them for us. “The only thing sparkling on that one is the price tag on her new boobs.”

  “Wow,” he chuckles, leaning back slightly in his seat as he reveres me with a strange sense of approval. “I’ll tell ya, most of your burns aren’t all that great, but that one was pretty solid.”

  “Yeah?” I laugh, not acknowledging Bastian as he approaches the table with our order. “Well, I’ve had more than a few months to work on it.”

  “Time well spent,” he nods, glancing over at my ex as he leaves the table and moves back toward the bar. “So, handlebar mustache wearing hipsters, huh?” he asks, his voice low as he takes his drinks and slides mine closer. “Tha
t’s your thing?”

  “No,” I shake my head, sipping from my glass, promising myself to nurse it better this time, yet knowing I won’t. Not tonight. “He didn’t have that when we were together. He didn’t even have those stupid suspenders yet.”

  “Yeah? That why you broke up?” he snorts. “Because if it is, no one would blame you.”

  “Well, thank you, but no,” I admit, my smirk fading. “No, that hipster look is for sure all her doing, not mine. We broke up for more complicated reasons.”

  He nods, halting the question I can see lingering on his lips and I’m grateful. I lift my glass to sip from it once more and with an internal fuck it, savor in the slow burn as it runs down my throat.

  “Complicated or not, I’m sure you had good reas-”

  “It had a lot less to do with his mustache and a lot more to do with him sticking his dick into that skanky little bartender over there you love so much,” I cut him off, surprising us both as I set the glass down with more force than intended and shrug. “Huh. Well, I guess it’s not really all that complicated when you say it like that, is it?”

  “No,” he shakes his head, unable to stifle his chuckle at my slightly delayed, alcohol induced epiphany. “No, I guess it isn’t that complicated at all.”

  His low, quiet chuckle slowly morphs into something a little more profound and despite the tequila beginning to go to work, I can’t help but feel a slight tinge of offense at his amusement.

  “Is something funny about that?” I ask, shooting the next drink back, nodding when he silently asks if I want another.

  He gestures toward the bar and turns back to face me, shaking his head.

  “What a tool,” he smirks. “That guy looks like a fuckin’ Bastian.”

  His words make him laugh harder, his own amusement likely having the power to be contagious if it weren’t for the fiery resentment still bubbling in my chest.

  “Why is finding out that I’m a human being with a painful past funny to you?” I demand, leaning forward to keep my voice low. His lips are still wrapped around the edge of his glass when he shakes his head, licking his lips clean.