Page 40

Nineteen
Conner
2017
She called me Conner.
That’s the thought that the grabs my brain and shakes me awake, pulling me from sleep in an instant. She called me by my name.
Twice.
It’s possible she came looking for me specifically. It happens. Women talk. A couple of drinks in and they’re telling their friends all about the hot bartender who bent them over a sink in the Ladies’ and gave them the fuck of their lives.
My reputation proceeds me.
Someone starts banging on the roll-up garage door under my bedroom window. “Wake the fuck up, Gilroy,” Tess shouts up at me. “Some of us still have to work for a living.”
Grinning, I roll off my bed and shove the framed glass up on its track. “Not if I fire your ass,” I shout, sticking my head out the window to see Tess standing on the sidewalk outside my shop. It’s a ridiculous thing to say. Tess can re-build a carburetor in under an hour and is the only woman I’ve ever known in my adult life that I didn’t at least think about fucking—which makes her pretty much invaluable. I’d be lost without her, and we both know it.
Or, at least more lost than I already am.
“Jesus, Con—” she says, looking up at me like I just pissed on her. “You wanna put some pants on before I lose my breakfast?”
I look down, suddenly remembering that I’m naked. Instead of ducking for cover, I laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Tessie.”
“That was one time. Once.” She bugs her eyes out. “And we were seven.”
I flash her my dimples. “And you’re still dreaming about it.”
“Nightmares,” she says. “You mean I’m still having nightmares about it.” She throws up her hands. “Now open up—my boss is kind of an asshole, and if he catches me standing around, talking about your dick, he’s gonna fire me.”
“Okay, okay—give me a minute.” Still laughing, I move away from the window and find the pair of jeans I tossed in the corner before passing out last night.
My cell phone lets out a chirp on the nightstand next to my bed. I zip up the jeans, not bothering with the top button before I reach for it.
Henley: Are we still
meeting for lunch?
Shit.
Suddenly, my guts feel like they’re being fed through a meat grinder. My chest feels like it’s been shrink-wrapped. I want to tell her no. Something’s come up. Can’t make it. I’m actually pounding out the text when it dawns on me.
Guilt. I feel guilty.
Which is fucking bullshit.
She’s the one who left. She’s the one who disappeared. She’s the one who moved on before the dust even settled. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s her.
Not me.
Me? I’m just trying to keep from drowning.
“I’m dying out here, Gilroy!” Tess shouts from the street, giving the roll-up a kick with her boot. “Open the frackin’ door!”
Me: Yup
I hit send and shove my phone into my back pocket. “Coming,” I call over my shoulder, hitting the steep, narrow stairs that connect my apartment to the shop below it.