Page 48 of Infatuated as They Come (Sinful Trilogy #2)

Holly

Mine and Sawyer’s table had been given away fifty minutes ago. I could see it from my spot at the bar. Some other couple—both of who showed up on time—were happily talking, the man’s hand on top of the woman’s, their lips curled into smiles.

My eyes lowered to my phone, seeing zero messages or calls from Sawyer.

The only thing looking back at me was an email from the landlord wishing me a good Christmas.

God, I should have just bought the apartment or something.

I should have just threw my credit card at the landlord and hoped and prayed it would solve all our problems.

My nails tapped against the bar top as I stared straight ahead of me, wondering what Sawyer was busy with tonight. It wasn’t work, it wasn’t art. Whatever it was, it felt like it was more important than me.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” someone asked, their soft voice interrupting my thoughts.

“Um…” I looked up, meeting sympathetic brown eyes, and my own landed on the nametag of the brunette standing behind the bar. Gemma. “I guess I’ll get something,” I said, grabbing the menu and finding the drink that sounded the most appealing. “One margarita please.”

“Got it.” She turned her back to me as she got to work, not even asking me for my ID, but that was the usual protocol around the club. When you had enough money, rules didn’t really apply. I huffed at the thought. God, I hated this stupid place .

The bartender slid the drink over to me and I eyed it closely for a moment.

I wasn’t a drinker. I didn’t drink ever, actually.

But there was something appealing about a glass of liquid being able to sooth my loneliness, so I gave it a small sip, wincing at the strong taste.

I looked over my shoulder to see if maybe my boyfriend was making the appearance he had promised, but all that was there was a sea of faces that I didn’t want to look at, because none of them were his.

All I could think about was how it was his idea and he still managed to be late. Who else but Sawyer Westbrook?

He wasn’t coming. How much longer would I have to wait? What the hell was he even doing? And why didn’t anyone warn me that margaritas hit so hard?

I downed another drink, and that was when everything started to feel too shaky. Like the room was spinning and like sitting on my stool was an accident waiting to happen, but I didn’t have the energy to move. I was supposed to wait for my boyfriend, anyway. The one who said he’d show up.

Legs and arms and everything feeling wobbly, I slumped over against the bar top that tiny bit, resting my chin in my hand.

Where was he? That was all I could think about.

And then I downed another drink and my stupid elbow slipped on the counter, the right side of my face smacking right against the edge.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled, heat filling my cheeks. Eyes flickering up to Gemma, she gave me a wide-eyed stare. “Pretend you didn’t see that.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Just drunk and embarrassed and kinda heart broken.

A lot heart broken, actually. But I’m fine.

And so happy, I love it here. The club is my favorite place in the world,” I said bitterly, one hand pressed to my sore cheek.

“Don’t you just love it here too? Don’t you wanna move here and live here forever? ”

“Uh, not really.” She laughed sheepishly. “Do you need ice or something? Or for me to get someone for you?”

“No, no. I’m okay. Just embarrassed. Please act like that didn’t happen.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? ”

“I’m totally fine.” But my voice was too shaky and it wasn’t from the stinging in my cheek.

I was sick of waiting, sick of the emptiness, sick of feeling like I didn’t even have a right to feel sad.

What was love when it came hand in hand with loneliness?

I just wanted Sawyer. His presence, his touch, his closeness, his sweet gestures.

The ones he probably thought were miniscule and meaningless but really were the ones I knew I’d remember for the rest of my life.

So why couldn’t he remember me?