Page 117 of Make-Believe Match

Polishing off my drink, I scowled into the empty glass.

“You’re going to scare away my customers with that face,” Xander said from behind the bar. He leaned forward on two hands. “Why don’t you let me call you a car? You’re obviously not up for this tonight.”

“I’m fine.”

He laughed. “You’re not, and if I could, I’d sit down next to you and try to figure out what the fuck is going on in your head, but I’ve got a business to run, and we’re packed and short-handed.”

“So put me to work,” I told him.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” I slid off the barstool and cuffed up my sleeves. “Put me to work, Xander. I need the distraction.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Since you asked.”

I spent the next several hours doing everything from washing dishes to serving food to pouring beers to bussing tables. I sweated through my shirt. I broke a glass. I fucked up drink orders. I apologized and brought new ones. But I stayed busy, which was better than sitting on that fucking barstool and realizing how lonely I was going to be without Lexi in my life.

I kept seeing things that reminded me of her. Some woman came in wearing a top in Lexi’s favorite shade of green. Another had her hair in braids. At one point, I heard someone laugh, and it sounded so much like Lexi, I nearly dropped the tray I was carrying.

Around midnight, I heard Xander shout, “What the hell are you doing here?” and I looked up to see him swooping Kelly into his arms.

“I grabbed an earlier flight!” she said. “I couldn’t wait to see you!”

He held her tight, lifting her up so her feet didn’t touch the ground. I was seized by an envy so fierce, it felt like an icy claw around the back of my neck. I turned around and walked away.

* * *

I stayed until close, locking the door behind the last customer and helping Xander and his staff shut everything down, cash out, clean up, and restock. When he’d walked the last server to her car, he came back inside where I was just replacing the trash can liner behind the bar.

“One more?” he asked, pulling down a bottle of whiskey.

“Sure.” I took a seat on a barstool and watched him pour us each a couple fingers.

He handed me a glass and tapped his against it. “Thanks for the help tonight. If that whole millionaire real estate developer thing doesn’t work out for you, you’ll always have a job at Buckley’s Pub.”

I laughed glumly. “Thanks.”

We each took a drink, and he leaned back against the counter. “So what’s really got you fucked up?”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass. “I failed Lexi. She’s going to lose her home.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. But you tried to help, right? You did everything you could?”

“Yeah. Except stay married for five years.”

“You said she shot that idea down.”

“She did.”

“Any idea why?”

“She said it would be unfair to trap me for so long. She wants me to take that job in Santa Monica. She thinks I deserve to have what I want.”

“And that’s what you want? The job in California?”

“It’s what I should want.” I frowned. “It’s a fantastic offer. And it’s doing something I know I’m good at. It’s the dream job.”

“So what’s the problem?”