Page 83 of Mr. Brightside

At least, I think he does.

I never thought this would be an option for me. I don’t even have to think about the words as they tumble out in a rush.

“I love you, baby,” I whisper, pulling his arm around me tighter and willing him to feel my adoration. I’ll have to work up to saying the words when he’s actually awake, but for now, this is enough.

Nothing has ever felt so real to me. Nothing has ever felt so right.

I’m a mess and I’m broken, but I’m his. And he sees me and accepts me and loves me for exactly who I am.

Fuck.

Cory loves me.

And I love him, too.

Chapter 35

Jake

It’sreasonablybusyfora Sunday night, which is just the way I like it. I’ve been here since lunchtime because I’m trying to make Dempsey take a damn break. He closed Friday and Saturday night but refused to take off, even when I told him I had it covered. I know he’s got a lot going on at home and that he uses work as an escape. But I’m worried he’s starting to adopt some of my workaholic tendencies. The guy’s financially set for life and only twenty-six. He does not need to be putting in sixty hours a week at my bar.

I don’t let myself dwell on it. Cory worked tonight, but Clinton’s closes early on Sundays, so he should be walking through the door soon. We slept in and had breakfast together this morning, but then he insisted on abandoning me to head to the campus library to study. I tried my hardest—a.k.a. I got down on my knees and made a direct plea to his cock in the shower—to get him to study at home so we could hang out a while longer. But he was adamant that if he stayed home, I’d just distract him. He had me there.

We haven’t talked about last night yet: about what passed between us. About what feels like this new, enormous step in our relationship.

How he cared for me, how he inspires me to be the best version of myself all the time…Fuck. I just want him to get over here so I can kiss him senseless.

I’m wiping down the back bar when the front door chimes. I look up expectantly, but I’m disappointed to see it’s just two men, boisterously laughing as they claim barstools near the entrance.

I watch them for a moment as they settle in, noting their expensive suits and general aura of snobbery. Julian would probably like their outfits.

I snort at my own joke, then hear one of them speak.

“So much has changed, but it feels good to be back.”

A chill shoots down my spine.

His voice is familiar, haunting in a way. Goosebumps erupt on my neck as I try to shake off my bizarre reaction.

I peek at the pair again from the corner of my eye. They’re not regulars, and they’re perusing the bourbon list. There’s nothing outwardly weird about their behavior. But I swear something’s off.

My instincts are always right. And right now, my instincts say run.

I flag Dempsey over and give him the heads-up. “Hey, take care of those guys who just walked in. Try to chat them up and let me know if they say or do anything that seems off.”

He nods and doesn’t question me, instead moving over to greet them.

I busy myself with inventory and get started on tomorrow’s orders. I’m surprised Cory still hasn’t shown up—Clinton’s must have been busy tonight, too.

A few minutes pass before Dem scoots behind me to reach for the Blanton’s Reserve. He prepares the drinks and serves them, chatting up the new customers just like I knew he would.

I lose track of time tenthing bottles and updating my inventory sheets, eventually ducking into the back hallway and double checking a few things in the liquor cage. When I emerge from the back, Dempsey’s rocking on his heels, waiting for me.

I cock my head and wordlessly call him over as I take a seat at the far end of the bar.

“Get this,” Dempsey starts, leaning in close to keep our conversation private. “I actually know one of the guys who ordered the Blanton’s. He was an assistant to the athletic director back when we were at Arch. His name’s Ian McDowell.”

What. The. Fuck?