Page 130 of Resisting Isaac

Beau orders a round on him. “So how has life been? Thought maybe now that the Logans went Hollywood, you wouldn’t have time for us anymore.”

“If you missed me, say you missed me.”

Brett laughs. “For real though. Where you been, man?”

Beau nudges my shoulder. “Did you get lost in that pretty piece of?—”

My hand strikes out like a viper, and I grip his neck without thinking. “Be real careful how you finish that sentence. Really not in the fucking mood.”

Brett clears his throat as I release his brother. “You seem a little high-strung tonight. What gives?”

Beau snorts like a wild boar. Jerks his chin toward the ring on my left hand. “You know what his problem is. But I don’t think we’re allowed to say.” He rubs the back of his neck.

I throw some cash on the bar. “Well this has been fun. But I’m heading home, fellas.”

Home.

Where she’ll be within walking distance. Where she doesn’t want me.

“Don’t be like that,” Brett offers. “Look, I’m buying tonight. Got a new job—some construction outfit building hi-rise condos near Bozeman.”

“Great.”

Beau frowns. “Come on, man. You owe me after Carly Rae. Come with us to the Sapphire Room.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re calling that in now? I told you I was sorry. I didn’t know how you were into her.”

“Seriously,” Beau says. “I’m calling it in. Besides, you got married without letting us throw you a bachelor party. So, you owe me double.”

I weigh my options. It’s this or sit at home and stare at the walls wishing she was there.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

isaac

The Sapphire Room has a blue tint to the dim lighting. It smells like expensive perfume, cheap liquor, and desperation.

I’ve been a few times with buddies for bachelor parties and birthdays, been gifted a lap dance or two. Enough times to learn I’d rather spend time with women who want to enjoy me, not ones who are being paid to pretend.

Lately it seems I prefer ones who aren’t into me at all.

Strobe lights flicker overhead. Music pounds through the floor. We’ve been here five minutes when a blonde I think I went to high school with pours herself onto my lap. Her perfume’s too sweet, smile too eager.

“Hey, sugar,” she purrs. “Buy me a drink?”

I barely look at her. “Not really up for it tonight, sorry.”

Brett pats his lap. “Come sit over here, honey. Eeyore over there is having a rough night.”

My head pounds with the music, my buzz from The Stillery is wearing off much too quickly. When a raven-haired waitress comes around, I order a round of shots on Brett.

He leans too close to me, and yells in my ear over theloud music, “Wait ‘til you see who just started working here. Apparently, her little brother kicked some kid’s ass at school, and she’s got to pay off a lawsuit and some medical bills.”

Another dancer starts her set. The crowd gets rowdier, several guys shoving past each other to get closer to the stage to put money in her thigh garter.

I barely notice. It’s like I’m watching through fogged-up eyes until I see her face.