Page 9 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Gage

A cross the crowded bar, the door swings open.

As if captured by a magnet, my head snaps in its direction.

Again. The customers in front of me are drunk enough they don’t notice my momentary distraction, but their orders fall on deaf ears as I search for any glimpse of yellow among the sea of neutral tones and Georgia red.

My hopes turn to stone and plummet to the depths of my gut when there’s no sign of Kori.

Not that there would be. She hasn’t come by Cutter’s in weeks.

Not since that night she ran out when I tried to apologize.

That hasn’t stopped me from checking every time that goddamn door opens.

After our conversation at Double Teep the other day, I thought—fuck, I don’t know what I thought.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her at all.

With a deeper scowl than usual, I grab a mix of light beers and hard seltzers and dump them in front of the kids I ignored.

One girl raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth—no doubt to let me have it about their order being fucked up—but the words die on her lips as her friend elbows her in the side while frantically shaking her head.

The brave one looks between me and the drinks for several seconds, contemplating.

Whatever she sees on my face is enough for her to make the right decision and grab the cans before scurrying off.

Smart girl .

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Nathan asks as he takes her vacated space.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer as I grab a can of his favorite beer and set it on the counter. He grabs it and takes a swig before focusing back on me with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Fuck me. His antics are the last thing I want to deal with right now.

“What? No ‘Hi, how’s it going’ for your best friend?” he asks.

“Karis is my best friend,” I deadpan.

“Ouch, man. That hurts. But the point still stands.”

“What point?” Karis asks, sliding up beside him like some sort of dark fey creature summoned by its name.

“That Gage added extra asshole to his coffee this morning and will barely talk to me.”

Here we go.

“How is that any different from normal?”

“Just look at him, Kare Bear. The crossed arms. The scowl. The ‘look at me too long and I’ll end you’ glare. It’s like he’s trying to drive the customers away.”

“Well, looking at your ugly mug would put me in a sour mood too,” she quips.

“Jeez. What is this? Gang up on Nathan day?”

“I haven’t said shit.”

“Sure, but your attitude says enough.”

I only shrug, but Karis’s gaze narrows in on me.

“What’s with the resting murder face, anyway?”

The door opens again, and the rest of my friends’ bickering becomes background noise.

Come on, Yellow.

She doesn’t show—not that she should. Hell, I don’t even want her to.

What would I do then? Talk to her? Yeah, right.

Girls her age don’t come downtown to make small talk with the washed-up bartender.

They come out to get fucked or fucked up.

The thought of Kori doing either makes me grind my teeth.

Karis is staring at me with raised brows and an all-too-knowing smirk when I turn my focus back to my friends.

“Expecting someone?” she asks.

“No,” I grind out.

“Well, it certainly looked like you were.”

“We’re here, and Morgan said he wasn’t coming out, so I don’t know who it could be. He doesn’t know anyone else,” Nathan chimes in, his expression mirroring Karis’s.

I cross my arms and wait. If I don’t engage, they will get bored and move on.

“It’s clearly someone. Maybe a certain lost duckling?” she muses.

“No,” I growl with too much vehemence and immediately curse myself for taking her bait.

“Holy shit. She’s right.” Nathan’s smile widens to a full-on shit-eating grin. “She’s hot, man. I can see why you’re into her.”

My hands clench into fists against my biceps.

“I’m not into her. She’s practically still a kid.”

“You know as well as I do that Yellow isn’t a kid.”

Despite my hobby, I’m not a violent man, but hearing that word from his mouth has me questioning that.

“Her name is Kori,” I spit.

“Fine. Kori isn’t a kid.” He must sense how close to the edge I am because he concedes without pushing me further.

“She is compared to me.”

“By that logic, Morgan and I are kids compared to you.”

“That’s different,” I huff.

“How?”

“Just is.”

“I call bullshit, man.”

“Seconded,” Karis pipes in.

“Whatever. I don’t have time for this right now.”

I don’t wait around for their responses as I stomp over to a group of actual paying customers vying for my attention.

Kid or not, Kori is way too young for me.

Sure, she doesn’t act like a kid, and she sure as hell doesn’t look like one.

I can admit that she’s attractive, but that’s as far as I’m willing to bend.

None of it matters because I’ll never be good enough for her, anyway. I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

With that sullen thought, I throw myself back into work, pushing my body harder than necessary. It makes it easier to ignore the looming dark cloud when I’m on the brink of exhaustion.

My friends’ worried gazes drill into my back, but I don’t talk to them again.

There’s enough work to be done that I can stay busy without looking like a complete asshole for ignoring them.

I’m not good company like this. Eventually, they give up and head out, leaving me alone to stew in my self-loathing.

I deserve nothing less.

***

On dead feet, I drag myself up the creaking wooden stairs to my apartment, my aching knee protesting every step. Walking all the way from Cutter’s was likely a mistake, but it’s worth it to avoid paying for a rideshare. I don’t have twenty-three fifty to spare.

Inside is pitch black and as quiet as a grave.

Once upon a time, I enjoyed coming back to the silence.

This apartment was my sanctuary from the constant bombardment of stimuli that comes with a night at the bar.

But over the years, something changed. What was once peaceful has become my hell.

Now I hate that there’s nothing for me to come home to.

The gloom thrives in the isolation. It hides in the darkness, waiting to ambush me as soon as I step through the door. Tonight is no exception. My melancholy has already lowered my defenses, making it easy for the gloom-barbed tendrils to embed themselves in my head.

Bone-deep weariness overtakes me. Day after day, I run myself ragged, and all I have to show for it is more goddamn bills.

Paper crumples in my hand before I throw the mail onto the growing pile on the counter.

I don’t have to see the envelopes to know they’re all reminders of what I owe.

As if I wasn’t aware enough as it is. Those are problems for me to deal with tomorrow.

The only thing I can do right now is sleep, and if I’m lucky, maybe I won’t wake up.

I stumble through the shadows toward my room, ignoring the rioting pangs of hunger.

Making food requires more energy than I have.

Rough plaster rubs against my calloused fingers as I search for the light switch.

With a click , the dingy yellow bulb flickers to life overhead.

My room isn’t anything special. It’s bare bones, except for the plethora of plants overtaking the shelves near the windows.

They are the only thing that brings me any semblance of joy in this place.

It wasn’t my idea to start collecting them.

Karis decided she wanted to give plants a try.

That experiment lasted approximately ten days before she realized they were more effort than she was willing to give.

She brought the first succulent over half dead and told me it was my problem now.

I didn’t know anything about keeping plants then, but nursing the poor thing back to health was strangely satisfying.

Seeing it get better as the days progressed gave me something to look forward to.

One turned into twenty, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by greenery.

Even though I’m exhausted, I grab the mister to tend to my plants.

I take my time with them, making sure they each get exactly what they need, even though my body aches and the layers of grime coating me could peel off me like a second skin.

For a few blissful moments, I get lost in the routine.

Focusing on each of their specific needs provides a brief reprieve from the oppressive cloud.

It doesn’t last. I can only ignore reality for so long.

That pile of mail in the kitchen is a constant reminder of how fucked up my life has gotten.

It’s a never-ending cycle. Every time I start to get ahead, something happens that wipes all my progress.

The universe must be out to get me. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this, but my entire existence is tainted with a karmic level of misfortune.

No one is this unlucky; I must be paying penance for something.

I don’t actually believe that.

But sometimes it helps to pin everything on something out of my control. It’s easier than admitting I fucked everything up on my own.