Page 3 of Trials of a One Night Stand
Max and Ashton raise their drinks in front of them, but Bradley’s forehead creases. His drink remains on the table, and he bites his lip.
I’ve been friends with Bradley since our post-doc days and recognize that look. He has something important on his mind. “What’s wrong, Bradley?”
“It’s just…” He looks at each of us.
“Just spill it, mate,” Max says.
“Zelda created the original formula, and she’s not here,” Bradley says.
“She was invited, but she’s busy with Jack.” Zelda, my ex-wife and the woman I’ve loved for years, is marrying someone else. I’d hate the guy, a science reporter, if he weren’t exactly what she needs, but that hurts more because it only reiterates that I wasn’t enough for her when we were married and later as friends with benefits. At least we make good friends and business partners. That’s something, right?
“Sam did all the analysis and checks, and he’s not here,” Bradley continues.
“No, because Sam lives in New Zealand now.” I still consider him a friend, but I don’t want to bring that up in front of these three. I take another sip.
“And without Sophie, Jules, and the rest of the team…” Bradley continues.
I see where he’s going with this. Bradley has taken my words literally again. Though in his defense, all of us except Ashton are guilty of doing that at times. Our technical, scientific brains must be the reason. Ashton has an MBA and is the definition of business minded. He’s better at dealing with people. “When I said ‘those,’ it includes everyone who worked on the project whether or not they’re here with us in person,” I clarify, hoping that’s enough for Bradley to accept and move on.
He tilts his head as if considering my words and then picks up his drink. “Hear, hear.”
Max and Ashton do the same.
“Cheers.” I tap my glass against each of the other three, looking them directly in the eyes—otherwise Bradley will call us out on not toasting properly—and then take a drink.
One sip leads to another, and it isn’t long until I see that their glasses are nearly empty. “Looks like we need another round.”
“Wish I could, but Chloe needs me at home.” Ashton doesn’t even down the remainder of his drink. Instead, he stands. “Thanks for tonight. We should do this again.”
“We should.” Max stands. “I’ll be at Randy’s if anyone’s looking for something to do.”
Watching Max salivate over his woman singing and twerking on stage isn’t how I want to spend my Friday night. Although if I can’t find anything else to do, a dive bar beats an empty house. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Have fun.” It’s Bradley’s turn to slide off his stool. “Thanks for the drink, Nate. Christina is cooking dinner. I want to pick up a bottle of wine on my way home. We only have white, and what she’s making calls for red.”
I grind my teeth together. Of course, they only wanted one drink with me. The knowledge burns in my gut. Now, ordering a bunch of appetizers to avoid eating alone yet again doesn’t make sense now that I’ll be on my own.
“Have fun.” I try to sound polite, but I have no idea if I succeed. “I’ll take care of everything here and see you on Monday.”
The three bolt out of the bar without a glance back. Typical.
But it sucks. No one even asked about my girlfriend—former girlfriend.
Yes, to add on to the pile of crap stinking up my life, the beautiful woman I thought might be the one I could move on with romantically has moved to London, and not one of my three asshole friends even brought her up. All three have met her, so they know about her.
Not that it matters, given she’s no longer part of my life. But I wish someone would have at least thought to ask about her. Well, us.
I could have told them how I honestly don’t blame her for accepting the job—the money and prestige with her new position are hard to beat. We’d only been dating a few months, so it didn’t seem appropriate to ask her to give up her promotion and stay in Seattle, but I liked her a lot. More than I’ve liked anyone since Zelda. The sex was great, and I miss that, maybe even more than I miss her. Maybe that has something to do with why neither of us could say we wanted to see where things go, so she left.
Again, I don’t blame her.
All around me, people laugh and talk. Over in the corner, the group of women shrieks. I glance at the three empty spots at the table. Sitting here by myself makes me feel like a loser.
I stand, go up to the bar, and grab the nearest empty barstool.
The bartender, a guy with a full beard, is dressed in all black. Give him a sickle, and he could pass for the Grim Reaper. He wipes the bar around me. “What can I get you?”
“I was at the empty four-top. I’d like another of these, please.”
