Page 50 of Unexpected Shot
But it’s not because I’m in love with her. Courtney was wrong about that. And Chad is way off the mark with his claims of jealousy.
She’s…Shelby. My…I don’t know what she is. But she’s not the woman I’m in love with, that much I know.
CHAPTER 12
SHELBY
There’s no place like home.
Or in my case, there's no place like the local dive bar that is cash only, still has a jukebox that takes quarters, and the fanciest beer on tap is Bud Light.
Home sweet home indeed.
“You know I stopped stocking your fancy vodka when you moved.”
I’m not in a smiling mood, but I can’t help it as Frank—the owner and proprietor of his namesake bar—slides a glass of some sort of vodka in front of me. “It wasn’t fancy Frank. It was Titos.”
“It didn’t have a plastic screwtop. Therefore, it was fancy.”
When I lived here, I rarely made my way down to the strip. Sure, on occasion, I’d partake in a show or go to a club when friends were in town. But when it was just me. When I needed to just sit back, have a drink, and clear my head. This is where I came.
Frank’s. A bar so off the beaten path, I don't even think it has a Yelp review. But it does have the best burgers in Vegas—and I love a good burger—and drinks so cheap you wonder how he stays open.
And it’s exactly where I need to be tonight.
I take a sip of the vodka he poured me, wincing at the taste. Oh my… I haven’t drunk vodka this bad since Gabi and I snuck out for our first Mardi Gras.
“How about maybe just a beer,” I say, shaking off the cheap liquor burn that has now hit my toes.
“You used to have a better stomach,” Frank jokes, but obliges and hands me a bottle. “I didn’t know if you were going to stop in this weekend.”
“You knew I was playing?”
He nods, tossing a towel over his shoulder. Do they teach that move in bartender school? “I heard a few things. Plus, I saw you on the television talking. I see you still have a way with words.”
“Might have a new address, but some things never change.”
“I can tell,” he says, resting his elbows on the bar so he can talk a little softer. “You seem to be doing better, kiddo. Considering the last time I saw you.”
I wince at the memory. The last time I saw Frank was the night Michael ended our relationship. I went straight from Chili’s to here and told Frank to keep ‘em coming. I don’t think he realized I was dead serious when I said that.
I don’t remember much from that night, to be honest. Not how I got home, or why I woke up the next day without any pants on. It wasn’t the pants off that was my question, it was why I found them in the microwave.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come in before I left town,” I say. “I meant to. It’s just…things got crazy.”
“No apologies needed,” Frank says. “But to make up for it, why don’t you tell me why you stopped in tonight. And don’t bullshit me saying it’s because you wanted to say hi.”
“How do you know it’s not that? Plus, I needed to eat, and I can’t find a burger in Nashville that’s better than yours.”
He raises a bushy gray eyebrow at me. “Because I know you, Shelby. And I might not have seen you for a few months, but Iknow when you’ve got something on your mind. And, damn girl, do you have something on your mind.”
Ugh. For someone who does her best to not show her cards, people can read me like a damn book.
After I stormed off from the press conference, I didn't know where to go. Obviously, hanging around the course wasn’t an option. There I’d run the risk of seeing Michael or Beau. Or Courtney with Beau. No thank you.
The next best option was locking myself in my hotel room. That would’ve been the safest. And I tried. But after an hour, I felt like the walls were closing in. I needed out, but I needed a safe place.
I needed Frank’s.
