Page 37 of The Other Side of Green

“You look like you need it.” The barman, probably about my age, black with a white t-shirt stretched over a gym buffed torso gave me a grin.

I thew it back again. “You have no idea.”

“Working in a bar, you listen to a lot of sob stories.”

I chuckled low in my throat. “I know. I own a bar.”

“Really, which one? And why aren’t you there drinking for free?” He filled my glass again.

“Long ass story, and one I don’t really want to rehash right now.”

“Sounds good to me. I get bored pretending to be interested.” He gave me a wide smile revealing perfect teeth.

“You guys still play jazz in here?”

“Yep, every Sunday. Why, you play?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Thoughts of Sunday at Blue’s Bar snuck in. We’d created something phenomenal there. It burned that I’d lost it all. Maybe never even owned it all. My entire existence in Boston had been a mirage.

And the fucker of it all was that now I knew the truth. That I’d been there all along waiting for Lyra to turn up, knowing somehow that she would.

But even if she hadn’t been the Collins kid, I still would have been owned by them. I’d done that to myself, and I still would have been tied with the college—and no matter what anyone said, staff really weren’t meant to screw students.

“You okay here?” The barman motioned to my glass and then to a couple who were waiting to be served at the other side of the bar.

“Sure.”

He went to walk away.

“Better leave me the bottle though.”

“On a school night?” He flashed me that grin again, making me miss Evan even more, no matter how much of a pussy that made me.

“Believe me, I haven’t got anything to get up for.”

I was about to help myself to another glass when my cell rang. I frowned at the screen.

“Professor Greene?”

“Jack, where the hell are you?”

“Home, sir. Why?”

“What? Are you sick?”

I shook my head. Maybe I had a concussion. “What do you mean sick, exactly?” I mean could he narrow it down? Sick in the head for having sex with a student?

“I mean, do you have the flu? It’s not like you to miss lectures without calling.”

How did he not know I’d left?

That would have been the first thing Jensen Collins would have done. “Sir, I’m in New Orleans.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

I almost dropped my cell. Greene never swore, he was far too prissy for that.