Page 12 of Instigator

I pull my Kindle out of my purse, flicking through my bookshelf until I find something to occupy me for a few hours.

An amaretto sour appears in front of me, and I glance up to find Pablo winking at me before turning to another customer.

The worst thing is my book is actually pretty good. I sip my drink and read, and when the glass is empty, a fresh one takes its place. Even though I didn’t order any food, a tray of spicy cauliflower bites gets set in front of me, the pungent scent of the blue cheese dipping sauce making my mouth water. I look up, my eyes dry after staring at the screen for—has it already been an hour and a half?

“Eat something,” Pablo says, pushing the plate toward me. “You can’t drink on an empty stomach.”

I mean, I could… but it’s probably an awful idea.

“Fine,” I mutter, spearing a piece of cauliflower with my fork and dragging it through the thick sauce. “Thanks.”

He snorts. “That sounds genuine.”

“What, do you want me to get down on bended knee?” A sarcastic smile twists my lips. “Thank you, Pablo, for bringing me drinks and food and making sure I take care of myself. Since I’m such an invalid and incapable of knowing my own needs.”

“Oh, shut up. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

I roll my eyes. “And you know I didn’t either. So we’re square.”

“I suppose we are.” He rests his forearms on the bar, drawing my gaze there, but whatever attraction I may have once had to the twenty-six-year-old bartender, it’s gone now. We’re friendly, or as friendly as one should be with their favorite bartender.

He studies me for a long minute. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

His eyes linger on me for a beat. Finally, he stands up straight and raps his knuckles on the bar counter twice. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” I eat another two pieces of cauliflower, then sip my drink, before finally picking up my Kindle again.

When it’s time for last call, I’m still not ready to go home, but I know nothing good will come from staying out. After closing my tab, I call a car and head to my empty house. Even with all the lights on, it’s still so fucking lonely. I don’t even have a cat to keep me company.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to keep going like this?

six

. . .

Aidan

Taryn is a nice girl. Sweet. She’s blond with big, doe-like brown eyes, light freckles, and the cutest little dimple. Her makeup emphasizes her pretty features, and she’s dressed in a trendy dress and cardigan.

But there’s no spark. No connection.

“I’m sorry,” I say for at least the seventeenth time in the last half hour.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists again.

Except it is. When we first met for lunch, I should have called it then and there, before we even placed our orders. I knew from the start that it would never work.

Two people sit at a table a few feet away, having what seems to be a working lunch. The woman—drop-dead gorgeous, with long, wavy chocolate-brown hair cascading down her back—gesticulates wildly as the man sitting opposite her scribbles on a tablet. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the casual familiarity they share is palpable. The way he looks at her, open and trusting…

I don’t form connections like that. Not with strangers. Not with women. I’m usually too on edge to relax around people I don’t know, and aside from my teammates’ partners or the team staff, I don’t spend a lot of time with women. Especially not women I might want to get to know further.

Blind dates are Hailey’s solution. It’s been two years of constant setups, and there hasn’t been a single one I’ve wanted a second date with. I’m starting to think something is wrong with me, except I know what’s wrong with me.

When I was in the minor leagues, my girlfriend told me she was pregnant. We hadn’t been dating long, but we’d always used protection. I made sure of it. Finding out was a shock to the system, and I didn’t handle it well.

But it damn near killed me when I found out the baby wasn’t mine.