Page 5 of Unruly

I glance at her sideways. “You saw.”

She resumes drying a glass. “Every single time I walk over to where you put your phone, the damn screen lights up. So, how damn many?”

“Five. Maybe six. It stopped a little while ago.”

She nods. “He got the papers; I’m sure that’s why the fucker is overreacting.”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t say he’s overreacting. He’s reacting exactly how we all knew he would.”

She sets the glass down and looks at me fully. “Good. He deserves to feel helpless.”

That’s the thing people don’t understand about divorce. I don’t want to hurt him, I just want to be myself again.

A lump forms in my throat, and I force it down, looking back at the bar. “Yeah,” I say.

Moving to your hometown after being gone since college is … a lot. Everyone knows you found a new life, a new love, and then you come back and it almost feels as if you failed.

Most people mind their business, or hear stories from the grapevine, but those brave enough to ask why you’re back, typically hear the word “divorce” and instantly change their demeanor toward me. They tilt their heads, soften their voices, and tell me everything is going to be okay.

Things may not be okay just yet, but I’m not heartbroken, even if I should be. Part of me feels guilty for how relieved I am to be myself again. It’s why I chopped my hair and dyed it pink. I just want to give myself the things I couldn’t let myself before.

Not wanting to keep talking about it, I excuse myself, grabbing a bin for dirty dishes, and head out to the floor to start rounding them all up.

“Hey,” Cash says when I circle back to the pool tables, picking up empty glasses.

“What?” I ask, throwing empty beer bottles into the trash.

“You ever take a night off?”

I snort. “You tell me. Is there a night you’ve come in that I haven’t been here?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever noticed anyone else.” He leans into the pool table and grins. “I tend to only have eyes for one bartender.”

That grin. It’s a good one, I’ll give him that—easy and a little crooked, the kind that’s gotten him out of more trouble than he deserves. He’s got his cap on backwards, like he can’t be bothered to wear it right, and a piece of red hair sticking out from under the brim. There’s a sleeve of ink down one arm that he’s clearly proud of and should be, with his forearm braced against the table as he leans down to meet my eye.

“That’s not the line you think it is, Thornwood.”

“No?”

“No. Because the other bartender is your mom’s best friend ... and my aunt.”

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say quite sinks in as he doesn’t take his eyes off of mine and ignores me. “I don’t remember you always being this way.”

“Like what?”

“Closed off.”

I pause, just for a second. “You don’t know me at all.” I pull the rag off my shoulder and wipe down the table next to him, like he isn’t standing there. “You were in diapers when I was on that ranch as a teen.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Darlin’.”

There it is, that push that most the girls in town fold for. I meet his gaze and suck my teeth in. “And you’ve reminded me of that. Every. Single. Night,” I say simply.

His brows lift slightly. “So, when are you going to give me a chance?”

“Never.”

“Because you aren’t interested in me?”