Page 23 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
I cover my face with my forearm and just listen to the storm rage on outside and take stock, try to disregard the hurt over the fact that obviously I did something wrong, that he saw my most intimate of emotions splashed over the canvas, and even though he praised me, he still rejected me.
Stop it, Getty. Stop blaming yourself. Maybe it was him. You did nothing wrong but be you—well, the new you—so maybe it was his own issues that caused him to abruptly leave.
I suck in a deep breath and fight through my doubt. Shed the pathetic part of me that wants to blame myself for whatever reason is behind why he walked out. Acknowledge that this is why I need to steer clear of anything and anyone until I’ve had enough time to deal with my past, forget the old me, heal from her scars, and fully embrace the now.
Realize that I need no one and nobody. That I can exist, live, thrive, all on my own.
They say loneliness adds beauty to life.
I guess I’m getting a whole new makeover.
Chapter 6
GETTY
“One of these days, Getty, you’re going to realize that you’re a local now and you’re going to have to step on the other side of the counter, grab a drink of your own, and watch the game with the rest of us.”
I lift the rag in my hand to acknowledge Liam’s comment, which comes at least once a shift. I know he’s just being sweet and that I’m not really a local yet. Besides, any free time I have, I like to explore the island or lock myself away with my paints so I can learn more.
But the idea of having a beer and relaxing with the game and a crowd of people sounds more than welcome right now. I definitely need it after my conversation today, the bad news it brought, and the pang of loneliness I feel from it.
A cheer goes up across the tables, causing me to look up. The bar hums with the buzz of an excited crowd—there’s a tense game plus the sun is shining for the first time all week. Add to that an influx of tourists fresh off the ferry and the Lazy Dog is crowded, loud, and keeping me on my toes this afternoon with orders.
“An Arrogant Bastard, please.”
I know who it is the minute I hear the request; somehow my body is attuned to him even when I don’t want it to be. I don’t look up, don’t acknowledge him. Rage and irritation and everything within that range fire anew as I think about the phone call I had earlier with Darcy where I found out the bullshit he’s pulled.
No wonder he’s been MIA since the other morning when he left my bedroom.
“Well, that’s a self-diagnosing order if I’ve ever heard one,” I say under my breath, but even with my eyes focused on keeping the foam minimal on the pour, I can see his body jolt. Good. He heard me.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks pensively, his body leaning over the bar some, so that I get that quick whiff of soap and cologne that now haunts the halls of the house after he takes a shower.
My laugh is long and low, the sound of sarcasm poured over ice. “Take your pick.” I slide his glass across the varnished bar top and finally meet his gaze. My eyebrows are arched and my lips are twisted as I’m sure my defiant derision is reflected in my eyes.
The noise of the bar fades into the background—a groan over a bad call, a good-natured shout for a waitress—and yet his eyes hold mine in a war of wills: his asking what I’m pissed at and mine telling him he should already know. I find myself leaning in closer at the same time he does, waiting for him to fess up to his lies, but I’m greeted with a slow, lazy smirk that spreads across his mouth until it turns into a full-blown arrogant grin.
“You’re speaking female, Socks. Can you please—”
“Darcy. There’s a word for you.” I lean my hips against the counter behind me.
“Technically, that’s a name, but . . .” He chuckles over the rim of his glass.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m assumi
ng you’ve spoken to her, then.”
“What the fuck, Zander?” His eyes widen at my use of the word. I can hear my father’s reprimand in my head. “I never agreed to staying in the house with you. To being roommates.”
Especially after the other morning in my room when you did whatever you did.
“If you’re worried about me seeing you naked, we’ve already done that part, so it’s not a big deal.” He tips his glass to me, his smile unwavering.
Every word he speaks makes me angrier. “That’s not the point!” I raise my voice in exasperation.
“Then what is?”
