Drunk on Love Read online

  “No, from last night.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I’m not sure what else to say to that. The woman vexes me. First off, how does someone who looks like her stay a virgin? Secondly, is she still a virgin after last night or did she give it up to that asshole after I warmed her up? Fucking asshole. I start running because the street is clear of traffic and I don’t know what to say to her. Does she want me to make her feel better? Tell her it’s okay that she made me feel used and slightly dirty, though the dirty part in reference to good or bad is still up for debate?

  The cars start moving just as I reach the next intersection. In my peripheral I see the bright yellow cab slowly pulling up to the light. “For fuck’s sake. What the fuck?”

  The cabbie’s passenger window rolls down and he leans down so I can see him. “Hey, mister, this could be a lot less weird if you hear the lady out.”

  The back window rolls down and Constance Virginia looks mortified. The problem is she looks so damn good, even in mortification, that I walk up to the cab and open the door. “Scoot over.” After I slide in next to her, I shut the door, and ask, “Where are we headed?”

  The driver replies in a crotchety voice, “Financial District.”

  Oh, now he’s bothered. The irony is not missed. Turning toward her, I ask, “Why?”

  The cab starts moving again, and Con—Virginia answers, “Because I’ll be late to work if we don’t.”

  “You work in the Financial District?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a financial analyst.”

  “I swore off that industry when I left Manhattan three years ago.”

  “What do you mean you swore it off?”

  “Why did you lie about your name?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to be someone else for the night.”

  “Why?”

  “The truth is I was ashamed to be doing what I was doing.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I wanted to feel good. I wanted to know what it feels like. Katie says I’m beautiful. I think I am, but something’s broken because I can’t seem to find love.”

  “With a stranger? As for love, you weren’t looking for love, sweetheart. You were looking for a good time. I get it. I really do, but that’s not how your first time should go down.” My gaze dips down her body, that feeling in my gut returns. I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner. “Considering you’re wearing the same clothes as last night, guess you found it anyway.”

  The cab comes to a stop and as much as I want to know why she’s shame-cabbing it back into the city. The stop is my cue. I open the door and get out. Just as she’s about to speak, I say, “Have a good life, Virginia.” I shut the door and start running again. With the Manhattan Bridge up ahead, I pick up speed not wanting to get trapped at a light again. When I make a right, back on track, I’m tempted to look back, but I know there’s no point. She slept with that asshole after spending time with me. There’s nothing really to discuss anymore.

  When I turn down my street, I go inside the coffee shop. The morning line is long, but I wait. Watching people is a good way to take my mind off things. My favorite barista is working today. When I reach the counter, she eyes me over the pastry display. “Good morning, Hardy.”

  “Good morning, Luisa.”

  She giggles as her smile grows. “What can I get you this morning?”

  “The usual.”

  With a tease in her tone, she says, “Coming right up.”

  Not able to stop my mind going to the gutter, I reply, “You’re naughty this morning, but I’m naughtier at night.” I wink.

  “I remember all too well, Hardy.”

  “When are you going to stop in The Hideaway again?”

  She raises her hand and wiggles her finger. “No more Hideaway for me. The boyfriend has become the fiancé.”

  “Whoa,” I say, thrilled for her. “That’s fantastic news. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Just happened over the weekend, so it’s new.” She shrugs to play it off.

  “I’m happy for you, Luisa. You deserve good things.”

  That brightens her back up. She hands me my coffee—simple, classic, black—and leans in. “You do too, Hardy. Don’t settle for anything less.” Speaking in her usual chipper voice, she says, “Coffee’s on me. Have a great Tuesday.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.” I start walking, but say, “Congrats again. He’s a lucky guy.”

  “Yes, he is.” She laughs and I leave feeling a little lighter myself.

  The street has gotten more crowded with the rush to work happening all around me. Two blocks down, I punch in the code for my building and head up the two flights to my second-floor walk up. I toss my keys in the silver bowl my mom sent me from Europe last year for Christmas. I kick the door closed and bolt it. My sneakers are toed off just inside the door, my socks pulled off and left in the hall as I start for the bathroom. I set my coffee on the kitchen bar as I pass. My three shirts are pulled off as one and dropped just inside my bedroom. I start the shower and peel my pants off waiting for the water to warm.

  I rest my palms to the cold marble and check my complexion. It’s clear with a healthy sheen of sweat earned from my run. Running my hands through my hair, I look back at my reflection and for the first time in years, I wonder if this is it. Is this how life is always going to be? Simple and uncomplicated, like my coffee? I glare at myself. Thoughts like this haven’t crossed my mind since I was working seventy to eighty hours a week in the city. Thoughts like this are the reason I cashed out financially and left a career I thought I liked. I didn’t. It was making me into a person I didn’t want to be, a person I didn’t like, but didn’t realize it until I woke up between two women who were traders down on Wall Street in an apartment in SoHo that belonged to my boss.

  My boss was found under the nanny by his wife when she came home from visiting her dying mother with their two kids. The divorce papers cited cocaine and philandering and listed me as a liability. My hands were clean when it came to the drugs, as for the philandering—I didn’t make him do it. But I didn’t stop him either.

  I resigned that day and I found a new job. He went on to marry his secretary and had another kid within the next year. After I heard about his first wife’s large settlement, I figured she was off living the high life without the baggage of her cheating ex-husband. Then I ran into his wife in Saks Fifth Avenue three years ago. She was on the phone arguing. I heard her tell the other person that her kids missed him and that they hadn’t seen him since his “new” family was complete with the little boy he always wanted. She hung up on him and broke down crying.

  I approach with caution, with care. She looks tired, not like the woman I knew years earlier on the arm of my boss. Everything I had seen was one-sided, his side. Now staring at the other side, I felt like shit. I was part of this. I helped cause this. Sure there was a huge group of us always partying together, living the high life as we raked in the money. But there were consequences I never had to face. I was single. I only had to think of myself, and that’s all I had done. Until that moment. Seeing her break down after losing her husband, her kids losing their dad, and that love for money is no substitute for the real thing, I walk up to her, and say, “I’m sorry.”

  She looks up. The beautiful woman that was once the star of the holiday parties now carried dark circles under her eyes and her wounds in the blues. As her eyes look into mine, I wait for her to speak, for her forgiveness, for anything. I don’t get her words. I get slapped across the face, and left with words that scar me to this day. “Don’t ever fall in love, Hardy.” She walked away that day, I hope feeling a little lighter.

  I walked away from Manhattan. I walked away from the girls who I was dating because they fit an image I was trying to uphold, but had no depth. I walked away from my parent’s pride in my accomplishments and took on their worry that I would be homeless. They didn’t realize the size of my bank ac
count, the money I’d earned off the hard work of others while I bet theirs on the stock market. It had paid off. It was legal, but certain investments made me feel dirty. The clients were thrilled with their profits, but I only felt a sense of loss. That was when I left the life I’d been living behind, donated what I call my dirty wealth to charities that my mom helped me find. I took everything else and put it into the bar to start over. I sold my apartment with the great view in a trendy part of the city for millions and invested the rest. My financial advisor says I’m set for life.

  As I step into the shower, I drench my hair and let the water run down my body. I spent three years living a life that destroyed my insides. I’ve spent the last three building a life that’s good, feels clean, and honorable. So I have sex with some of the ladies—no harm done if it’s between two adults who understand the rules.

  Virginia has me feeling reflective for some reason. I’m not worried about her. Rule number two is intact for all time. If I learned anything from my boss’s ex-wife, it was don’t ever fall in love. I don’t need the baggage of relationships. Life should be simple, easy, uncomplicated.

  The problem I’m now faced with is if I really believe life should be that easy, that uncomplicated, and that simple, then why am I still thinking about a girl I met on a random Monday at the bar? A girl who was never a Gimlet and always a Paloma. Yep, I called it all wrong last night and I’m starting to wonder if my heart is the one that will pay the price.

  Chapter Six

  When I reach for the door, I notice there’s a smudge on the gold lettering of Hardy. I rub my elbow over it using the soft material of my coat to make it shine again. “There. Much better.” Yeah, yeah, I talk to myself sometimes. Whatever. I’m damn proud of this bar and that my name’s the one on that smudgy door.

  When I walk inside, the happy hour crowd is in full swing, every table occupied. I stop by the far end of the bar when I see Clive. “How’s it going?”

  His smile grows. I’ve seen that one before. He’s either just gotten laid or about to hone in on his prey. “Picking up.” Despite the old man name, he’s one of my biggest earners. The ladies love him. I’m six two. He’s twenty-five and built like a beast at six five.

  “Business or you?”

  “Ha! You know me well. Little honey-colored sweet bee over by the dartboard.”

  I look behind me. A pretty woman with a sincere laugh is pulling a dart out of the wall. He always did like the doe-eyed blondes. “Twenty-one?”

  “Don’t worry. I carded. Twenty-three last week.”

  Nodding my approval, I reply, “Good.” Pushing off the bar, I head to the back. “Eddie will be here soon, but you know where to find me if you need anything.”

  “You working behind the bar tonight, boss?”

  “Trying to catch up on the books for last week.”

  “We’ve got the front covered.”

  “I have no doubt.” I greet a few ladies on the way back. The hall is quiet, my office quieter when I unlock the door. The dry erase board is the first thing I see when I enter—smeared ink where Const—Virginia’s hair rubbed against it when I rubbed against her. Damn, she was beautiful with her lips parted, her breath becoming mine, and her pussy vibrating around my fingers.

  That same memory inspired me to get off another time in the shower this morning. I should be mad at her, offended she treated our time together less than respectful like I had. But I didn’t just have a good time with her; I had a good time getting to know her. It would have been nice to have more time with her. Asshole put an end to that. He had some nerve showing up to collect her like he owns her. And what the fuck? Was she drunk enough to fall right into his hands after I warmed her up? I sit down at my desk and switch on the lamp. I need to bury myself in some numbers instead of burying my thoughts into her deep heat.

  Rubbing my eyes, I glance at my watch. Two hours. The nightly transition has happened and the night crowd is growing. My mind drifts. I hate unsettled feelings and that’s what I have from last night. And this morning. She was a virgin and yet, she went home with him and what? Banged him. I don’t regret not having sex with her. It goes back to respect—I respect her so it’s hard to hate her. We all make mistakes. So maybe if she comes around again I’ll give her another chance.

  I doubt she will, but it helps to ease the little bit of guilt I’ve carried over from bailing from that cab this morning. Now that I’m caught up with last week’s inventory and balanced the books, I stand, looking in the mirror behind the desk and straighten my tie. I don’t have a uniform here, but the guys tend to dress nicer. Keeps the clientele happy and helps project a more upscale ambiance. Yeah, yeah, we hook up sometimes, but we’re single, so it’s all-good.

  I turn out the lamp and leave the office. Making my way through the tables and full bar reminds me again of how fortunate I am. I worked for this, gave up my past life in hopes of something better. The hours are long, but so were the hours at my last job. At least this one comes with perks.

  “Hi, Hardy.”

  Seeing one of my favorite margarita drinkers, I stop and swing around the back of her chair to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi Margot. Good to see you.”

  “Better seeing you. Now give me a spin and let me get the full view.”

  I’m tempted. She’s good in bed. She’s also married. Now. I’ll clarify that she wasn’t when we hooked up last year. Her being married means she’s off-limits now. I may live by two rules, but I make the guys adhere to that one. The last thing I need or the bar needs is an angry husband out for revenge. Anyway, ever since I ran into my ex-boss’s ex-wife, I keep things in my life less muddied. I kiss Margot on the cheek and make sure she’s good with her current drink before checking in with Eddie and Clive.

  Just five feet from the bar, I stop. I know that midnight hair, lean legs, and another damn suit that does nothing to flatter her figure. Oh wait, maybe I do approve of the suits. Clive gives me a look along with a little head nod toward Virginia.

  I feel the tension in my jaw as I walk around the bar. When I see what she’s drinking, it lifts just a little. She looks up and gives me an uneasy smile that looks out of place on her. I’m not all bad. I head down to break the pressure before it builds. Her glass has just gone empty and she pushes it forward. Standing in front of her, I ask, “Would you like another Paloma?”

  “Are you making it?”

  “Making and Shaking.”

  Even I know how lame that line is, but she laughs. “Then I’ll take two.”

  “Let’s start slow.”

  “I was thinking over.”

  Working on her drink, my gaze lifts to her. “I recognize you.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Well, I hope so after what we did.”

  I chuckle. “I mean this is the woman who caught my attention last night. Bold, empowered, ordering Gimlets as if she actually likes them.”

  “I do like them,” she protests, sitting up straighter.

  “Because I make a damn good Gimlet.”

  “Yes, you do, but what do you mean you recognize me.”

  I set the glass and a saltshaker in front of her and lean in closer so only she hears. “You’re tough, quick wit, and if I’m being honest, which for some reason I am with you, you’re the most beautiful woman in here.” I take a step back, wanting to leave room for my emotional outpour. I’d wipe it up if I could and reach for a rag out of habit. It’s too late. She’s enchanted. I’ve seen that look before. Now I’ve gone and done it. I bet it was the honesty.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “This woman sitting at my bar right now and that shy girl from last night, they’re two different people.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “I think you know.” I take a step back, not wanting to argue. This is leading into dragging those unresolved feelings up to the surface and I’m not ready to confront those demons.

  “I’m sorry, Hardy. I meant what I said this morning and when I say it now.”
She looks to her barstool neighbors on either side of her and then turns back to me. “What we did and how you treated me—it was beyond what I could have asked of anyone. I didn’t deserve you in the first place, but I definitely didn’t mean to dismiss you. I’m truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

  I sigh, already knowing I’ll accept. “I’m a sucker for an apology.”

  “Katie O’Dowd said you might be a suck—”

  Pressing my fingers to her mouth before she says anything more, I cut her off and tease, “You need to stop listening to Katie O’Dowd. She talks too much.”

  “She had a lot of good things to say about you.”

  “If she has such fond memories, what made her send you in while she stayed home?”

  “Pregnant.”

  Taken aback. I did not see that coming. “I’m not gonna lie. My heart stopped there for a second.”

  She bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. She’s only three months along and she’s pretty sure it’s her husbands.”

  I start laughing. “Pretty sure?”

  “I was joking. “She’s happily pregnant by her husband.”

  Not worried in the least, but it’s fun to pretend. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and puff out my cheeks in an exaggerated exhale. “We should drink to that.”

  “Can you join me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What will turn that maybe into a yes?”

  “Answers.”

  “I’ll give you any answers you want.”

  I pour a whiskey—neat—and say, “Come on. There’s a table over there. We can talk.” When I come out from behind the bar, I follow her to the table. Even in that damn suit her jacket is just short enough to show off that great ass. She takes a seat and I sit across from her. “To Katie O’Dowd.” I tap my glass to the wood top once, then take a long drink of my whiskey while taking a good look at her. When I set it down, I see how bundled and uptight she seems. She offered, so I’m going to ask the questions. “What’s your last name, Virginia?” The name is starting to fit the woman in front of me, feeling more natural to say.