The bar around us is so silent that you can hear the proverbial pin drop. The air is so thick with tension I'm practically choking on it. But I'm not going to back down from this piece of garbage. I don't back down from anybody. The man raises his hand, pointing his finger at me and opens his mouth to say something. He's obviously not going to walk away from this without being taught a lesson first.
Moving with lightning-fast speed, I grab his hand and bend it backward painfully. I spin him around and wrench his arm up behind his back. He howls in agony as I twist his wrist into an awkward position and grab the back of his head. With one swift movement, I slam his head down onto the bar. The crack of his skull meeting the wood echoes through the place like a gunshot.
Releasing his hand, I give the man a push and he falls onto his hands and knees, moaning in pain. I'd opened a gash on his forehead and blood is running down his face, making his visage a gruesome sight. His friend stands there like he's frozen, doing nothing but staring at me.
“Like I said, asshole, we're done here,” I say. “Take your friend and get the fuck out. Now.”
The greasy-haired man bends down and helps his friend to his feet, scarcely taking his eyes off me the entire time. He puts an arm around baldy's shoulders and helps him out of the bar. I watch them go, every step of the way, until the door swings closed behind them. I turn back to find the other patrons and the bartender staring at me with wide eyes.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
I pull my wallet out of my pocket, dropping a few hundred dollars bills on the bar and looking around.
“The next round is on me, folks,” I say.
Turning around, I help Trey out of the booth. He looks around like he's just waking up from a nap and has no idea where he is. I put my arm around his shoulder, much like the greasy-haired guy had just done to baldy and help Trey out of the bar.
I walk him across the parking lot and to my car, using the remote to unlock it. I hold him up as I open the door. Maneuvering two-hundred pounds of limp man is no easy task, but I finally manage to pour Trey into the passenger seat of my car. He looks up at me, glassy-eyed, with a goofy, drunken grin on his face.
“You know I love you, don't you, bro?” he slurs.
“I do,” I say. “And you know I love you too.”
“We're like brothers, you and me.”
I nod. “That we are.”
Trey looks at me and I see his eyes light up, the grin on his face growing even goofier and more drunk looking. I can tell that an idea popped into that alcohol-soaked brain of his.
“Hey, let's get out of here for a few days,” he says. “Let's go to Vegas, man. Let's go blow off some steam and get ourselves laid. Like, a lot. No better way to forget one chick than to be balls deep in another one, am I right?”
I laugh and shake my head. “As tempting as that sounds,” I say, “I've got some meetings tomorrow I can't miss. Sorry, brother.”
His face falls and the goofy grin turns into a pouting frown. “Man, this sucks.”
“I know it does, Trey,” I say. “It's late though, and I should probably get you home.”
I close the passenger side door and walk around to the driver's side, climbing in behind the wheel. Trey is already passed out and drooling on himself by the time I fire up the engine on my BMW i6. The engine roars to life as I pull out of the parking lot, on my way to take my very inebriated best friend to the house where he caught his girl blowing another guy.
The only saving grace is that he kicked her out and she thankfully won’t be there. But still, the nasty hangover he’s bound to have, combined with the depression of all the memories weighing down on him, is going to suck for him.
Yeah, I wouldn't want to be Trey in the morning.
Chapter Three
Holly
“I can't believe that,” I say and laugh.
“Tell me about it,” Gabby replies.
Her eyes are wide – as if she still in disbelief over what she just told me. Hell, I can't believe what she just told me. Though, I shouldn't be all that surprised. Men are pigs.
“So, what did you tell him?” I ask.
A wry laugh escapes her throat. “I told him that just because he took me out for a nice dinner, that doesn't entitle him a trip into my panties,” she says.
“Good for you,” I say. “What a creep.”
“You're not lying.”
Gabby is another teacher at the Gilmore Academy, the school I teach at. She has also been my best friend since our own days at prep school. She's a gorgeous woman – tall, blonde, thin. She looks like she could be doing spreads in Victoria's Secret catalogs or something. But more than that, she's intelligent. Fierce. And often, very outspoken.
She's a woman who turns heads when she walks into a room – something that I secretly envy – but most of the men she's dated seem to have a problem with her independent, fiery spirit, and take-no-shit attitude. It's one of the things I love most about her. Something I admire and try to emulate, if I'm being honest. Gabby is an amazing woman – but one who, because she's so beautiful and feminine, men constantly underestimate.
We're enjoying a lazy brunch at one of our favorite cafes that's a little off the beaten path here in Denver. It's a place the locals know and love and have for years. The sun is shining and though chilly, it's not unreasonable for the time of year. In fact, for being early October, it's downright pleasant.
We're celebrating the first day of our time off. The Gilmore Academy, our employer, is off-track for the next four weeks. It's a setup I enjoy quite a bit. It's on a year-round system, with no formal summer break like more traditional schools – like Gabby and I had growing up.
But, the Gilmore Academy prides itself on its innovative approach to teaching. And one of those innovations is the on-track, off-track school year. When on-track, we're in the classroom for three months, and then have a month off. On for three months, four weeks off. Wash, rinse, repeat.
It's a nice schedule and one that works well for me. I appreciate it even more when I can sleep in a bit and have a long, lazy brunch with my best friend.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He thought he was so smooth,” she said. “He asked me if dessert would earn him that trip.”
“And?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her. “Did it?”
She slaps my hand playfully and laughs. “No!” she says. “What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
“Oh, I know exactly what kind you are,” I laugh. “I saw the man's picture and he's gorgeous.”
“Well, for your information,” she says. “No, I did not give it up.”
“Not until your next date, huh?”
“If he buys me a nice dinner and a nicer dessert, maybe,” she says. “I did buy a new negligee and I'd hate to see it sit there unused.”
“I doubt it would be for very long,” I say and laugh, despite my horror at the man's boldness.
Truth be told, Gabby likes a guy that’s a little more on the forward side. She likes her men bold and aggressive. Alphas. It’s not really my style, but she's got the sort of personality that's equipped to handle it better than I can. I've never been one for the whole, alpha-male, manly-man kind of a guy. I guess I like my guys to be softer. A little – nicer. And a whole lot less presumptuous than the men Gabby typically dates.
Which probably explains my distinct lack of dates over the last couple of years. My last serious relationship lasted three years – and then ended in a flaming pile of debris. I found out Todd was cheating on me. Actually, he was cheating on me all three years we were together. Which, of course, made me feel not just like a total loser, but an absolute idiot too.
It took me a long time to get over feeling like I'm not enough for somebody. And that I'm a moron for not seeing it sooner. Everything about my relationship with Todd only served to flame my insecurities and self-doubts – two things that had crippled me in my younger days. Things that took me years to overcome. Not that I completely overcame them, but I have learned to manage them a bit better over the years.