Whispering With You

12. I'm craving a hit like an addict.

Kelly

JENSEN: I'm supposed to ask you where your punk ass is.

ME: Your girl?

JENSEN: Who else?

ME: You can tell Teddy to calm her tits. I'm out with Sully.

JENSEN: Number 1, don't talk about my girl's tits. Number 2, Sully? Really? Fuck, man, things not going good with that girl of yours?

I huff out a laugh picturing my friend voice-texting at our preferred table at Roxy's, but the laugh quickly transforms to a groan. I'd rather not think about that girl. It's the whole reason I fled to Maybury to hide out with the Andersons' foster brother.

TEDDY: Funny how both you and a certain blondie are MIA tonight.

ME: Sutton's not there?

TEDDY: Seems both of you are hiding. But the real question, my dear old friend, is why?

TEDDY: Are you going to dish or shall I ask Sutton?

ME: Butt out, Teddy.

TEDDY: Stop torturing yourself, Kell. Talk to J.

I turn my phone off and shove it into my pocket. Tonight is about forgetting. I just need to quiet my brain for one fucking night.

My eyes track the man crossing the dimly lit bar toward me, his tattooed arms on full display as he carries two shot glasses in one hand and two beer bottles in the other. He clunks the drinks down on the table in front of me, a bit of the amber liquid spilling out.

I eye the drinks. "Shots? Really, Sully?"

Sully tucks a stray curl that fell out of his man bun behind his ear, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You didn't come here to be a pussy. Drink up."

He hands me one of the shot glasses and clinks his against the one in my hand before tossing it back. I make the mistake of sniffing it. "Fuck," I grumble before downing it in one go. I'm already having regrets.

Sully sinks into the chair across from me, sipping from his beer bottle as his eyes scan the room. "So tell me again. Why exactly are you here?" He turns his attention to me. "I know it's not my sunny disposition."

"You very well know I didn't say since you keep asking every fifteen fucking minutes," I spit out.

His answering chuckle makes me want to kick his chair over...with him still in it. My face must say as much because he only laughs harder. "So it's obviously a girl that has your panties in a twist."

I grunt in reply, busying myself with taking a long pull of my beer. When he continues to stare at me, I relent. "What else could it be about?"

He raises his brow. "It wouldn't happen to be a certain off-limits blondie, would it?"

I fight the urge to flip him off. He may not be an Anderson by blood or name, but the fucker is just as nosey. Finally, I admit, "Would I be a scared punk hiding here with you if it weren't?"

He shakes his head as if the admission somehow disappoints him. "You're a fucking idiot, Ledger." He raises his beer bottle to me. "Good luck."

This time I do flip him off.

We're quiet for a few minutes as we drink and watch the crowd. The vibe is completely different than the small-town bars in Lake Hope, the energy level much higher than I prefer. Once upon a time, I loved this scene, and the admission makes me feel old. And, honestly, a bit lonely.