Be My One Regret

be my 1 regret / 4

A JONES APOLOGY IS WORTH NOTHING....absolutely fucking nothing!

"So, do you come here often?"

My shoulders hunch forward as I grimace down at the sticky bar counter top in front of me. I curse Tanner and his conniving plan to be dragged to the Five-0 Club as a wing man. I curse him and his deftly dick for leaving me at the bar, stranded and alone. Exposed to the elements that bars exude. Like now with the vulgarity of the oldest pick up line on the planet being cast on me. It's border line offensive. Degrading and vile. And it takes everything in me not to knee the asshole in the balls for casually tossing it on purpose just to piss me off. I swallow down hard and count to ten.

Good gawd. Of all the nights. Of all the bars in town. Why him? Why me? Damn it. I'm gonna kill both of them. I'm starting to hate twins.

I take a deep breath gripping the cocktail in my hand for back up courage, and turn slowly around with a hiss. "Couldn't find anyone else willing to listen to your desperate one liners tonight, Fucker?"

Venom green eyes dance as Tucker Jones' mouth curves into a maniacal grin. "My gawd, Beast, I've missed you."

"Sorry. Can't say the same." I mock before inhaling large gulps of my drink until the glass was empty. As I do, his curious eyes are still on me, and pushes my nausea button to up-heave the contents of my cocktail into his face. I scowl. "What's the matter, Fucker? Are you striking out all over town on a Friday night and this is your last resort to hit on me? I didn't know there was a shortage on dim witted sluts that'll put up with your rich ass. Damn, that sucks for me."

A dangerously fiery gleam rages thru Tucker's grassy orbs as he glowers at me. The chiseled line of his jaw ticks. The tailored black button down shirt of his heaves once as his breaths hitch in his well defined chest. And the glimmering jade in his eyes darkens to a black sullen brooding color of pissed off. And once again, I silently cheer myself for drawing out the best in him. I loved being his challenge, his thorn, his pain in the ass. And I practically beamed as he graced me with his infamous Tucker Jones patented snarl of a smile that I knew so well. With a flick of his wrist, he deadens his stare and twirls the stir stick in his drink. The quiet perusal of me while my tame by my standards wisecrack hangs between us. And it was somewhat annoying. The seconds tick by as we glare at each other. The oxygen constricts. The air electrifies. And there's a a tiny ounce of reflection in that moment. It stimulates flashbacks to the many times that I would do or say things just like this. To make him mad. To frustrate him. To hurt him. Like he did to me. So as his molten hot stare contemptuously holds me, I hold my composure firm fighting off the anxious fidgeting air that builds within my lungs. And its hard. I want to laugh. I want to scream. But mostly I want to slap his smug face. But I don't do anything. Despite his stone casting gaze that's beautifully agonizing. I keep my eyes locked on his. Not backing down.

It was a snide shot. But I took it.

So what? The crack in his armor will heal and fast....just wait for it.

On cue, Tucker's mouth thins into a waning, almost hurting his lips to form, kind smile. "Let me get you another drink."

The small response was underwhelming and worrisome, and I flinch as he politely turns and signals for the bartender. Questions as to why rip thru my mind frantically with cause for concern to remain absolutely sober for whatever he was up to. Setting my empty tumbler down on the counter, I exhale a short breath shaking my head.

"No, I'm good. I think maybe I should..."

Confidently smooth, Tucker turns toward me with an award winning almost convincingly genuine smile while extending a fresh drink to me. "Ophelia, take the Gimlet. It's your favorite. Besides..." His lips slip with a twist of mischief. "I paid for it. It's the least you can do to have one drink with me before I move on to the next dim witted slut."