Page 27 of The Do-Over

I propped an elbow on the bar and set my chin in my palm. Nate turned toward me, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have weird eyes?” I said.

A corner of his mouth quivered. “Has anyone ever told you you don’t have to say every thought out loud?”

“Yep. Diarrhea of the mouth. I’m afraid it’s a chronic condition.” I grimaced. “I really need a drink.”

He grinned.

I leaned over the counter. “Hey, can I get some help? Please?”

The bartender shot me a look that could only be described as a pitying sneer. I guessed the answer was no. I sat down hard on the stool and crossed my arms. Nate glanced between the bartender and me. He frowned, the lines of his face sharpening. Which should have been terrifying but instead, caused my heart to flop against my ribcage.

He turned and stared down the bartender. “Yo.”

Three seconds later, the bartender appeared in front of us. Nothing on Nate’s face moved except one dark eyebrow, the one with the little white scar I’d noticed before. He stared; the bartender stared back. The air got a little tense. It was… weird… and kind of hot.

The bartender blinked first. “What can I get you?”

Nate held out a hand toward me. “You first.”

“Oh, okay.” I ordered a mojito and Nate, a beer.

He handed over his credit card and waved me off when I tried to pay for my portion. He glared at the bartender until he set our drinks in front of us. “That guy is not getting a tip.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” I grinned.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No big deal. You have a face like mine, you learn to use it to your advantage.”

“I like your face. It’s very nice.” I took a swig of my mojito, trying to ignore the amused light in Nate’s eyes.

“So, you come here often?” I asked, wincing at what sounded like a cheesy pickup line.

“First time. Here with a couple of guys from work.” The sound of his voice, deep and low, sent a tingle up my spine.

“Always good to hang out with friends after a long week of… of…” My voice trailed off as I glimpsed someone familiar in the crowd. My hand tightened around my glass.

It was Brent.

And he was not alone.

Why was he here, of all places? He’d never once asked me to go to a place like this. I guess he thought I’d be too boring to say yes.

I hunkered down, using Nate as a shield, but couldn’t resist studying the woman on Brent’s arm. About my height, her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, accentuating high cheekbones. She wore a pink dress of the short-and-tight variety. And she was curvy. Like me. Maybe a bit heavier—the hips, the boobs, the thick waist—it was all there on display.

That last detail felt like a dagger in my chest. A small part of my brain had believed Brent had broken up with me because of my weight. Somehow, believing he’d broken up with me over that had made the whole situation easier. But if it wasn’t the weight, then maybe all those other things he’d said were true. I was the problem. Me.

I slumped in my seat, downed the rest of my drink, and slammed the glass on the bar. Brent absolutely could not see me.

Nate frowned. “Are you okay?”

My eyes darted to him and then drifted right back to Brent. He moved closer, and I held my breath. The woman was young enough she might still need a babysitter. She giggled at something he said. He put an arm around her and kissed her. An inappropriate-in-public kind of kiss. We just broke up two weeks ago!

“I’m fine,” I said with a weird little panicked laugh. “Just great. I have a drink. I’m having pleasant conversation with my neighbor. I’m at a club with all these people. I’m just taking it all in, you know.”

Nate’s eyes darted from my face to what was holding my attention in the crowd and then back to me. “Is that concert ticket guy?”

“What? How did you…?” Then I remembered telling him that day on his doorstep when I’d looked like I’d lost my way coming home from a funeral. Why did I have to talk so much?