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His stare burned into me, seeming to go on forever. Finally, he nodded curtly and returned through the door he’d entered. I sagged back against the wall, feeling completely spent.

* * * *

I got to the bar sometime after one, meaning it had already been closed for over an hour. On my way in, I nodded a greeting to a few familiar faces who were still milling around the place clearing up. I went in search of Georgia. Expecting her to be ready to go home, I frowned at the sight of her tucked away in a booth. She pushed a glass of something dark across the table toward me, motioning I should join her.

I remained standing. “What’s this? Let’s just go.”

She took a sip of her own drink, something horrendously bright pink-colored and decorated with numerous umbrellas and pieces of fruit. She squinted up at me. “No way, Dean. Sit down. Drink. We’re having a conversation first.”

“We can have a conversation at home. It’s late, Georgia. I’m tired.”

She took a longer swallow of her drink before wagging a slightly off-center finger at me. I was beginning to wonder how many of them she’d already had while she’d been waiting for me. “I know what you’re like. We’ll get home…and then you’ll scurry off to bed. And then you’ll be at an audition tomorrow…then—”

“Okay. Okay. I take your point.” I slid into the seat opposite her, taking a quick sniff of the drink she’d offered to me. The aroma of whisky hit me straight away. “And just for the record, I don’t scurry anywhere. I’m not a small woodland creature.”

Georgia wrinkled her nose. “Semantics!”

I took a moment to stare around the bar. Even some of the employees I’d passed on the way in had now gone home. Apart from a guy I recognized as the bar manager and one other, we were the only ones left in there. Swiveling my gaze back to Georgia, I found her staring at me expectantly. I sighed, knowing exactly what she wanted to talk about. “He came to the restaurant tonight.”

She leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand. “Did you speak to him?”

Before answering, I took a swig of the drink, almost choking. “Jesus! How much whisky did you put in this?”

“A double…and then, maybe, a little bit more. I thought you might need it. Anyway, stop changing the subject.”

I took another drink—a much smaller sip that time. “No. I didn’t talk to him. I can’t talk to him. I can’t even look at him without feeling completely humiliated. It just…this whole thing…makes me feel like the world’s biggest idiot.” I checked Georgia’s face for any signs of recrimination, but her expression remained purposefully blank. “I can’t get my head around it. Just thinking about the fact that my own boyfriend was paying me for sex makes me feel…I don’t even know how it makes me feel, beyond deeply embarrassed. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to forget it ever happened. He should want the same, surely? After all, I lied to him too. He should have dumped me the moment I didn’t come clean about the escorting, right?”

Georgia sat back, contemplating my words for a moment. “Probably. But, he didn’t. So, that should tell you something. And you shouldn’t feel like an idiot. There’s no way you could have known.”

I drained the drink, the strength of the alcohol no longer important. I needed the numbing sensation it was starting to provide, more. “I’ve been thinking about it.” That was an understatement. In the last twenty-four hours, I hadn’t really thought about anything else. “There were clues…things I should have picked up on.”

“Like what?”

“The cologne on the pillow…and the one Justin wore. It was the same.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I even asked Justin about it, to find out what it was. I can understand now why he acted so strangely when I asked him. He must have found it hilarious. I bet he’s been laughing at me all this time.”

“You don’t know that.” Georgia gestured at my now empty glass. “Want another?”

After less than a millisecond’s thought, I nodded. Getting absolutely blind drunk suddenly seemed like a very good idea indeed. I waited patiently while Georgia went to the bar, returning in a couple of minutes with another Whisky and Coke, and the same pink concoction she’d been drinking earlier. “What the hell is that anyway?”

“Pink Flamingo. It’s a drinks promotion.” She held the glass toward me. “Wanna try it?”

The disgusted look on my face was answer enough. We clinked glasses, before Georgia sank back into the seat. “I never finished what I was going to say before."

“Go on.”

“I’ve thought of some positives, with your”—she waved her hands about, nearly taking out a picture hung on the wall. Yep. Definitely drunk—“situation.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But, you have to promise to listen properly…without interrupting.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Dean, do you promise?”

“No.”

She sank even lower in the seat. “Not going to say anything then. You can just…wallow…and beat yourself up…and wallow.”