Come Back to Me Page 2

  She glanced to her right, where she’d already caught the attention of two guys sipping their beers. One was just okay- looking, nondescript features, super short, black hair and an indistinguishable tattoo on the inside of his forearm. His friend’s frame was more muscular, his features all-American boy next door type. He leered over the edge of his mug and winked.

  She averted her gaze. A little game of hard to get never hurt anyone. In fact, in her experience, it made her even more desirable. Guys wanted the hunt, the chase. To feel like they’d won a girl over. Most guys anyway. She could think of one who’d been immune to her appeal for more than a decade.

  A lost cause.

  The mirror behind the bar offered her a discreet means of checking out the other side of the bar as well. One man, his suit jacket draped over the back of his stool, slouched over a mixed drink. They said misery loved company, but Megan didn’t love misery. She had enough of her own.

  The bartender stopped, pulled a damp rag from beneath the bar and cleaned the surface in front of her. He placed a white cocktail napkin on the bar and tapped his fingers as if he were drumming. “What can I get you, darlin’?”

  She tilted her head and gave him a seductive grin. “I don’t know. What do you have to offer?”

  He smiled and played along, but she knew from experience he was a master at the game. Like a chameleon, his colors changed to suit his environment. Whatever would bring him the largest tip.

  “Hmm. How about a strawberry daiquiri?” His eyes twinkled. “Virgin.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I’m allergic to strawberries. And I’m not looking for a virgin.”

  Her mind flitted back to a conversation she’d had with her friend Jamie at Jamie’s end-of-summer pool party more than a year ago. Jamie had come up behind her as Megan peered through the sliding glass door at Chris. Keeping his distance from the crowd bunched near the pool, he perched atop the picnic table on the deck with her borrowed phone to his ear.

  “He is not still a virgin.” Megan shook her head, her gaze fixed on Chris. “There is no way. None. Uh-uh”

  Jamie shrugged. “Alan says he and Rebecca are waiting.”

  Her heart twisted at the mention of Rebecca’s name. The thought of that goody two-shoes made her sick. But, it did bring her a small measure of satisfaction that if Megan hadn’t gotten Chris into bed, no one else had either.

  “Yeah. Didn’t think so,” the bartender said with a grin. “How about a chocolate martini?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He scooted to the other side of the bar to mix her drink, and she glanced at the two guys again. The good-looking one’s eyes still focused on her. She smiled and fiddled with the corners of her napkin. Wait for it. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .

  She’d reached two when the barstool beside her squeaked as he positioned himself next to her.

  “You’re way too pretty a girl to be sittin’ here all by yourself.” His voice reeked of overconfidence and his breath of the cheap beer that fueled it.

  “I don’t believe I’m by myself anymore.” She angled herself on the stool so that her knees pointed in his direction. Up close, his appeal lost some of its luster. His complexion was pockmarked, and he had a gap between his front teeth that reminded her of the sunken-faced jack-o’-lantern rotting on her neighbor’s stoop. Not that it mattered. If she were looking for a relationship, this pancake joint by day, dive bar by night would be the last place she’d go.

  His gaze dipped to her stocking-covered thighs then slowly made its way to her eyes, snagging for an extra second on her chest.

  Three martinis later, Ryan—that was his name, right?—Ryan pushed his empty glass mug toward the bartender. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you go anywhere.”

  She slid her hand up the leg of his jeans. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”

  The bar had filled up over the last hour and a half. Only a few seats remained open. Megan drained the last of the martini from her glass and ran her turquoise-polished nail along the rim. Should she invite Ryan to her place for . . . whatever? It would probably be safer, but then he’d know where she lived.

  The scent of a musky cologne drifted toward her, and someone jostled her elbow.

  “Sorry,” a man’s voice mumbled.

  She swiveled toward him. “No need to be—” Her brows rose as she recognized that blond hair and strong jaw, currently clenched with lips twisted in a frown. “Well, look what the wind blew in. What are you doing here? Isn’t this a little off your well-beaten, bar-hoppin’ path?”

  “Megan?” Alan’s blue eyes grew wide.

  She leaned around him then glanced over her shoulder. “Is Chris—”

  “No. I’m alone.” He repositioned himself on the stool and motioned for the bartender. “And you shouldn’t be asking about him. He’s married. In fact, he’s going to be a dad soon.”

  Her throat went dry. “He is?”

  “Didn’t Jamie tell you?”

  She shook her head. Jamie hadn’t told her much of anything lately. The circle of friends they’d shared had fallen apart a few months ago, and their biweekly girls’ night had gone by the wayside.

  “Yeah. Rebecca’s four or five months pregnant.” He stared at bottles of vodka lining the back of the bar, a faraway look in his eye.

  She let out a scoffing laugh, sounding more bitter than she intended. “Well, I guess the little virgin Mary finally—”

  He grabbed her arm and turned her toward the bar so that she no longer faced him. “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is with her. It’s not like you had something going with Chris. She’s my sister-in-law, and if you’re going to talk smack about her, I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

  “Touchy, touchy.” She fingered her sleeve where he’d touched it. “I’ll lay off Saint Rebecca.”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t move from the stool.

  “So, is Jamie sick or something?”

  “Something.”

  She leaned into his field of vision and wrinkled her brow. “Where is Jamie?”

  “Like I know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  On the rare occasions they’d texted or called lately, Jamie had been complaining more and more frequently about Alan. Said he was pressuring her to have a baby. Apparently, whatever was brewing between them had come to a head.

  He cast Megan a sidelong glance, turned his gaze to the gleaming bar top, and twisted his lips. “It means your friend kicked me out of my own house this morning for no good reason.”

  “Well, what no good reason could she—” A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Ryan’s beer breath curled around her ear. “Hey, beautiful. What do you say we get out of here?”

  She caught Alan’s glare in her peripheral vision. What was his problem? She was single and unattached. She could leave the bar with anyone she chose. “Ryan, this is Alan. He’s sort of a friend of the family.”

  Ryan sized up Alan and nodded in his direction. “Hey.” He leaned into Megan. “You ready?”

  “Absolutely.” The word slurred as she teetered off the bar stool.

  Alan’s protective arm curled around her back, steadying her. She twisted and brushed it away. Who did he think he was anyway?

  “You’re drunk, Megan. Give the guy your number, if you want, and let me take you home.”

  “Hey, are we going?” Ryan sounded impatient.

  She’d been about to leave with him, but his presumption perturbed her. Maybe she ought to stay. “Listen, how about I—”

  “Sorry, man. I’m going to give her a lift.” Alan stepped between her and Ryan. “She’s in no shape to go anywhere with you.”

  Ryan huffed, emitting a whistle through the gap in his teeth, tossed a few bills on the bar, and stomped away.

  Jerk.

  The bartender finally appeared, and Alan ordered a beer.

  “I’ll just have one, and then I’ll drop you off, okay?” He shrugged out of
his jacket and draped it behind his seat.

  “Uh-uh. I’ll Uber.” Yes, she’d lost one overprotective big brother, but she didn’t need Alan trying to take his place.

  “What do you mean, Uber? I’ll give you a ride.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. If it gets back to Jamie—”

  “It’s not going to get back to Jamie, but so what if it does? Unless she’s gone completely batty, she’ll be grateful I was looking out for you.”

  Not the Jamie she knew. Maybe Alan didn’t realize it, but Jamie had a possessive, jealous streak. She recalled the string of catty remarks Jamie had whispered about the restaurant hostess who’d flirted with Alan the last time they’d been out to dinner together. “No, she’ll think something’s up between us.”

  “That’s ridiculous. First of all, I’m married.” He ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “You’re her friend. You’ve always had a thing for my brother.”

  She shook her head. Clueless man.

  He blew out a breath and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Okay. You win. I’m calling Tim. He’ll come get you.”

  She grabbed his arm, nearly knocking the phone out of his hand with her lack of coordination. “No.”

  “What do you mean ‘no’? He’s your brother. He’ll be here.”

  “No, he won’t.” She turned back to the bar as the bartender slid Alan’s beer toward him. “Give me another.” She held up her martini glass.

  “How many have you had? If you’re not going to let me drive you, Tim can—”

  “No. Tim’s not around.”

  “How do you know?” He swiped at the phone, pressed some buttons, and held it up to his ear.

  She swatted it away.

  “Hey.” Irritation rose in his voice. “Watch it!”

  She sighed and leaned back into the stool. “I told you, Tim’s not around.” Why couldn’t he let it go? Dread pitted in her stomach at the thought of explaining.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone for a month. One of those . . .” She gestured with her arm as she tried to come up with the name. “A place you dry out. . . Rehab.”

  His eyes widened. “What? Tim’s in rehab? I-I know he liked his beer. And whiskey. But, I didn’t think—”

  “Yeah, well. It’s stupid. Total waste of time and money. Met some girl and says he wants to—”—she made loose air quotes—“clean up his act.” If what’s-her-name couldn’t accept Tim as he is, then she should find someone else. Maybe she wasn’t good enough for him.

  He shook his head. “Huh. I should’ve known, I guess. I mean, I’m supposed to be his friend.”

  “Yeah. Well, you and Jamie have both been kind of preoccupied these last few months.”

  “But still. I feel bad.” He gulped his beer and then settled the pint glass in front of him.

  The bartender set another martini in front of her, and she sipped. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “That settles it then. I’ll drive you home.” He glanced at his watch and then pinned her with a stern look. “I’ll finish this beer, and then we’ll go.”

  “Whatever.” If he’d rather play Uber driver than repair his marriage, that was on him.

  3

  Trouble

  Alan’s car rolled to a stop in front of Megan’s apartment. She lived on the first floor of a three-story building, one of about fifty identical structures in the complex. A green sign pointed the direction to the walking path and the outdoor pool. Looked like a safe enough place.

  He turned the engine off and surveyed his passenger. Eyes closed, head lolled to the side, shoulders slouched.

  “Megan.”

  No response.

  “Megan. We’re here. C’mon.” He shook her arm.

  She groaned but didn’t move.

  “That a girl. We’re here.”

  He exited the car, came around to her side and opened the door. His hand pressed to her arm kept her from flopping out and onto the concrete.

  “Megan. Come on. I’m not carrying you.” Scanning her long, slim legs exposed below her super-short skirt, her trim waist, and narrow shoulders beneath a tight blouse, he assessed her weight. He could lift her under normal circumstances, but she was going to be dead weight tonight. And though he’d dismissed her worries about Jamie thinking something was up between them, carrying an unconscious woman—not your wife—into her apartment just wasn’t right. Maybe he should’ve called Chris, if for nothing else than to have a witness, but given Megan’s history of pining after Chris . . .

  Megan rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Where are we?”

  “Your place. Let’s go.” He reached into the car, tugged her upright, then steadied her on her feet.

  ***

  The sidewalk swayed beneath her feet, and she pressed her thumb and forefinger to her closed eyes. She blinked them open. One step . . . two . . . tilting . . . tilting.

  Alan’s hand clamped tight around her upper arm.

  She brushed at his hand, missing entirely. “Let go. You’re gonna bruise me.”

  “You’re gonna be more than bruised if I let you fall to the ground.”

  His tone was gruff, short. Probably ticked that he’d insisted on taking her home in the first place.

  When they reached the building door, she groped clumsily for the keys lost in the bottom of her bag. She rooted through a wad of napkins, her change purse, two tubes of lipstick, and a compact. They were in there somewhere.

  Alan growled and grabbed hold of her purse. “Here, let me.”

  She released it, not caring whether he riffled through her stuff or not. The sooner her body hit the bed, the better.

  In seconds, he’d opened both the main door and the door to her apartment. Light flooded the entryway, forcing her to squint and shift her gaze to the floor. Her heels sunk into the beige carpet, and she kicked them off in the direction of the closet. The floor wobbled again.

  “Uh, this is where the chauffeur service ends.” He sounded sheepish, totally unlike his overconfident self. Then again, he probably hadn’t been alone in the company of a woman other than Jamie for a very long time.

  She spun toward him a little too quickly and flung out an arm toward the wall for support.

  Alan caught her elbow, sighing. “Okay. Point me to your bedroom. I got you this far. I can at least deliver you safely to your bed. After that you’re on your own.”

  Clearly not what he wanted to do. She could have a little fun with him. “Am I? What if I need help, y’know, getting undressed?”

  His jaw clenched. “You can sleep in your clothes.” He steered her in the direction she pointed and plunked her on the bed.

  The mattress dipped, and she patted the spot next to her. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here than go . . .” Go where? He’d said Jamie kicked him out, but now where was he staying? She made an uncontrolled circling motion with her hand. “. . . wherever you’re crashing now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “None of your business.” Standing legs apart and arms akimbo, he glanced around the room as if he were looking for something. He exited the room, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  She toppled back onto the bed and shut her eyes, breathing deeply and willing the room to stop spinning. She should’ve let what’s-his-name bring her home. He would’ve been more fun. She’d always thought that Alan was fun. Not tonight. A total stick-in-the-mud. She slid the phone from her skirt pocket and jabbed at the screen until she’d pulled up the camera app. Her eyes slid closed again, but she clutched the phone. Alan had been nothing tonight but a pain in her—

  The sound of a glass landing on her nightstand forced her eyelids open.

  Alan lifted her stocking feet, forcing her back onto the bed. A little light seeped in from the entryway, casting his face in shadows. In the dark, the curve of his jaw, the set of his eyes, even the color of his hair, resembled Chris.

  Chris. The mere
thought of him made her pulse race, her breath quicken. How hadn’t she seen the resemblance before? Maybe because their personalities were as different as Chardonnay and champagne. Chris was all quiet strength, masculinity, and sex appeal. Alan was loud bravado, machismo, and, okay, sex appeal too, but not in a way that had ever appealed to Megan. Until now.

  She swung an unsteady arm around his neck, pulling him down with her. In this light, with the vodka in her bloodstream—and whatever else was in three or four chocolate martinis—she could almost imagine he was Chris. “Stay.” Her plea came out a husky whisper.

  He ducked out from under her arm, and she fell back onto the bed.

  “What’s with you, Megan? I don’t care how much you had to drink. I’m married. To one of your best friends.” His expression twisted, and he spat the last word at her, the fricative casting a spray on her forearm.

  She whipped the phone upward and clicked, capturing only his forehead and her white drywall ceiling as he stepped back. Darn. Useless shot.

  He muttered something she couldn’t make out before he disappeared around the corner and the door slammed behind him.

  A giggle escaped her lips followed by a hiccup so violent it shook her whole diaphragm, and she feared she might vomit. Megan breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and filled her imagination with thoughts of Chris.

  ***

  Alan stared through the windshield at Chris and Rebecca’s house. It suited them. Nothing pretentious. Sturdy brick, neat and tidy. Several pumpkins and gourds sat on the concrete steps. A wreath decorated with mini ears of Indian corn hung from the door. Nice neighborhood too. A mixture of elderly couples and young families with little kids.

  He sniffed the lapel of his black wool jacket and caught a whiff of Megan’s sweet perfume. Maybe it was good he wasn’t going home to Jamie tonight after all. He pushed open the car door and trudged toward the house. He hoped they hadn’t waited up for him. From the looks of the place, they hadn’t. No light shone from the windows. Shades were drawn in the bedrooms visible from the front. He’d gone out mostly to give them some time to themselves. They hadn’t exactly planned on a houseguest for the night.