never replace it.”
“Cheers, though I’m busily replacing paper with screens,” I said, taking a sip of the bourbon. It was excellent, full-bodied and smooth all the way down. I took a larger drink, enchanted. It was the best fucking bourbon I’d ever had.
“Beauty.”
I looked up from my glass of bourbon, into the surprisingly warm eyes of the horrifically scarred man sitting in front of me.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt overly warm from the alcohol, but strangely at ease talking with someone who was behind a majority of my headaches and panics and drama at work. Myra had been right. Roland wasn’t that bad at all. I smiled gently to imagine them together, late at night, talking over big glasses of bourbon.
“I have to tell you something.” The man who was usually so sure of everything under the sun—from the time of day to the ebbs and flows of the economy to my appearance—sounded surprisingly unsure of himself.
“You can tell me whatever you need to tell me,” I said, feeling my tongue loosen. “I feel the best I have all day. This bourbon is hitting the spot. Let’s go. Tell me that I need to have my pants hemmed. I’m well aware of the fact, and that I’m wearing club shoes to compensate. Go on. I’m ready.”
“You look just fine,” he said, sounding exasperated, and I realized it was the first compliment he’d ever paid me. It was an odd feeling…though not a very good compliment. “It’s…not about how you look.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, grinning. “Then out with it. What do you have to tell me?”
Roland looked so nervous that I had to resist laughing at him. It was so out of character that it freaked me out a little.
“Just tell me,” I implored. “Anything to put you out of your misery. Am I fired? Just give me another swig of that amazing bourbon and I’ll go quietly.” I laughed and downed the rest of my glass with a flourish, feeling great.
“Beauty, this is serious,” Roland said. “And I have to tell you now because things…are getting too serious. Feelings. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Christ.”
Things? Feelings? Getting serious? My stomach dropped out from beneath me a little. Had he noticed anything between me and Dan? Not that there was anything between us. Just flirting. Oh, and that little lap dance at the bar. What had Roland noticed? Surely something, if that was what we were talking about. I was stupid, careless. I needed to guard myself better; I needed to stare at myself in the mirror and practice my poker face. Even Myra had said I couldn’t control my face when I was feeling something strong.
“I guess I’d better just say it then.” Roland took a deep breath and exhaled. “There isn’t a good way to say this. And I’m sorry that you aren’t drunker.”
“Easily remedied,” I counseled, refilling my own glass daringly.
Roland bit that scarred lip and held my eyes with his, those strangely murky but warm blue eyes.
“Beauty…”—he looked away—“…I’m the reason your parents died. I killed them.”
~ End of Part One ~
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“Cheers, though I’m busily replacing paper with screens,” I said, taking a sip of the bourbon. It was excellent, full-bodied and smooth all the way down. I took a larger drink, enchanted. It was the best fucking bourbon I’d ever had.
“Beauty.”
I looked up from my glass of bourbon, into the surprisingly warm eyes of the horrifically scarred man sitting in front of me.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt overly warm from the alcohol, but strangely at ease talking with someone who was behind a majority of my headaches and panics and drama at work. Myra had been right. Roland wasn’t that bad at all. I smiled gently to imagine them together, late at night, talking over big glasses of bourbon.
“I have to tell you something.” The man who was usually so sure of everything under the sun—from the time of day to the ebbs and flows of the economy to my appearance—sounded surprisingly unsure of himself.
“You can tell me whatever you need to tell me,” I said, feeling my tongue loosen. “I feel the best I have all day. This bourbon is hitting the spot. Let’s go. Tell me that I need to have my pants hemmed. I’m well aware of the fact, and that I’m wearing club shoes to compensate. Go on. I’m ready.”
“You look just fine,” he said, sounding exasperated, and I realized it was the first compliment he’d ever paid me. It was an odd feeling…though not a very good compliment. “It’s…not about how you look.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, grinning. “Then out with it. What do you have to tell me?”
Roland looked so nervous that I had to resist laughing at him. It was so out of character that it freaked me out a little.
“Just tell me,” I implored. “Anything to put you out of your misery. Am I fired? Just give me another swig of that amazing bourbon and I’ll go quietly.” I laughed and downed the rest of my glass with a flourish, feeling great.
“Beauty, this is serious,” Roland said. “And I have to tell you now because things…are getting too serious. Feelings. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Christ.”
Things? Feelings? Getting serious? My stomach dropped out from beneath me a little. Had he noticed anything between me and Dan? Not that there was anything between us. Just flirting. Oh, and that little lap dance at the bar. What had Roland noticed? Surely something, if that was what we were talking about. I was stupid, careless. I needed to guard myself better; I needed to stare at myself in the mirror and practice my poker face. Even Myra had said I couldn’t control my face when I was feeling something strong.
“I guess I’d better just say it then.” Roland took a deep breath and exhaled. “There isn’t a good way to say this. And I’m sorry that you aren’t drunker.”
“Easily remedied,” I counseled, refilling my own glass daringly.
Roland bit that scarred lip and held my eyes with his, those strangely murky but warm blue eyes.
“Beauty…”—he looked away—“…I’m the reason your parents died. I killed them.”
~ End of Part One ~
SUBSCRIBE TO MY NEWSLETTER
and get an email from me when a new book is released. Thank you for reading!
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