Page 87 of Sizzle

“She’d love Joelle, too.”

“Then once again, for the cheap seats—what’s the problem?”

“I fucked it up, that’s the problem.” I push away from the bar to walk circles around the pool table. I’d kill for a damn cigarette right now. Quitting is bullshit, even if it’s been more than five years.

“So fix it. Get her back,” says Steve, watching me pace as he pours us another round. “Or him back. Which is it?”

“Both. I lost them both.”

“Okay, well, that was dumb.”

I stop pacing to glare at him.

“Well, it was. How can you be so dumb you piss off two lovers at once? Seriously, man.”

“Do I need to remind you about all those years before Cheryl finally agreed to marry you?”

Steve stops at that and studies his glass. “Point taken.” He sips again. “So what are you going to do?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because I can’t just show up begging them to take me back.

Can I?

No, they deserve more than that. If it weren’t for Joelle, I’d wouldn’t have even stood a chance at saving the Duckbill. Maybe we lost anyway but none of that blame lands on her. I owe her more than just a crummy apology.

And Alex. He’s never let me down, not once. Not since the minute I met him.

It occurred to me sometime during those deathless hours of driving that when I told him I couldn’t do without Joelle that maybe he misunderstood what I meant. It would definitely explain the look on his face when I left.

God, that look had gutted me. And still, like a coward, I’d walked away. He deserves more, too—more than just me showing up empty-handed. But what can I do?

“You’re thinking awfully loud over there,” says Steve. “Any brilliant ideas yet?”

“Not yet.” I pull out a barstool and take the seat next to him. “Any suggestions?”

“Might help if you tell me what happened,” says Steve.

I flash back to Alex on his knees before me, sucking me off, and Steve must see something in my face because he’s waving both hands and shaking his head.

“Never mind, belay that, abort, abort,” he says. “I do not need to know.”

“I’m going to miss this place,” I say a little while later. The whiskey is disappearing more slowly now and the darkness outside seems endless, like gazing into a black hole.

“Me too,” says my brother. “Where will you open the next one? Or do you have a place picked out yet?”

His question snaps me out of the jaws of the looming abyss outside.

“What are you talking about?”

“The next Duckbill, or whatever you end up calling it. Duckbill Part Two. Duckbill Junior. The Second. Whatever.” Steve pushes his glass away. “If you use one of my awesome suggestions, I better get a fucking royalty check.”

“What makes you think I’m opening another restaurant?”

“What else would you do, El?” He’s looking at me like I’ve escaped a psych ward. “Go back to consulting?” He scoffs.

“I hadn’t really thought about it much.”

He snorts. “Considering the other stuff you’ve got going on, I’m not surprised. But we’ve got time now. You’ve got time now.”