Page 2 of Seven Days
The bartender sets my drink down in front of me along with a bowl of pretzels. “Want to talk about it?”
I put the glass to my lips and drink. I wince at the strength of the cheap vodka and lick my lips. “I see how this place got its name.”
The corner of his lips turn up in a smirk as he watches me take another drink. I give him an up and down glance, he looks like a West Coast Pete Davidson; drug addiction likely included. He’s the complete opposite of Trevor, who wears suits and would rather die than let his skin be marked with ink.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, finally answering his question. “I actually want to talk about anything else.”
My phone vibrates loudly against the bar and I glance down to see Thomas Brennan’s name flash across the screen.
My brows furrow as I accept the call, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Your dad just called to ask if I could come get you. I’m leaving my house in Palos Verdes now. Drop me a pin so I can find you.” Even through the phone, his voice holds power as he barks orders at me.
“Okay.” I take a trembling breath at the rush of relief I feel, knowing I’ll be hidden where Trevor won’t know where to look. “Thank you, Thomas.”
“No problem, Bri,” his voice softens just a bit. “Are you okay waiting for a couple of hours until I get to you?”
“Yeah, I’m just tucked away at a little dive bar.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The line goes dead before I can say goodbye and I immediately drop a pin before setting my phone face down, ringer off. Last I checked, I had four missed calls and seven texts from Trevor. I’m not interested in anything he has to say, though.
The vodka continues to burn its way down my throat as I numb myself to all the feelings I’m trying to compartmentalize. If I let myself wallow, the pain could drown me. I feel less and less each time the bottom of my glass hits the scratched surface of the bar.
The minutes pass by as Danny, the bartender, gives me a second and then third drink. It turns out, he moved here from Ohio with his bandmates to try to get a record deal. They share a one bedroom apartment and work multiple jobs toward expenses on releasing their first album independently.
I’m just finishing off my fourth drink when the door opens and Thomas strides in. Even in casual golf clothes, he looks powerful. His wide shoulders fill the door frame as he scans the room, quickly finding me. A weird fluttering feeling fills my stomach as his green eyes meet mine.
He confidently crosses the room, his warm hand resting on my back as he stops beside me.“Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I say as I grab my phone and purse. “Just need to pay my tab.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Danny says with a wave of his hand.
“You haven’t had anyone other than me and those two tables all day,” I say as I gesture around. “Let me pay so I can at least tip you.”
“No.” He shakes his head with a grin. “But you can come to the show I told you about in a couple weeks.” He grabs a napkin and writes down his number. “Take this and give me a call sometime.”
“Thanks.” I drop the napkin in my purse and start digging for cash, but before I can even get my wallet out, Thomas has slapped a hundred dollar bill down.
“Let’s get going.” His hand splays across my back as I stumble clumsily off the stool. “How many of those did you have?”
“Not nearly enough,” I mumble, noting the irritation coloring his question, as he guides me out the door and into his Porsche.
He slides a pair of silver aviators on and effortlessly maneuvers the car out of the alley, while I gather my hair into a quick and sloppy fishtail braid because he’s got the top down. I must be drunker than I thought because Thomas seems much sexier than he ever has before. The light blue of his shirt contrasts with his perpetually tan skin, and his arms are corded with muscle, as are his thighs. I bet if I ran my hand over them they’d be firm and warm.
Why am I fantasizing about his thighs?
“Brianna?” His voice pulls me out of my dirty thoughts. “Did you hear me?”
“No, sorry.” I slide my sunglasses on and look over at him. “What did you say?”
“I said don’t vomit in my car. My housekeeper has the week off. I’m fine letting you stay with me, but I’m not interested in playing nursemaid to your feelings.”
How this blunt asshole is my dad’s best friend, I’ll never understand. They are the definition of opposites attract. My dad is a warm, loving, cinnamon roll of a man. Thomas Brennan is as cold as he is beautiful.
“Noted.” I can’t stop the sarcastic tone in my voice from seeping out. Luckily he pulls out onto the highway effectively cutting our conversation.