Connor

 

There I was, yet again, drinking myself silly at a sports bar because of some stupid chick. First, that raven-haired witch—Christ, that felt like a million years ago—and now Farrah. Princess. Farrah.

 

“I thought she wanted to stay,” I muttered into my glass. But of course she was leaving. Why else would she have wanted that ten thousand dollars? I couldn’t blame her for wanting to get the fuck out and to start a new life. It was the smart, practical thing to do.

 

So why the hell was I so upset?

 

“Because she was a good fucking lay,” I murmured drunkenly. I didn’t care that I was speaking aloud. Anybody sitting near me had shifted away ages ago, probably afraid of my dangerous expression.

 

But if I was really honest with myself, I knew that there was more to it than that. She was a good lay, of course—a great lay—but I had realized that I had actually enjoyed spending time with her, not just fucking. Despite all the many, many casual relationships I’d had throughout my life, that had never really happened to me before.

 

She was smart. She was tough. She was compassionate. She was also a hell of a good business woman, as all the evidence indicated.

 

“I’m going to miss her,” I realized at last. “Hell. I am going to miss her.”

 

I took a sip of my drink and felt myself overwhelmed by grief, longing, and anger. I was angry at her for leaving, and angry at myself for caring. I guessed that’s what a real woman did. She opened a man up to all sorts of emotion.

 

A jingle of a bell at the door told me another customer had come in, but I didn’t bother turning around to look. I wasn’t interested in cruising for chicks, and I wanted no company from the idiotic, low-level bikers that frequented this bar. So when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I balled my fists and turned, quite ready to punch someone’s lights out.

 

It was Joey.

 

“Yo, man,” I complained. “You should be careful. I was about to break your jaw.”

 

Joey smiled. “Sure, if you could have gotten the punch to land, in the state you’re in.”

 

I scowled at him, but took the joke. It was okay coming from Joey.

 

“What do you want?” I growled, taking another drink.

 

He sat down beside me. “Well, first, I’d like to know why the hell you’re spending money to drink here, when there’s a party going on at the clubhouse. Something bothering you?”

 

“No,” I grunted. Obviously, Joey saw right through it. However, instead of pressing me, he, too, ordered a drink.

 

“You know,” he said quietly, “Farrah was asking about you after you left. She looked pretty disappointed when she couldn’t find you.”

 

“Really?” I asked. I tried to sound like I didn’t care, but either the liquor or my own excitement made it impossible.

 

“Really, dude,” Joey continued. “In fact, she said if I saw you, I should tell you to meet her at her apartment. Here.”

 

He dug in his jacket a second, then pulled out a crumpled bit of paper and handed it to me. A quick glance showed an address. It was quite close by, actually.

 

I scowled at it, stuffed it into my pocket, and then continued drinking. Joey watched me, one eyebrow raised.

 

“So … you going to go?” he asked after a minute.

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I’m too drunk to drive.”

 

Joey frowned. “I know that neighborhood. It’d be a ten minute walk from here, tops.”

 

“So?”

 

Joey sighed, then took a big sip of his drink. “I don’t know,” he said. “Farrah seemed pretty cool. I thought you liked her.”

 

“No.” It was a drunken burst of a word, sounding like a toddler. Joey rolled his eyes.

 

“Well, I liked her,” he said. “She was certainly better than that Honi bitch. I saw her sneaking out of the compound, actually. No goodbye to Montengo or anything. Just grinning to herself and counting a wad of cash that looked ten inches thick. Could’ve been ten fucking grand right there. I bet she got it from Montengo.”

 

I froze, letting his words filter through my liquor-fogged brain.

 

“Ten grand, you say?” I demanded.

 

Joey leaned back in surprise. “Yeah, something like that. I mean, I couldn’t count it, but it was definitely a fuck ton of money. She certainly looked pleased.”

 

I whistled, letting all my surprise and relief out in one long breath.

 

“That clever girl,” I murmured. “That beautiful, caring, clever girl.”

 

And with that, I leapt to my feet, tore a fifty from my pocket and slammed it onto the bar—not caring that I was giving the barkeep about a two hundred percent tip—and dashed for the door.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” Joey called after me.

 

“To Farrah’s!” I declared. I seized the gleaming knob, bursting out into the fresh air.

 

“All right!” Were Joey’s final words. “But make sure you walk, you asshole!”

 

I didn’t walk. I ran, grinning, all the way there.