Chapter 39

Ally

I’d chosen an obscure bar, a place Kelly would never think to look, where I was unlikely to run into anyone I knew by name. Hell, most of the people in here were in their forties. I was pretty much on my own. I patted the handbag holding my can of pepper spray and beckoned the bartender.

He was bald with a ring in his left ear and a bandanna tied at his throat. His cotton t-shirt was stained, and I could barely make out the Bart Simpson cartoon printed on it.

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” He stroked his mustache with two fingers and grinned, exposing yellow teeth.

I readjusted my skimpy red dress and fanned myself in the muggy atmosphere. “A Screwdriver. And make it strong.”

“Oh, I’ll cook it up real special, darling.” He brought out a highball glass and some orange juice, orange soda, and premium vodka. “Tell me when,” he said and sloshed the clear liquid into the glass.

I held up two fingers and placed them against the glass. My hair flopped in front of my eye, shielding it from view.

He stopped when he got to the top of my index, then began pouring the soda. “You look like you’ve got a story.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked, looking up and down the bar. A woman in a dress less modest than mine fawned over a decrepit greying dude at the end. She shot me a stare that said, ‘Back off bitch, this one’s mine.’

“Heartbreak?” The bartender — I’d already decided to call him Bob in my mind — slid the cocktail across the bar top, trailing two strands of water.

“You sure you’re not a psychic?” I quipped and accepted a tiny neon pink straw from a dispenser and plopped it into the Screwdriver. I stirred the drink, clinking the ice against the sides of the glass, shutting my eyes for a second to enjoy the fizz and jingle.

I wanted to spend an hour in the moment, without thoughts, just appreciating everything from the dirty tables to the weird characters wandering in and out of the place.

This was my moment because I’d chosen it. No Gabe, no Matthew, no complications. Just Allegra, alone at the bar, fending for herself, making her own choices.

I was on a date with myself. Because I was worth it. And I’d prove it.

I didn’t need a rock on my finger or a baby in my belly to be a real woman.

“Ally,” a man murmured in my ear, brushing hair back from my neck.

Shivers traveled down my spine. I gripped my handbag, fingers creeping towards the zipper and the pepper spray within.

“Leave me alone,” I said. I opened my eyes and turned my head to Matthew. His lips were inches from mine, puffy and moist. The thought of touching them with mine made me want to throw up my vodka all over the antique wooden bar.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He didn’t back off. He just stood there, his gaze piercing through to my soul. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of haunt.”

“Shows how little you know me,” I replied, taking a sip of the Screwdriver and relishing the tickle of juice on my tongue and the vodka burning down the back of my throat and into my belly. The sensation warming me inside. Since I’d left the Moreno mansion, I’d been a cold, impenetrable ice woman.

“Mind if I join you?” Matthew asked.

“Of course I mind. I just told you to leave me alone, didn’t I?”

“Bitter. Party of one.” Matthew glanced around me, pretending to examine the empty chair on either side for the first time. He settled into one of them and rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Where’s that hotshot Moreno? Trouble in paradise already with your new lover?”

“He’s not my lover,” I snapped, then calmed myself with another swig of orangey vodka delight. “Matthew, I didn’t come here for a torture session, so would you kindly fuck off?”

“Feisty, eh?” My ex chuckled and stuck an index finger in the air to summon the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said and pointed. “If it can help me look like her, I’m all for it.”

“It would take more than ten Screwdrivers to make you look like her.” Bob scowled at him, and I liked him more for it. “And you wouldn’t be the one drinking them. The women looking at you would need to shit-faced.”

The conversation died, spreading what would’ve been an awkward silence if not for the heavy rock beat pumping from the speakers near the tiny dance floor. A group of guys entered, and I turned on my stool, drink in one hand, to watch them.

They walked to the nearest pool table and picked up pool cues. The shortest guy joked and pointed at one of his buddies, then brought out the triangle and started arranging the balls.

So free. They were happy and relaxed; they didn’t have a damn care in the world apart from the next paycheck.

“So,” Matthew said, swiveling with his Screwdriver, “your silence wouldn’t have anything to do with Moreno’s engagement, would it?”

“How did you know about that?” I buried myself in my drink again. I kept falling into the trap of talking to my ex and I despised it. He was such a loser. I shouldn’t have given him the time of day, but here I was again, talking to him for Christ’s sake. Why didn’t I have the bravado to just get up and walk away? Because I wanted information about Gabe. Deep down, I craved the intel on him like a crack-whore in an alley. “Actually, I don’t care. I don’t want to know how you know, or why. I just want you to leave me alone.”

And I’m a big, fat, fucking liar. Because I do want to know. Everything.

The short pool table guy paused and nudged a friend, a tall man in ripped jeans with tattoos crawling down his muscle-bound arms. They examined Matthew closely, murmuring to each other.

He didn’t notice because his psycho gaze was glued to the side of my face. I wanted to pry him off, I could practically feel him staring, but I couldn’t achieve it short of whipping my straw from my Screwdriver and poking him in the eye.

Not a bad idea really.

I slurped more vodka and licked my lips. I wasn’t used to drinking; this shit had gone straight to my head. I settled into the mellow and bobbed with the beat of the music, ignoring Matthew.

“You need a man, Allegra, not a mouse. That Gabe fucker was rich and hot or whatever, but he was a slime ball. He can’t treat you right because he doesn’t know how.”

“You’re one to talk,” I replied, still staring dead ahead. “Impregnated any women yet? That was your main goal while we were dating, wasn’t it?”

“Low blow,” he remarked.

The short guy broke the ball formation with a vicious strike. The balls clacked on the sides of the table and sped across the green felt. The big assed friend had his phone out, texting, but paused to laugh when the white ball sank into the corner pocket.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” Matthew said.

I snorted, braver than I would’ve been if I’d forgotten the pepper spray at home. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Honestly, Matt, I don’t know why you even try anymore. What is it about me that’s got you so obsessed?” I swiveled on the chair and leaned forward to stare into his face, devoid of fear. “Seriously, what is it? Is it because of Gabe?”

“No, I just really care about—”

“Ha!” The music lulled at the exact moment I let out that piercing shrill of sound. “Don’t make me laugh. You threatened to arrest my mother, asshole. When will you get the point?” I poked him once, twice, three times in the forehead. “I don’t want you, you idiot. I will never want you. I will never negotiate with you. I will never fuck you. Get that into your thick skull.”

The pool players paused to watch our argument.

Matthew’s cheeks went bright red and his lips peeled back over his teeth. He grabbed my wrist and wrenched it down. “Don’t you fucking talk to me like that,” he growled, “I’ll make you regret your flippant words, whore.”

“No, you won’t.” I jerked back and freed myself, but my handbag slapped to the floor. The contents spilled onto the sticky boards, lipstick, emergency tampons, mascara, wallet and, of course, the pepper spray.

I groaned as it rolled away and came to rest under the pool table.