“Planning to dish what’s got you acting so moody?”

I continue to stare a hole in the bottom of my glass of beer and run the pad of my index finger around the rim. A million responses to Betty’s question flit through my mind, but I simply mutter, “Nothing. Just a long week.”

“Ah, say no more.”

The oldest and best bartender here at Warner’s, Betty, flashes me a sympathetic smile. Then she returns to sliding clean pint glasses into place so they’ll be ready for the rush likely to come later this evening.

My eyes are drawn to the dark screen of my cell phone that sits a few inches away from my beer. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

Usually, Grayson and I will shoot a stupid, joking, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, loser,” text to one another when we have a date. Or, more aptly, when he has one since he sure as hell goes on more dates than I do.

But I decided to be a total dick and didn’t send him a text for his date tonight.

His date with Callie.

Dammit, I feel the urge to take a Brillo pad to my brain for simply thinking that, let alone what I imagine is going on right now. He’s probably using any excuse to touch her. Bet she’s wearing a sundress and sandals, showing off her world-class legs. The same legs I had wrapped around my waist, legs whose silky thighs I trailed a smattering of wet kisses along before placing my mouth where it really made her go wild.

“Fuck,” I murmur beneath my breath and try to adjust myself as discreetly as possible. I’ve got to get over her. It won’t work between us.

“Is this seat taken?”

Startled, I turn to find an attractive blonde watching me expectantly. There’s a tinge of hesitance in her expression, and one of her hands rests on the back of the barstool to my left. She’s wearing a simple black sheath dress that looks classy yet hints at the curves beneath it.

I muster up a smile, but I know it’s pathetic, at best. “It’s all yours.” Turning back to my barely touched beer, I silently plead with the man upstairs for this woman not to be a talker. Because I really can’t deal with that tonight.

Betty takes the woman’s order, and I’m pleasantly surprised when she orders one of the local beers they keep on tap.

The blonde leans in, her voice a bit husky, and I detect the faint scent of a floral perfume. “You had me pegged for a martini, dry, right?”

When I meet her eyes, amusement shines in their depths, but she’s right. I had pegged her as a martini drinker. Definitely something frou-frou.

With a sheepish half grin, I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Sorry.”

She waves off my apology. “Not necessary.” Then she reaches for her beer and takes a healthy sip. Her eyes drift closed, and I nearly laugh at the unfettered appreciation on her face. I turn my attention back to my drink. Callie sure as hell can’t stomach the taste of b—

Shit. I really need to stop thinking about her. I’ve already screwed things up by drawing a line in the sand. There’s no going back now.

“Do you always scowl at women in bars?”

Startled, I shift my eyes to hers and find her studying me curiously. I shake my head and turn back to my beer. I swirl the liquid in my glass, round and round, as I stare down at it, unseeing. “Sorry. Just a—”

“Rough day?”

A huff of a humorless laugh escapes my lips. “You could say that.”

She leans in again, and her voice drops a bit lower. “Does it have anything to do with a certain brunette who can’t take her eyes off you?”

My entire body stiffens because...no fucking way would Grayson pull this kind of stunt. To shove the fact Callie’s his date in my face—the same woman I’d spent the past few most incredible weeks of my life with—would be a shitty-ass move.

Slowly, since I’m dreading setting my eyes on the two of them, I turn.

My gaze immediately clashes with deep-brown eyes. The same eyes which had flamed with heated lust while she was beneath me just a week ago …

Fuck.

I jerkily turn back, staring down at the worn surface of the bar as my jaw clenches and unclenches. I clench my hand into a tight fist as it rests on the bar top while my other grips the beer glass tightly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I grunt in response because words are impossible right now. I’m so pissed. At both of them. At Grayson for asking Callie out and at Callie for accepting.

For them coming here. For my friend bringing her to Warner’s when he knew I’d be here.

A delicate hand shoots out in front of my face and waves to gain my attention. Warily, I shift, and my gaze travels up the slim arm to find the woman regarding me expectantly. I stare, confused, and she rolls her eyes and releases a huff of exasperation.

“For God’s sake.” She reaches for my clenched fist settled on the bar top, peels back my fingers, and fits her hand in mine, giving it a brief shake. “Miranda. Nice to meet you…?” Her brows rise, prompting me to answer.

“Reid.”

“Wow.” Miranda chuckles softly. “You’ve really got it bad.” Deepening her voice, she mimics under her breath, “Me Reid. You not woman I want.” Clearing her throat, she lifts slightly to shift her barstool closer to mine until the beat-up leather seats are flush against one another. I glance down to where their edges meet before leveling a look at her.

“Seriously, Reid.” She pats my shoulder. “Just go with it.” Then she links her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder.

My lips part to ask exactly what I’m supposed to “just go with,” but before I can, she releases a peal of laughter. Then she comments loudly, “Oh, Reid! You are hilarious!”

And when I say loudly, I mean I’m pretty sure the entire bar and anyone near the parking lot heard her.

Miranda nuzzles my arm and hisses. “Stop staring at me like I’m a freak.”

“But you kind of...are.” I laugh a little in response. And for that alone—for Miranda actually making me laugh—she gets a gold star in my book.

She shifts to peer up at me, and no doubt about it, she’s extremely attractive. But she doesn’t do anything for me. Nada.

“It’s the oldest trick in the book, Reid.” I notice a soft shade of pink paints her lips. Hell, I wish I could muster up an ounce of attraction toward her because then I could get past this thing with Callie. “Jealousy spurs action.”

“Right.” Disbelief drips from my tone.

“Trust me on this one.” She smiles up at me, and without moving her lips, she hisses, “Smile down at me. Adoringly.”

I give in and smile only to receive a, “Not a snarling smile. Tone it down. Wait! No. You look like you’re a crazy clown wanting to kill me.”

At Miranda’s mention of a clown, my mind instantly veers back to when Callie dressed up as one for Tom’s daughter’s party.

“Ooh, perfect! That smile right there!” Miranda’s voice sounds like it’s in a tunnel because I’m caught up in memories. Of times when Callie and I had a truce. When we weren’t practically jumping down each other’s throats.

A heavy hand suddenly clasps my right shoulder, jarring me, forcing me back from the lull of good memories. I whip my head around and come face-to-face with Grayson.

His arm is behind Callie, and my spine goes rigid knowing his palm is likely at the base of her spine. Hell, just the idea of him touching her sets me on edge.

I nod. “Gray.”

My friend has the audacity to grin at me. “Reid.” His gaze lifts and focuses on the woman who’s attached to my left side. “Who’s your new friend?”

I don’t bother answering. Good thing my “new friend” has this covered.

“I’m Miranda,” she practically purrs. “Nice to meet you, Gray.” She reaches a hand out in front of me, her expression one of pure innocence. “And you are?” she asks Callie.

“Callie.” Woodenly, she reaches to briefly shake Miranda’s hand.

Miranda tips her head to the side, her brows pinched with a crease between them. “I’m sorry. Calliope, is it?”

Any other time, I’d laugh at Callie’s stony expression. “Callie.” She repeats this through clenched teeth, irritation coloring her features.

But Miranda’s not finished. Feigning issues with hearing Callie, she frowns. “Cammie?”

Callie’s eyes narrow dangerously. “It’s Callie. Not Calliope or Cammie. It’s Callie.” She enunciates it clear as day.

Miranda smiles, and nods. “Oh, yes. So nice to meet you, Catherine.”

“It’s Callie,” both Callie and I answer, though her tone is far more agitated than mine.

“Right.” Miranda laughs before turning to me. “Sorry. I get so distracted”—she walks her fingers slowly down my sternum—“whenever I’m around this handsome, virile guy.” She returns her attention to Callie and snuggles close to me. With her palm flat over the center of my chest, she releases a dreamy sigh. “He’s just so perfect, isn’t he? Like my own fairy tale come true.” Another breathy sigh.

Wow. Awkwardly, I pat the top of Miranda’s hair. She’s really laying it on thick. No way in hell is Callie falling for this shit. I want to glance over, but a part of me is hesitant because what if she just shrugs it off? What if she decides Miranda can have me?

Not that Miranda even wants me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now I’m being delusional. And stupid. I don’t like beating around the bush. Where’s the old Reid who wasn’t afraid to say what he’s thinking?

But when I glance at Callie, the expression on her face, the way her features are tightly drawn, surprises the hell out of me. It’s almost as if she—

Callie’s mouth suddenly curves into an overly bright smile. “Well.” She leans into Grayson and slides an arm around his waist. “So glad you got your fairy tale. Super happy for you both.” Then she peers up at him. “Why don’t we get a seat at the other end of the bar and give these two lovebirds some private time?”

My friend grins down at her. “Sounds good to me.” Then he winks and tosses out a, “Later, Reid,” before offering up a, “Nice to meet you,” to Miranda.

I do my best not to stare after them.

Obviously, I do a shit job since I suddenly have palms framing my face to redirect my attention to Miranda. My eyes lock with her laughing ones.

“Oh, Reid.” She gently pats the side of my face. “You’ve got it bad.”

The only thing I can do at this point is agree. A halfhearted grin plays at my lips, and I shake my head with a sigh.

“Damn straight, Marcy.”