My mouth drops open and I let go of my menu. “Jesus. That’s terrible. Is she who you have the kids with?”

“Yeah, but I always cared about them more than she did. When we divorced, she wanted nothing to do with them.”

Shock sets into my features as I take in what he’s just said. “Seriously? What kind of a person washes their hands of their own kids?”

“Someone who didn’t want them in the first place.” He reaches his hand behind him, his lips curling up into a smile. “Want to see a picture?”

I lean forward anxiously, resting on my elbows. “Absolutely.”

He opens his wallet, picks out a small photo, and flips it around for me to see.

What in the motherfucking fuck?

My eyes flick from the picture to his face, back to the picture. There’s no way in hell I’m drinking water. I must be drinking straight vodka right now for my eyes to betray me like this. In fact, no, there’s no way. I must be delusional.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?”

I lean closer, blinking several times before I re-focus.

Nope. I’m not imagining things.

I look up at him, taking several deep, calming breaths through my nose before I speak. “Is this some sort of a joke?”

He looks insulted. “Is what some sort of joke?”

I snatch the picture out of his hands, turning it so he can see it. “This! You refer to your fucking gerbils as kids? Who does that?”

He grabs it back, pointing at it aggressively with his finger. “Gerbils? These are Abyssinian guinea pigs. Don’t insult them.”

“Wow. You wanna know what’s a deal breaker for me? Guys named Steve.” I stand, grabbing my clutch with one hand and my glass of water with the other. I walk up beside this complete waste of my time, hold my glass over his lap, and turn my hand over.

“What the fuck?” he yells, standing as the water soaks into his khakis. “Why did you just do that?”

All commotion seems to come to a halt around us, the noise level dying down, allowing the sound of the baseball game to become more prominent. I tuck my clutch under my arm, cover my mouth with both hands, and blow him a kiss before holding up both middle fingers as I back away from the table.

“Deuces, loser.”

I turn, pushing my way through the packed bar and out to the exit. I can’t get to my car quick enough and after turning it on, I watch out my front window as a very irritated-looking gerbil lover walks to his vehicle, ripping the tie off from around his neck. I can’t believe I actually thought it was sweet he dressed up for this. That’s all Luke’s fault. The only time he…

I stop mid-thought, dropping my head onto the steering wheel and hissing a curse.

My emotions go haywire in an instant. I feel manic, overwhelmed and incapable of surviving much more of this. I clamp my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and scream as loud as I can. God, why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why? What the fuck is it? I just want to go one day without his name poisoning my thoughts. Or one hour. I need one hour.

“Please,” I beg, reaching up and wiping the tear that has dropped to my cheek.

The worst part is, I don’t think he ever thought about me like this. Constant. Unprovoked. Not even when we were together. But for me? This is how it’s always been. Time didn’t soften his voice in my head. The pain I feel at the very thought of him doesn’t prevent memories from resurfacing. The hate I have for him doesn’t touch the part of me that loved him.

And I’m afraid it never will.

The sound of my cell phone ringing startles me out of my sleep. I’m grateful for the disturbance, even though I’m immediately annoyed. I was in the middle of a dream I shouldn’t have been having anyway. The same recurring Tessa dream that has me waking up with my hand fisting my cock. But luckily this time, I was interrupted before I slid my tongue between her tits.

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I blink to focus on the red numbers on my alarm clock. 1:13 a.m.

Fucking perfect.

After turning on the lamp, I grab my phone, seeing the familiar number flashing on my screen. Even though I don’t have the number programmed, I know exactly who’s calling me. It’s the only number that calls me in the middle of the night, besides when Tessa would call me last year, whispering to me through the phone about how badly she wanted to ride my…

Stop thinking about her.

“Yeah?” I answer, clearing that unwanted image from my head and swinging my legs out of bed. So much for not waking up with a hard-on. I grab the shorts I discarded hours ago and step into them, palming my cock through my boxers to calm it the fuck down.

“Hey, Luke, it’s Ray. I’m sorry to call you this late, man, but I got your dad here.”

“You serve him?” I ask, pulling my shorts up and slipping my T-shirt over my head. I step into my tennis shoes and grab my keys, making my way out of my bedroom.

“No, man, of course not. My bartenders know not to give him anything. But you know how he is. Shit’s getting out of hand really fast. He’s already threatened to punch a couple of people, and if he does that, or starts wrecking my bar, I’m going to have to actually call the cops.”

I should fucking arrest him myself, but going to jail again wouldn’t do shit. That’s as useless as rehab. My dad isn’t the kind of guy who learns from his mistakes, or who wants help. Maybe he used to be, but he’s definitely not anymore. And the two stints he’s had in the county lock-up haven’t taught him shit.