Scott got up off the sofa to pour himself another whiskey and coke and realized he’d tapped out the bottle. He checked his watch. The store around the corner closed at six. He had just a few minutes to get there. He could use another drink after the day he and Tori had.
He was trying his best not to worry that his blind girlfriend was out there alone, wandering the streets, but it was impossible. His stomach teetered somewhere between nauseous terror and gut-wrenching anger. Tori had that effect on him.
Every fiber of his being wanted to run after her. His mind swam. Where did she go? Is she safe? She’d taken location services off her phone, and it enraged him knowing she did that purposely so he wouldn’t look for her. That woman was too smart and too stupid at the same time. She was a constant contradiction and stubborn. So. Fucking. Stubborn.
He considered calling Keith to look for her, but she was already pissed off at him for being too overprotective. Keith would start blowing up her phone. That would just set her off even more. She needed her space, and he’d give it to her, even though it was eating him up inside.
“Evening, sir.” The doorman greeted Scott with a nod.
“Evening. If Miss Johnson returns, please let her know I just stepped out for a moment.” Scott nodded at the attendant at the front desk as he walked out the door.
He walked to the liquor store and purchased his alcohol right before they closed, and in a moment of weakness, he grabbed a pack of smokes and headed back to the building. He asked security if she’d come back in yet, and the guard shook his head no. Scott thanked him and went upstairs.
Scott poured himself another drink and went on the balcony and had a smoke. The cigarette calmed his nerves but left a film on his tongue and he was pissed at himself for succumbing to a moment of weakness. He debated tossing the pack, but instead, he buried them in the potted plant in the corner. Not like she’d find them there. She never waters her damn plants anyway.
He brushed his teeth and scrubbed his hands, trying to get the scent of the smoke off him. He flopped onto the sofa and tried to watch some TV to get his mind off things. Eventually, the whiskey started to work its magic and he dozed off.
When he awoke, he checked the time on the phone. It was getting late, and enough was enough. He tried calling Tori to check on her, and it went straight to voicemail. Either she was ignoring his calls, or her phone was dead. His brow went into a deep crease. He didn’t like the second option. He leaned his head back and ran his fingers through his hair that he wanted to yank out in frustration.
His eye caught the silver painting above her sofa, and he stood up, turned around, and admired it. He remembered her painting that thing. It was back when she was living with Keith and they had just returned from Amsterdam. She hadn’t worked in months, but something in Amsterdam had inspired her, and the minute they got home, she started on it.
The entire canvas was covered in metallic silver paint, and she’d raised the texture on all the flowers and used some sort of black glaze for the shading around it. The day he came in to tell her he’d found his own place, she was covered up to her elbows in paint in Keith’s garage. He hoped Tori would have been disappointed that he was moving out, but Tori had a great poker face. She laughed and said, “Good thing, because I’m damn tired of sleeping with such a bed hog.” He’d almost asked her to move in with him—almost—but he feared she’d say no and his head was still far too much of a mess.
The painting looked like it was made of bright, harsh metal, but there was a fragile beauty woven into the darkness of the delicate black flowers. Everything about it was a contradiction.
It was just like her.
He wanted her. Every piece of her, not just now, but forever. Every curve and every rough edge. He wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her in that dive bar, and he’d been fooling himself all these years to try and convince himself otherwise.
Her sticking those damn panties in his pocket had been the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was done playing hide-and-seek with her. He was done letting her bolt when shit got too real. She still didn’t understand just how much he loved her. He needed to show her exactly how much that first night meant.
He walked into the bedroom, pulled a pair of underwear out of his backpack, and shoved it in the pocket of her pants. He laughed at how not-sexy his were in comparison to hers. He looked up a phone number, programmed it in, and set the ringtone appropriately with a wide grin across his face. He also set it to ignore her calls. He slung his bag over his shoulder and placed his phone on her kitchen counter and walked out the door.
One final game. One big, romantic gesture.
She walked into the living room with his underwear clasped in her grasp.
It was her own damn fault for starting this silly game to begin with. She smiled fondly, thinking about the first time she ever stuck her panties in his pocket. No sooner did that thought cross her mind then she was jolted by the sound of a lonely guitar. “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaac began playing in the apartment. She followed the sound to the kitchen. She swiped her hands across the counter. His phone?
Cheeky bastard.
A slow, sly smile passed across her lips. She answered, knowing full well who would be on the other line. “Asshole’s phone, blind chick speaking.” She stifled her giggle.
“Miss me yet?” Scott’s deep, smooth voice bellowed through the line.
“Scott Harris, what kind of game are you up to?”
“A very, very wicked one.” He laughed. God, that laugh.
“You know I suck at hide-and-seek. I lose every damn time.”
“Hey, you went hiding first.” That low, gravely chuckle of his warmed her from head to toe. “Come find me, baby. You have all the clues you need.” The line went dead.
Tori waited a few moments then pressed the home button on his phone. “Siri turn voice over on.”
Voice over on, it blared back.
She called the number back. She had a good hunch where he was, but she wasn’t about to go back across town this late without double-checking. The line picked up and she could hear the music and the noise of the crowd blaring through the line. The bartender rattled off the name of the bar. Their bar. Gotcha.
“Yes, I have a favor to ask you. I believe a friend of mine at that bar, and I’d like to buy him a drink.” Tori described Scott to the man in detail. She knew Scott was wearing shorts that day, so that helped narrow down the search.
The bartender was quiet for a moment as she assumed he scanned the bar. “You two are nuts. You know that, right?” He only sounded mildly annoyed. “Yeah, he’s here and just asked to use my phone. What kind of person doesn’t carry a cell phone?”
Tori laughed. “The kind that’s trying to be sneaky. So, he’s there?”
The bartender sighed reluctantly. “Yeah, I see him, unless there’s another tattooed hulk of a man with a prosthetic sipping whiskey at my bar.” He let out a chuckle.
That’s my Scott.
“Take my card number and pay his bill, then give him the best whiskey you’ve got.” Tori rattled off her card number from memory. It was time for her to settle that tab of his she’d racked up years ago. “Keep him there for me—don’t you dare let him leave—and there’s a big tip in it for you when I arrive.”
“And how will I know it’s you he’s leaving with and not some other chick?” The bartender flirted. “He’s had a few ladies hitting on him already tonight.”
She couldn’t fault them. The man was gorgeous after all.
“Well, unless there’s another busty, blind blonde coming in carrying a white cane, it’s me.” Tori gave him a throaty chuckle.
“Well, all right then. Now you have me intrigued.” He laughed.
“Another drink?” The bartender asked as he leaned his elbow on the wooden counter. “This one is paid for.”
Scott raised his brow curiously and held up his hands. “Dude, thanks, but listen, I’m not into…”
“Don’t flatter yourself man. I’m not hitting on you.” The bartender cleared the spot next to Scott from the third girl that had hit on him that night and struck out. “You seem to have had a day.” The bartender shrugged. “One more. Come on, and you can tell me all about the girl that has you sitting here, waiving off all the other women in this bar.”
Scott smirked. “Ok.”
“Another whiskey, coming up.” He slung the bar towel over his shoulder and turned to get the drink.
Scott looked around the dingy dive bar, wondering how it had stayed open so long, especially since the owner was so flippant in handing out free drinks. Only a few lonely patrons remained in the bar this close to closing time. The place really was a shit hole with the old wooden booths, sticky floors, and yellow, flickering lighting. In the past ten years, they hadn’t made one attempt to renovate the place. He’d used cleaner restrooms in India.
Scott glanced at the pool table in the corner with the fading green felt, where he first laid eyes on Tori. The moment she locked eyes with him, he was smitten. Ten years. A lot had happened in those ten years. A lot Tori didn’t know about. Someday, he’d tell her the whole story. He’d tell Tori how much he’d always loved her and how he nearly told her a hundred times how he felt, but every time, something always stopped him, mainly his own ego. He’d tell her he regretted not saying those words sooner. He’d tell her he was sorry it took almost losing her in a car accident and her losing her vision for him to realize that he couldn’t live without her any longer. He’d spend the rest of his life making up for all those missed moments in time.
“Here you go.” The bartender placed the drink down in front of him.
Scott lifted his lips and took a sip. Damn, it was good whiskey. Too good. It was the expensive stuff. Scott twirled the ice in the glass and took another swig, then set it down. He wasn’t one for pouring his heart out to strangers, but for some reason, his lips kept moving.
“I met her here,” Scott began. “Right over there.” He squinted and pointed to the pool table in the corner. “She kicked my ass in a game of pool. First and last person ever to beat me.” Scott chuckled.
A curious look passed over the bartender’s face. He seemed legitimately surprised at that. “Did she now?”
“She was good, damn good,” Scott bragged on his girl. Scott’s eyes flicked down, staring into the glass as he shook his head. “She doesn’t play anymore.” Scott lifted the drink to his lips and took a gulp. The bartender raised his brow curiously. Scott chuckled and said the first crass thing that popped in his drunken head. “She traded in her pool stick for a different one.”
The bartender lowered his head and scratched his nose, hiding a smirk, almost like he understood Scott’s off-color joke.
“She’s blind,” Scott explained, taking another sip.
The bartender gave a slight smile and looked over Scott’s shoulder. “Yeah, I kinda picked up on that.” The bartender pointed behind him.
Scott snapped his head around and looked. His breath caught in his throat. There stood Tori in the doorway, her cane gripped close to her chest.
She found me. Atta girl.
She’d ditched the sweatpants that she’d worn out of the house earlier that evening, and my God, if it didn’t look like almost the exact same outfit she wore the first time they met. Faded, ripped jeans and a tank top with her tits spilling out the top. With all the life they’d lived and the challenges they’d faced, one thing remained constant—she was the most stunning creature he’d ever laid eyes on. He sat there, unable to move, frozen in time, staring into his past and his future.
Tori cleared her throat loudly. “What does a blind girl have to do to get a little service here?”
The few remaining patrons that were in the bar snapped their heads her direction, and curious mumbles escaped their lips. The bartender just laughed and nudged Scott. “Well, go get your girl, man.”
Scott snapped out of his trance. He stood quickly, his wooden stool scraping across the floor as he made a B line to her. He threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her slightly. He placed her back down, grabbed her face, and touched her sweet lips to his, kissing her with all the fire that he had in him.
The bartender let out a whistle and started a slow clap, which caused the others remaining in the bar to applaud and holler.
Tori grinned widely. “Now that’s what I call service.” She ran her fingers tenderly over the stubble of his cheek. She pulled back, let out a breath, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Tag. You’re it. Now let me buy you another drink.”
“Another?” Scott looped his arm with hers and took her over to the bar. “That last whiskey was from you?” He grinned as he grabbed her a stool and placed her hand on it.
“You didn’t think they’d really be handing out the best stuff they had in this shit hole for free, do you?” She collapsed her cane and sat. “Did it always smell like piss in here?” She plugged her nose and gagged. “How did we ever enjoy this place?”
Scott laughed. Yeah, the bar smelled dank and stale, and there was a definite undertone of piss lingering. “Because we were young and could get fucked up cheap.”
The bartender took their order. Tori dug into her pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and slapped it on the counter. “Your tip, as promised.”
“Thank you.” The bartender pocketed the bills and went to fetch their drinks, but not before giving Scott a thumbs up and wiggling his fingers as if to sign fire. Scott gave him an impish grin. Yeah, she’s hot. I know.
She leaned into Scott. “I have something of yours.” Her throaty purr tickled his ear.
“Do you now?” A slow, sly smile passed across his face as she reached into her purse. His cheeks grew warm, thinking she was going to pull out his underwear in the middle of the bar. Instead, she handed him his cell phone. His laugh bellowed across the bar as he stuffed the it into his pocket. “Here I thought you were giving me my underwear.”
She laughed. “Those I left at home. I’ll offer them for my reward when we get there.”
Scott put his arm around her, pulled her in close, and whispered in her ear. “Thank God. My underwear are nowhere near sexy as yours.”
“So now what?” She tilted her head toward him.
“We live happily ever after.”
“Ooh, so cliché.” Her brow knitted. “I think we can do better than that.”
“How about a game of pool?”
“What are the stakes? Because my odds of winning are very poor.” Her mouth quirked up in the corner.
“Winner gets the girl.” He cupped her cheek. “Forever.”
Her grin grew even wider. “I like those odds.”
He pressed his lips to hers.
She pulled back and slapped him playfully on the thigh. “Rack ‘em up, babe.”
THE END