Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) (17 page)

“. . .No. I just wanted orange juice.”

She sneered, and Christian’s shoulders relaxed. He smiled at her and she narrowed her eyes at him, so he smiled down at his drink instead.

She told the bartender, “Anything strong. As long as it’s quick and the second one follows right behind it.”

She grabbed the shot glass, draining it and gasping. Her eyelid twitched and she said, “Yep.”

It looked like it hurt, and Christian had never understood why people drank. Oh, he’d tried a glass or two but it tasted horrible. He preferred orange juice.

She picked up the second shot glass and said, “Am I going to need this one right away?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Why are you here. Alone. Looking for me.”

He took a deep breath and she said, “God. Hang on. I am going to need this one.”

He watched her go through the ritual a second time, and it looked worse than the first one because she added a little head shake to go with the eye twitch.

She sat, gripping the bar, not looking at him, and he wondered if it needed a few minutes to take effect.

But then her body lost its anger and she leaned her elbow against the bar and propped her head in her hand and looked at him. No sneer, just a kind of tiredness.

Christian cleared his throat. “I’m. . . I’m. . .”

He glanced around the room, seeing if anyone was paying attention to them. To him.

“Spit it out, Christian. Before I do something that will make Shane mad at me. There’s no Brady here to protect you right now.”

She didn’t really look all that dangerous right now. She looked like she was thinking about taking a nap on the bar.

And he decided this was as good as he was going to get.

He spit out, “I’m thinking of asking Shane to marry me.”

Her eyes widened into saucers and she whispered, “Excuse me?”

He didn’t repeat it. She’d heard him.

She lifted her head up, and then Brady was right there. Standing between their stools and saying, “This looks like it should be a private conversation.”

There was a long pause, and Christian was glad he couldn’t see what was going on between them. A staring contest? A furious, silent argument?

Brady said, “You can bring a drink up.”

“I am going to need the whole damn bottle.”

He nodded, gesturing to the bartender to send one up, and Cassandra slid off her stool and walked away stiffly.

Brady put a hand on Christian’s shoulder and shook his head slightly. They waited until she was out of sight and then Christian whispered, “Are you scared of her?”

One side of Brady’s mouth quirked up. “I’ve been to prison. So, no.”

Christian never, ever, wanted to go to prison. He said, “Thanks for getting between us.”

“I sometimes think I should let you two go at it. She’d like you more if you tipped her on her ass.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Brady squeezed Christian’s shoulder, then dropped his hand and followed after Cassandra. Christian watched him, wondering why he hadn’t cared about Brady touching him. He hadn’t even noticed.

He’d seen the man
naked
. And that memory still made Christian’s face flame.

But his touch hadn’t made Christian uncomfortable. It was the touch of a friend. Someone he knew, someone who didn’t want anything from him that he wasn’t sure he could give.

He had a friend.

He’d thought it was Cassandra he was coming to talk to. But really it was Cassandra and Brady.

Cassandra’s tug-of-war between love and hate, and Brady’s impartiality. They made a good team.

Christian wondered what would have happened if there had been no Brady. And then decided he’d rather go to prison than find out.

Christian was acting nervous again.

Shane didn’t know what had happened but ever since brunch he’d been skittish. Reserved.

He and Kenny had shown off their purchases, and Shane had given Christian a new shirt and all he’d done was stare down at it like it held the key to all life’s mysteries.

Shane had known he would hate it. It was too bright, too bold, too noticeable.

Just like Shane.

Shane had never doubted himself before. He was who he was, and he liked it. He’d been blessed to be surrounded by people who felt the same.

And Shane knew Christian liked who he was, despite how bright and bold and noticeable he was.

But Shane couldn’t take the awkwardness tonight, couldn’t stop thinking about what was wrong, so he drove out to Brentwood to talk to Cass.

He waited at the bar for her. He couldn’t even get up the energy to flirt with the bartender.

Cass sat down next to him and said, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Gray.”

“Why?”

Shane shrugged. “I didn’t feel like being noticeable.”

Brady came to stand right behind Cass. “Two nights in a row? It’s as busy as LAX around here.”

“Go away, Brady.”

Brady smiled, then stopped. “If he gets plastered, he’s not driving home.”

“I know. . . Wait, are you talking about calling him a cab or taking him upstairs?”

A chuckle escaped his lips and he squeezed her neck. “Those days are over.”

Cassandra turned to watch him walk away. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at his butt and she said loud enough for Brady to hear across the room, “Good.”

Brady smiled again and Shane said, “Hello? Stop undressing your boy toy with your eyes and pay attention to me.”

She turned back around and said to the bartender, “Something sweet and fun. I don’t want anything harsh today. And the same for him. It’s just so much more fun to get wasted when someone will join you.”

Shane nodded. “I know what you mean.”

They waited for their drinks and when they came, they were bright pink and served in tall glasses.

Shane tried not to feel better, but the drinks were just so bright and happy.

Cass took a long sip, her eyes closing as the sweetness hit her tongue. She smiled at him, then frowned at his shirt. “You going to tell me about the gray?”

He sighed. “I bought Christian a shirt he hated.”

“And he returned the favor?”

“No, I just. . .wanted to wear gray. I don’t want to be too bright and loud.”

He could see the dawning realization in her eyes. “I’m trying to decide if I hate Christian for making you want to be something different. Or I love you for wanting to make someone you love happy.” She took a sip, thinking about it, then said, “Eh, I can do both.”

She watched him take a small sip, so unhappy. “He means that much to you?”

“Yes. But this is just a shirt, Cass.”

It wasn’t just a shirt, and she knew it. So she just sipped. And he just sipped.

When their drinks were gone, she said, “He came here.”

“Who? Christian?”

She nodded. “He needed to talk.”

“And he came to you instead of me!” His voice got louder and louder with each word and the pain of it seared him.

“It was about you.”

The futility of his ill-fated relationship swamped Shane and he slumped in his seat. “He’s going to break up with me.”

Cassandra tapped the bar and said, “Christian should realize that I would never keep anything from you.”

Shane closed his eyes and laid his head down on the bar.

She said, “Maybe he knows that, and that’s why he came to me. Is he that sneaky?”

“No.”

She stroked his hair. Petting him, and he kept his eyes closed. Basked in being loved.

She said, “Do you want to know what he needed to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

It took her a moment. “Yes. I don’t want to tell you.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Depends on your perspective.”

“Just tell me. Is he breaking up with me?”

“No. He’s not breaking up with you.”

“But it’s still bad?”

“It still depends on your perspective.”

He opened his eyes, keeping his head down. “Cass. Am
I
going to think it’s bad?”

The bartender put two more happy drinks in front of them and she stopped stroking his hair to take a long, long pull from her straw.

“You won’t think it’s bad. But I don’t know if he’s going to go through with it, and if he does. . .you’ll like it as a surprise.”

“I can’t even imagine what it could be.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

He started smiling a little. “I won’t hate it even a little?”

She shook her head again and he lifted his. He took a sip of his happy drink. “I don’t need to wear this gray shirt, after all?”

“No, but you might want to show Christian first. He’d like it.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“The best. But we’re not friends, Shane. We’re family.”

He nodded. Then, “You didn’t hurt Christian when he came to talk, right?”

“Brady was there.”

“Ah, good.”

“So, are we going to get wasted or what?”

He nodded. “Is Brady going to take me upstairs and do unspeakable things to me when I’ve lost all feeling in my feet?”

“No. But he might get you a room.”

“Well, then. Waste on.”

Getting wasted was fun. Waking up the next morning was not.

But when Shane rolled over on the bed, groaning, Christian was beside him. On top of the covers and fully dressed, which was the only reason Shane knew he wasn’t a hallucination.

Christian said, “Hi.”

“Hi. When did you get here?”

“Last night, about the time you and Cassandra started doing karaoke.”

“I don’t remember that at all. I didn’t even know they had a karaoke machine.”

“They don’t.”

Shane laughed, then grabbed for his head. The bed moved as Christian got out, and Shane’s stomach rolled with it.

“I just don’t understand why you do this to yourself.”

When Shane was pretty sure his stomach wasn’t going to empty itself, he said, “I’m a glutton for punishment. You should be glad or we would never have lasted as long as we have.”

Christian pushed a glass of cool water into Shane’s hand and laid a wet washcloth on his forehead.

“I am glad. But I’m still going to try and get you to like orange juice.”

“The older I get, the more likely it becomes.” Right at this moment, he was swearing to himself he’d never drink again.

Christian popped pills into Shane’s hand. “Brady sent these up. Said you’d need them this morning.”

He’d need a few good more than just two, but it was a start. Might take the edge off enough.

“The man is a god among men. Did he call you and tell you I was here?”

“Cassandra did.”

Shane braved the light to crack open one eye. “She did? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. She called me a few choice words and said you thought I was going to break up with you.”

“She told me you weren’t.”

Christian shook his head and Shane sighed, resting his head against the pillow and closing his eyes again. When Christian sat down beside him and slipped his hand into Shane’s, he thought he’d die a happy man right there. Because he was still pretty sure he’d liked to. Two pills were not enough.

“Did she. . .tell you anything else? About what we talked about?”

“No. She said. . . I don’t remember exactly what she said but that I’d like it. I’ll wait. I like surprises.”

Christian didn’t say anything, just sat next to him holding his hand. Not ready obviously for whatever surprise he was contemplating.

It was okay. Shane really did like surprises. He didn’t mind waiting, not when he knew he was going to like it.

Christian said, “Cassandra likes me more when she’s nearly comatose. She smiled at me.”

Shane shared his own little smile at the proof that one day the two people he loved would love each other. Then stopped, because moving his face hurt his head. Shane thought he’d feel better if he tried waking up again, could feel the black of sleep hovering.

“Shane, please don’t wear gray again. You don’t need to, and it is not your color.”

He struggled against sleep enough to murmur, “How do you know it’s not my color?”

“I know.”

And then he fell asleep, Christian’s hand tucked nicely into his own. The image of Cassandra smiling drunkenly at his pretty little bird lulling him off to dreamland.

All was right with the world.

Or would be. The next time he woke up.