A Twisted Love Story(43)

His original plan had been to go home and watch the game. Any game.

His reality is Liver, where Marcus is buying the first round of drinks. The whole sales team is already there when he arrives.

Wes heads to the far end of the bar, where Dana is holding court. She is one of the few women on the sales team, and she’s telling a story about someone she just started seeing. Some of the guys are gathered around her, thinking they’ll learn something about women. Wes orders a scotch and joins in.

And he really, really tries not to think about the women in his own life. But the story Dana is telling reminds him, vaguely, of Ivy.

He glances over at Abigail, catches her looking back at him. Wes averts his eyes quickly, looks back at Dana, but something makes him glance toward the front door. Almost like he has a sixth sense about her.

Ivy. With Heath.

They maneuver through the maze of tables, walking toward the bar. Heath says something, and Ivy turns to him and laughs. It looks like they are heading right for Wes.

Ivy is about a foot away when she passes by. Doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t acknowledge he exists.

Like he’s a ghost.



* * *



—

Okay, fair. What Ivy is doing is perfectly, undeniably fair. Wes knows this.

That doesn’t make it any less awkward. Or painful.

He turns around and acts like nothing happened. Marcus is saying something, Wes has no idea what. He’s too busy imagining Ivy ordering a drink and laughing with Heath. And if he knows his colleagues, they’re checking Ivy out.

Someone touches his sleeve.

Abigail.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey, how are you?”

Without breaking eye contact with him, she says, “Isn’t that Ivy?”

For a second, he thinks about playing dumb, like he doesn’t know Ivy is in the bar. But this is Abigail. She knows too much. Has seen too much.

“Yes,” he says.

Abigail looks like she’s waiting for more, but he has nothing else to say. He turns to Marcus and asks him a question, something about the Warriors. The answer is irrelevant. Wes doesn’t listen to Marcus cite player stats and make predictions. The energy coming from the other side of the bar is too strong. He can hear Ivy’s voice, or at least he thinks he can.

Abigail takes a sip of her drink. Whiskey or scotch, like everyone else. Ivy hates it. Wes knows without looking that she is drinking a gin martini.

He gets distracted by a group of women who have just walked into the bar. Five of them. Dressed up in Instagram-worthy outfits, with high heels, a lot of skin showing, and long hair everywhere. They get the attention of everyone at Liver, which appears to be the goal.

A brunette catches his eye. She is wearing a black skirt and a flowy green blouse. Bare shoulders.

He watches as they sit down at a table and order drinks from the waitress. Their voices ring out across the bar, packed with giggles and not-so-sneaky looks toward Wes and his colleagues.

Marcus nudges him, nodding toward the women. “Let’s go.”

“Nah.”

“Come on. I need a wingman.”

Marcus always needs a wingman, and he usually asks Wes. The nice guy. That’s the role of a wingman—to keep everyone happy and distracted while Marcus focuses on the girl he’s interested in.

Tonight, that task is a little more difficult. Ivy on one side of the bar, Abigail on the other, new girls in the middle. Like the Bermuda Triangle of women. Wes analyzes the possible outcomes the way he analyzes sales numbers at Siphon.

Abigail is the type he usually avoids: too good-looking, too high-maintenance, the kind with her pick of men. He and Abigail may have hooked up, but she must have better options. A lot of them. Still, given her position, and given that she was in his bed only a few days ago, it wouldn’t be the smartest decision to hit on another woman when she’s around.

Ivy will be pissed—that’s a given—and she would punish him for it. Eventually. But tonight, in this bar, in front of his colleagues . . . probably not. She is doing an excellent job of pretending he doesn’t exist. Ignoring him is the least dramatic thing she’s ever done. And it’s unnerving. Like he’s perched at the edge of a cliff, waiting for her to push.

It’s so much worse this way.

Last but not least, he thinks about whether the brunette is worth all the trouble. Hard to tell. He doesn’t even know her, but she is cute.

Marcus slips a fresh drink into his hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Wes is far from being in a good place. He has a detective diving deep into his past, an unpredictable girlfriend-slash-ex—who happens to be in this very bar—and he just slept with the CEO’s assistant.

If there was ever a time to say Screw it, this must be it.





37




So predictable.

Ivy rolls her eyes as Wes and his coworker approach the girls, though it does help cover the sting of what she just did. Pretending Wes doesn’t exist is a lot harder than she thought it would be. When she walked by him, her heart seized up.

Heath leans in and says, “He’s just trying to make you jealous.”

“Of course he is.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“I’m not. I won’t.”