But tonight, I’m itching to get my mind off Mercedes and her lack of communication, so I follow Sam up the stairs to the West End Tavern’s rooftop. The noise and music are lively, and it’s busy, but not so busy that I regret my decision to venture out.
Sam sees a couple of guys we know from the shop, so we make our way over to the bar. After ordering a couple of beers, I look to my right and see a familiar brunette down at the end of the bar.
Mercedes’s friend’s eyes find mine at the exact same time and go wide with surprise. “Miles?” Lynsey says with a smile and waves her hand at me.
I give her a nod and hold my place at the bar as she makes her way over to me. The bartender is just handing me a bottle when she reaches me.
She presses in beside me and beams up excitedly. “What are you doing here?”
“Here with my buddy,” I reply, gesturing behind me to Sam. “What about you?” I ask, fighting the urge I have not to do a sweep of the patio in search of a redhead I miss more than I’m even ready to admit.
Lynsey pokes me in the stomach and replies, “I’m here with Kate! What are the odds?”
I frown down at her. “Who’s Kate?”
Her eyes go wide, and her smile falls as she looks down for a moment. Slowly, her eyes lift to an area over my shoulder, so I turn to see what’s got her so freaked out.
At that moment, I see red.
Literally and figuratively.
My hand tightens around my beer bottle when I spot Mercedes sitting at a table with some guy. This would annoy me under normal circumstances. But that fact that I recognize this douchebag from the tire shop, Mr. Green Shirt Fucking Prick, means that I’m not just annoyed. I’m fucking pissed.
And they aren’t merely sitting across from each other like a couple of old friends who ran into each other. He’s sitting right next to her, his seat scooted over, so their legs are touching. And he’s leaning in so goddamn close he can smell her lip gloss.
Sam must pick up on my mood shift because he catches my eyes with a confused frown. I head nod to what I’m looking at, and I know he instantly recognizes the prick too.
Sam looks back at me. “Is that…？”
I nod slowly.
“And is she talking to…？”
I nod slowly again.
“What the fuck, bro?”
My jaw is tight, and a muscle is reflexively ticking away on my cheek like a madman ready to hulk out on this entire bar.
When Green Shirt Douche-canoe’s hand reaches up to touch Mercedes’s face, I’m moving across the patio in huge, hacked-off strides.
“Miles, it’s not what you think,” Lynsey’s voice chirps from behind me as I struggle to get through a pack of people. Lynsey’s hands wrap around my bicep as she tries to hold me back.
I turn and loom over her to reply, “It looks pretty crystal-fucking-clear to me.”
“He’s no one,” she states, chewing her lower lip nervously.
“Then why are you holding me back?” I snap, looking down at her hand on my arm. She smartly lets me go, and I murmur a thanks and resume my earlier pace.
I didn’t really make the conscious decision to come over here and approach them. It was an instinctual, knee-jerk response that I really couldn’t fight.
Green Shirt’s voice catches my ear just as I’m close enough to hear, “You can be a real cunt, you know that.”
Mercedes replies something snappy and wiggles her fingers in his face right before I add, “What the fuck did you call her?” I nearly growl, moving up close to stand on the other side of Mercedes.
Green Shirt looks up at me with an annoyed expression painted all over his face. “Excuse you?”
“Excuse you,” I snap back and lean down, splaying my hands out wide on the table.
“Miles,” Mercedes says, her voice strained. I can feel her eyes on me, but I can’t move my laser focus off douchebag here.
“What the fuck did you call her?” I repeat my question earlier and add, “I won’t ask again.”
Green Shirt, who’s actually in a white shirt tonight, just laughs. “This conversation has nothing to do with you, grease monkey. Why don’t you take a walk? You’ve clearly been sniffing too much gasoline.”
“Dryston!” Mercedes snaps at him and just the way she says his name seems familiar. Like this might be a person she knows more than I’d like to believe.
“You know this fuckwit, Mercedes?” I ask, sliding my eyes to her. She’s twitchy and nervous, struggling to make eye contact with me. Her chest is flushed with hives like I’ve never seen.
The guy barks out an obnoxious, pompous laugh. “Mercedes?” He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “You think her name is Mercedes?”
My brows furrow and look at Mercedes for approval. She shakes her head quickly and rushes out, “I was going to tell you everything.”
“Tell me what?” I snap, my hands turning into fists on the table. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
“He’s no one!” she states adamantly through clenched teeth, her eyes flying all over my face as she reaches up to touch my arm.
Green Shirt hoots out another obnoxious laugh and says, “No, I just lived with you for two years.”
“Lived with you?” I ask, completely confused because this fucker did not give me a gay vibe at Tire Depot. “Is this is your gay roommate that you kicked out?”
Green Shirt leans across the table and murmurs, “I didn’t fuck her like I was gay, brah.”
Rage. Undiluted rage rips through my body, and I straighten, chest heaving. Mercedes rises to grab my arm and stop me from walking around this table and ripping this dick’s fucking throat out.
“Miles, please, if you’ll just let me explain,” she rushes out, her voice shaky and garbled.
“Yeah…Katie,” Green Shirt adds, “explain to him how I was your boyfriend for two years and still basically live with you.”
“You do not live with me, Dryston!” she shouts, her own hand fisting at her side as she stomps her foot.
My face twists up in confusion as I turn my shoulders to face her. “Why is he calling you Katie?” I grind through clenched teeth that feel like they could crack any moment. “Your name is Mercedes.”
“Her name is Kate Smith, moron. Mercedes is basically the hooker name she made up to write those god-awful things she calls books.”
Now I’m done. I’m done with this douche. He’s said the last asshole thing I can handle.
I reach across the table and yank him up onto his feet by the collar of his shirt. Sidestepping, I wrench him right up to my face so hard, he has to stand on tippy toes to just reach my chin. “Call her a fucking name again, and you will regret it.”
The dude is like a limp sack of noodles in my arms, his eyes half-lidded as his lip curls up and whispers, “You can have the trashy cunt. She’s not suitable for mixed company anyway.”
My eyes fly wide, and before I know it, I rear back my arm and send my fist flying into this fucker’s pompous nose. A satisfying crack vibrates against my knuckles, and blood sprays out all over his face.
He howls in pain and crumples to the ground, his hand covering his nose. “You fucking ape!” he shouts, his voice cracking at the end. “I think you broke my nose!”