Enemies with Benefits

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I really had meant it when I'd promised Rachel I would be better, not only for her and for us but for myself, too.

"Lady troubles?" Ryan asked, pouring me a shot without my say. I wouldn't have taken it had he not poured himself one to take with me.

I chuckled. "Not exactly. It's a long story."

He shrugged, leaning against the metal well behind the counter. "It's half dead tonight. Now, bartenders are only good for a few things—getting you drunk, watering down your drinks when you're plastered, and listening...when we want a nice tip—but I happen to be great at all of the above. So congratulations, dude, you're in luck. And welcome to the shitshow."

We clinked glasses and threw the shots back. He didn't flinch a muscle, but I shuddered. I'd always hated the taste of rum.

Too many shots and a cleared out, closed bar later, and I'd spilled almost every detail of my past to Ryan. I'd left out and said just enough for him to know the gist, and now he was leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me with a frown.

"Fuck her, dude. She sounds like a fucking cunt. At least Rachel finally kicked her ass to the curb, though I'm sorry it took so damn long. That would fuck anyone up. I'd so much rather someone leave me high and dry without a word than turn out to be a monster and stranger and fuck my head up worse. Then you question everything you know about them, yeah, but you also question yourself. Plus, they're still around to pop into your life and make you keep doing it. Fuck that shit. See, I'm glad my mom left me, man. Before she did, she fucked with my emotions and played me and my dad. Shit fucked me up worse than watching her leave for good ever could've."

I'd come in with a better mindset than I'd started with that morning. But...alcohol and missing Rachel weren't a great combination.

"What if she doesn't come back? Last time, it took her almost a decade. I told her we needed a few days to be individuals now that we were doing better. She gave me a few thousand miles."

But either Ryan wasn't drunk at all, or he held his liquor shots better than God and everyone else knew I did these days. I could sip the shit on my own time, but shots were the bane of my self-loathing existence.

"Yeah, man, about that. I'm gonna need you to grow the fuck up. Sorry, but it's true. You're asking her to take a step back and be an individual before jumping right back into this with you, and you wanted the same thing, but with that shit comes the realization that she won't ever do as you would, and you'd never do what she would. That's kind of the point of being individuals. You're an idiot for thinking otherwise."

"Fuck, I know," I groaned, dropping my head to the smooth yet sticky wood of the bar's top. And then it hit me. I huffed a deep laugh. "Now I know how Rachel feels."

I lifted my head to see Ryan looking back at me, obviously confused.

I hiccupped another laugh. "Hailey."

"Uh," he started, "I thought her name was Rachel? Unless you were calling me Hailey. While I'm flattered you think I'm pretty enough to be a lady, I ain't one."

I laughed genuinely. "Hailey. Rachel's New York friend. I needed my ass whooped and beaten like she does for Rach."

Ryan nodded his understanding. "Well, good. I'm glad I can be your west coast dominatrix. Just don't ask me to get my restraints out, 'cause I left them at home. You have a preference? I have a lot to pick from."

"Not uh. Don't make it weird. I need another round before you do that shit. Besides," I leaned forward and snagged a straw, "I'm more of a cuff guy than anything else. I guess I'm too bland for you."