Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 5

CRUTCH

Six hours.

She’s been back in my life for six hours and she’s already driving me bat-shit crazy.

I down the rest of my beer in fuming silence. I want another one, but I can’t; I’m driving. DUIs are kind of frowned upon when you wear a badge and carry a gun. She’s been flirting with the same guy for about an hour—but she was never particularly good at flirting. She gave off too much of a bitch vibe. Although, based on what I’m seeing, she’s gotten a little better at it over the years. Of course, this guy is too wrapped up in himself to notice the way her laugh fades the second he turns around, the way her smile falters the second he looks somewhere else, the way her spine stiffens, almost painfully, every time he tries to put a hand around her shoulder.

She emerged from the back room, after talking with Raylee and Will, with a newfound fire to her eyes. She refused to even look in my direction, heading straight for the bar where she began talking with one of the patrol officers for the city police. I don’t really know him, but we’ve run into each other a few times. The city police and the sheriff’s department do a lot of joint work together. He touched her back. Twice. I followed him to the restroom and promptly told him to keep his fucking hands to himself. Respecting the uniform we both wear, he obeyed, immediately sitting with a group of friends at a table and avoiding Lulu at the bar.

That’s when she set her sights on this guy. It’s Friday night, so the bar is full of willing participants. I don’t know him so I can’t threaten him. Shame.

How am I supposed to function with her back in my life? It took years before I could sleep a full night without dreaming about her. And I still can’t get off without closing my eyes and thinking about her. Whether I’m balls deep in some random girl, or in the shower with my hand wrapped around myself, I still think about her.

Professionally and financially, I’m finally in a good place in life. Finally in a place where I can give her everything she wants. And she hates me. Of course, she hates me. I told her to do that very thing.

I left her.

It makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it.

When I finally got a chance to talk to Harlan after MCRT, when I was in SOI, he told me everything that she had said. She was willing to drop out of school, follow me, be with me. At the time, I thought it proved my point—I was ruining her life. And I thought that every single day.

Until today.

Until I saw her face to face. Until I was close enough to reach out and touch her. And it turned my brain into scrambled mush. It makes me think what could’ve been. If I just called her. Told her to wait on me, told her to follow me, told her to love me.

I touched her hair today. That’s the only part of her I’ve touched, and it stirred more passion in me than my last twenty sexual encounters.

What does that say about me? Either I’m still in love with her, or I just choose really boring sexual partners. I’d like to think I choose really boring sexual partners. Because loving her is not an option. Even if she’d allow me, I gave up that right twelve years ago.

I rake my hand over my face, turn my ballcap around backward, and scratch my forehead. I did the right thing, right? I must have. She apparently has some amazing career as a crime genius. I can’t believe I didn’t know anything about that. Sure, her family and Marcum refused to talk about her, but it definitely sounds like they should have bragging rights. It looks like Lulu is very accomplished. If she were mine, I would brag to every single person I saw. Strangers on the street would know about My Lulu.

Of course, the web search I did today only gave me professional highlights, nothing personal. She has a business website, and that’s it. No social media. Lulu always did hate social media, though… just like me. But it would be nice to know something before we start working together. I grit my teeth, thinking about her marriage. Unable to control my anger, I push away from the bar with such force, I nearly topple my barstool to the ground. Cullen hollers over the music and TVs, asking me if I need another beer.

What the hell. Fuck it. I might as well. Because I’m definitely not leaving the bar while Lulu is here, acting like some kind of cat in heat.

Grabbing the beer, I head over to the room to the right of the main bar, where Will is helping tonight’s band set up. “Need any help?”

Will looks over, studying me. “Nope. Just finished. They’re about to tune up. Should be a good show. You sticking around?”

I glance over my shoulder, watching Lulu. I shrug. “Not sure. Depends.”

“You know I’ll watch out for her. Make sure nothing happens to her.”

I believe him; I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave. I nod over at her. “That’s the second Long Island Iced Tea I’ve seen her with, but she’s not had one single sip.”

“Yeah, Ella doesn’t drink. I mean, she had half a glass of wine one Christmas. And maybe one beer at our wedding years ago. I’m not sure why she’s carrying that thing around. But after the trouble I got in tonight, I’m not about to question her on it. I did tell Cullen to make her drinks weak. Just in case she does decide to drink them.”

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry about that. I guess I was fooling myself to think I could come here, hang out, talk with you, and she’d never find out. I’m sorry I put you in that position.” I raise my eyebrows and take a swig of my beer. “Despite my good intentions, nothing involving her has ever gone according to my plan.”

Will slaps me on the shoulder. “Then, maybe you should stop planning.”

I follow him back over to the main room, unsure of how to even respond, when someone reaches out, snatching me by the bicep and pulling me to the side.

Oh. Fuck. My. Life. Why does this day just keep getting better and better?

Lynn leans forward, tracing her finger across the chest of my blue long-sleeve T-shirt. She sucks in a breath when her nail crosses over my nipple. “Crutch, you’re not wearing your polo?”

I grab her hand, quickly removing it from my chest. I can feel a fiery burn scalding the side of my face. Stealing a glance at Lulu, my heart stops beating when I see her watching me. Her eyes flare in anger and her jaw clenches. She squares her shoulders and turns her full attention back to the guy at her side. Sighing, I let go of Lynn’s hand. “Lynn, you know I don’t wear department-issued clothes when I’m in the bar. When I’m drinking, relaxing.”

Lynn has a thing for guys in uniform. She’s young. Twenty-five, maybe. She works in the tax assessor’s office at the county courthouse. That’s where we ran into each other. Of course, we hooked up. She flirted. I asked her out. We wound up at her place, having sex. I think her bedspread was a pink leopard print.

She’s a nice girl, don’t get me wrong, but she’s also one of the many poor life choices I have stacked against me. I can remember her bedspread, but I don’t remember her kiss. Don’t remember her touch. Don’t remember her scent.

I’m a complete and total asshole. And now I’m starting to think that my main goal in life was proving I was king of the assholes instead of being what I should’ve been. Lulu’s champion. Lulu’s lover. Lulu’s partner.

Lulu’s husband.

I’m surprised when I hear her behind me, clearing her throat. “Well, see you on Monday, bright and early. We have a lot of work to do,” she pauses for a split second before choking on her sarcasm, “partner.”

The guy beside her wraps his hand around the small of her back, leading her away. She grimaces, but she doesn’t stop him. He’s smiling like he just won the damn lottery.

She’s not drunk.

She’s sober.

She’s sober, and she’s leaving the bar with a one-night stand.

She’s doing the very thing I’ve been guilty of on more than one occasion.

And what’s worse, somehow, I bet she’ll remember more about him than just his bedspread color.