Winning With Him by Lauren Blakely

Grant

I’ve only been here three times, but already The Lazy Hammock feels like an old friend, its familiarity like a blanket on a cold night, warming my iced-out heart.

Overhead, Jack Johnson croons about banana pancakes, and it’s such a marked contrast to every song that makes me think of Declan. Or really, it’s just the one song linked indelibly to him—“November Rain.”

The lyrics, all about how nothing lasts forever, should have been an omen. But fuck Guns N’ Roses. And fuck Declan. And fuck every sad, pathetic breakup song ever.

I want what Jack Johnson has, want to pretend like it’s the weekend. Here in the bar, it feels like I’m living in one of his tunes. Living in an escape.

The host flashes a smile my way, one that lights up his hazel eyes behind his glasses. He’s probably handsome, with his dark skin and toned arms, and it’s probably smart business, hiring a good-looking host, but I’m unaffected.

Not his fault.

“Hey there,” the man says. “Table for . . .?” He waits for me to fill in the gap, to say if I’m alone or if I’m meeting someone. When I don’t answer, he adds, “Or a seat at the bar?”

My throat is dry as sandpaper, like saying why I’m here will scrape my voice.

“Bar, please,” I manage, and the dude with the glasses gives a smile, tucks a menu under his arm, and says, “This way.”

I can find my own way to the bar, but I let him walk me since I don’t have it in me to protest. Plenty of eyes follow me there, but I doubt it’s because anyone knows me as a Cougar.

It’s more because I’m in a gay bar.

Alone.

Does that make me fresh meat?

No idea. The rules of decorum in gay bars are Greek to me. This is the only one I’ve ever been to.

I feel like I’ve walked onto the baseball diamond with ice skates. Yeah, I’ve been here once without Declan, but even then, I was still with Declan.

When I reach the counter, I grab a stool and scan for River, the bar’s owner. I need a friendly face. Badly.

I spot him at the end of the bar, pouring a beer from a tap, his lanky silhouette calming my out-of-whack pulse. Damn, did I ever need to see a friend tonight. “Oh, you have to see it!” River says to the customers he’s serving. “It’s spectacular. No one ever overestimated the grandeur of the Grand Canyon.”

As he sets a glass in front of the two young guys, the twinkle in River’s eyes says he sees me.

Wait.

Will he think I’m here to pick him up?

That I’m here to pick up someone else?

Great. Something else to stress over.

I study the menu intently, mostly so no one will talk to me.

A minute later, the owner-slash-bartender stands in front of me with a smile, his inked arms flexing as he plants his palms on the bar. “You just can’t stay away from The Lazy Hammock, can you? This is your fourth visit in a week, Grant, with and without company. Since you’re alone this time, does that mean tomorrow you’ll be here with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?”

He seems wildly amused by my presence, but when I heave a sigh, wincing at the mention of my ex, River is immediately sympathetic.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” He sets a friendly hand on my forearm. “I put my foot in my mouth, hun.”

There’s a hollow pounding in my ribs, the residual drumbeat of being dumped. “Is it that obvious?”

He frowns and gestures to my face. “Your eyes give it away. Do you need something strong? Stronger? Or strongest?”

I clench my jaw, hold back . . . fuck . . . I will not cry.

No way. No effing way.

Declan is just a guy.

Last time I cried was over my parents, something they said eight years ago. I’m not going to lose a single tear over a dude.

“Just a . . .” I’m about to say Diet Coke. But that’s what I had every time I was here with him. I can’t order the same. “A whiskey.”

River gives an approving nod. “Something strongest, then. Whiskey is the best for a broken heart.”

Sounds about right. “Then bring it on.”

With a practiced efficiency and zero theatrics, he pours from the bottle and sets the tumbler in front of me. “Need to talk? I’m guessing you’re here for a willing ear and not to pick up guys.” He lifts a finger. “But if you are, more power to you. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some men swear the fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Might be true for some, but I’ve less than zero interest, and I shake my head. “I’m not here to pick anyone up.”

“Ah. It’s that kind of breakup, then. The full bartender session kind.” River glances over to where another guy in a Hawaiian shirt is helping a bearded patron. “Rain is working tonight, so I can chat with you for a bit.”

A laugh bursts out, unbidden. “Rain? Is he your long-lost brother?”

River casts a glance at the other man, whose pale complexion is a contrast to River’s California sunshine skin. “You never know. Anyway, his name is brill, isn’t it? He has the good fortune to havea hippie mama too, like me.” But then, River parks his elbows on the bar, all ears and all sympathy. “So, spill. What happened to Mr. Tall, Dark and Stupid? Because any man who would let you go is stupid. You’re a catch.”

“And you’re a good bartender for saying so.”

He waves away the compliment. “Nah. I’m a good bartender for picking the perfect drink for a person’s mood and because I can read people. And I can tell you’re a good guy. You were funny and outgoing when you were here. Ergo, you’re a catch. Which means . . . he’s a cad.”

Is Declan a cad?

I don’t think so, but could our fling have been just sex to him? Nothing but wham, bam, see you later, dude? Was I an extended hookup?

Except . . . the asshole asked me to be his boyfriend. He practically begged me to do the long-distance thing with him.

Then he tossed me out with the garbage.

I don’t get it. Not at all.

“Maybe he is a cad.” I lift my whiskey and knock some back, savoring the burn. Funny, but Declan never told me why he doesn’t drink. He never went into much detail about his family, just said his dad left, and he sometimes wanted to escape. Maybe he doesn’t touch the stuff because of his father. Who knows? Chalk up another mystery surrounding Declan Steele.

“I don’t really know why he ended it, except he went to work in another state,” I tell River, keeping it vague in case anyone overhears.

The bartender nods, catching on, and lowers his voice too. “I haven’t told a soul you guys had a thing. Not my place.”

“I didn’t assume you would,” I say a little defensively. “I was just being private about my . . .”

Love life.

But those words die on my tongue. My love life is over.

River doesn’t seem offended, only sympathetic. “I didn’t think you were accusing me. What I said is a simple fact—I like to talk. Sometimes about me. But I know the score. I love baseball, and I could name all the out athletes. You and the company you keep, though—that will stay between us.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips, but it fades quickly. “Thanks. Sorry I overreacted.” I swallow more of the drink. It burns hotter this time.

“So, where were we? Mr. Tall, Dark and Stupider broke up with you?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so. All I got was this text.” I grab my new phone from my back pocket and show the message to River.

“A text?” He reads it and, with a dramatic hiss, recoils from the phone like it’s infected. Hell, it feels like it is. “Ouch.”

“I don’t even know if this is unusual,” I confess, glancing at words I’ve already memorized. “I haven’t really dated much. Is this normal?”

River sighs heavily, then nods. “Yes and no. It happens to everyone, no matter their orientation. Just recently, some jackass sent my sister, Echo, a breakup text after they went out for a month.” He growls, and that snarl is at odds with his usual laid-back vibe. “I had half a mind to hightail it up to California and tell him what I thought of him. But Echo can take care of herself. She’s fierce. Still, it’s shitty no matter who it happens to.” River scratches his jaw, seeming lost in thought. “It’s weird, though, what happened to you.”

“Why is it weird?”

The bartender frowns for a beat like he’s trying to figure out what to say. When he meets my eye, his gaze is intense. “It’s weird that your guy sent this.” He taps the phone I set on the bar. “Every time you were here with him—well, both times—he was so into you.” River is emphatic, like he’s making an impassioned point.

And that point feels like a sledgehammer smashing into me.

“Like there was no one else,” River says, sounding kind of dreamy. “If a man looked at me that way . . .”

An inconvenient shiver runs down my spine at the memory of how Declan stared at me like I was his, and he was mine, and we were inseparable. “It felt that way to me too, but what do I know?”

River taps his chest. “Let me tell you what I know.” He counts off on his fingers. “That man was jealous. He was possessive. He was proud of you. My God, he looked at you like he had won the boyfriend lottery.”

My throat knots with emotion. Everything I felt during spring training overflows, a suitcase tumbling open, feelings spilling onto the floor. First it was friendship, then flirting, then unchecked lust, then unbridled passion, and soon it became more.

It felt like love.

“Boyfriend lottery,” I muse as I finish my drink. “It felt that way to me too.”

River heaves a sigh. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand men.”

I scoff. “Me neither, River. Me neither.”

He pats my arm and tips his head to the end of the bar where something needs his attention. “I’ll be right back.”

When he leaves, I stare at my phone, studying Declan’s message a little longer, a little harder.

It hurts, but not as much as it did the other night. When the hurt ebbs, will the memories of him fade away? Do I want them to?

A sharp pain thrashes through my body.

Yes. I want the memories erased.

Before I can change my mind, I act on the decision.

I delete his text.

His contact info is gone; time to trash the message string.

I don’t need him. I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t even need another drink. And I really don’t need to ruin my body with a drunken bender the night before another game.

River returns and gestures to the glass. “Can I get you another?”

“No, thanks.” I screw up the corner of my lips, considering something else to drink. Nothing sugary, full of useless calories. And not iced tea because that’s what Declan always drank. I need a drink that doesn’t remind me of him. Maybe I can learn to like seltzer water.

I shrug. “Something without liquor.”

River arches one brow. “Want a virgin piña colada?”

I crack up. “Virgin. Very funny.”

River’s eyes widen and his mouth forms an exaggerated oh of realization, and he drops his voice to a whisper, full of avid curiosity. “Was he your first?”

I roll my eyes. “Typical, right? The virgin gets dumped when the stud leaves town.”

The bartender shows his teeth and brandishes his claws with a hiss. “I want to slice him to pieces with my rhetoric.”

I laugh, a deep, hearty one from my belly. “I appreciate that. It’s good to have you in my corner.”

“Listen. He’ll have to answer to your new friend River if he so much as shows up here ever again.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I could use a friend.”

“Friends stay,” River says, firmly confident. “Men come and go.”

“I only have a test group of one, but one hundred percent of my test subjects confirm that theory.”

“Let’s make a pact to never sleep with each other,” my new friend says, flicking his blond hair off his forehead. “No sexing, no matter how irresistible I am.”

I crack up. “Was that even on the table?” It wasn’t for me, but that has nothing to do with River and everything to do with Declan.

River shoots me a don’t you dare look. “You’re adorable, but no. We weren’t. I just wanted to establish that guideline—lots of people think the bartender might be up for a good time. But you and I are going to be friends because we both need that from each other, right?”

I toast with my empty glass. “I will drink to that. To friends and no boyfriends. To good times only. To baseball and hookups in the off-season.”

Raising an imaginary glass, he agrees, “It’s a pact. I will have your back as you nurse what Mr. Tall, Dark and Stupidest stomped all over. But you won’t stay broken for long. I won’t let you.” He tilts his head and studies me. “You know what you need?”

“Tell me.”

He nods toward a game room at the edge of the bar. “Darts.”

I spread my arms wide to show I’m ready for anything. “I’m always in for games.”

Cupping his mouth, River shouts to the end of the bar. “Rain! Hold the fort, hun.”

Rain tips an imaginary cap, and River comes out from behind the bar and guides me to the game room with a hand on my back.

“Is everyone ‘hun’ to you?” I ask.

“Yes, hun.” He winks. “The world is better with lots of huns.”

I can’t argue with him there.

In the game room he gathers some darts, hands them to me, and we play. I’m a natural and hit the bullseye more often than not. It probably helps that I’m imagining Declan’s face there.

When we finish our game, River and I amble back toward the bar. “Thanks for that, man,” I tell him. “If you ever make it back to San Francisco and want to go to a game, let me know, and I’ll get you tickets. That is, if I’m on the team.”

He nods excitedly. “That’s my plan—to make it back to California. It would be good to be near my sister and parents again, and I have this whole big dream of what I want to do with The Lazy Hammock. Expand everywhere. I want to start in San Francisco. Open a bar there—I’m imagining a spot in SoMa first. Not quite as crowded as the Castro.”

“Good location,” I say, picturing the neighborhood just south of Market.

River sweeps his arm out wide. “First stop Arizona. Next stop . . . ubiquity.”

“A most excellent gay bar in every city,” I say.

He drops his jaw. “Shut up. That’s going to be my new slogan. Can I steal it?”

I laugh. “You can have it.”

River pats my shoulder. “Good luck making the roster.” Then, he scrubs his chin before offering, “Listen, take my number—for when you need a friend.”

I enter it in my new phone and on my way out of the bar, I send him a text so he has my number too.

Grant:Baseball and hookups. Nothing more.

It’s a promise to myself. But a promise to another person will keep me accountable.

River replies as the Lyft takes me back to the hotel.

River: Bars and hookups. Nothing more. And I got your back.

It feels good to have a friend. In the worst of times, I’ve learned not to take a true friend for granted.