3

But I had a feeling I’d never had any dick like that.

The bar started to grow quiet as people left for the night. He ordered another scotch and drank it alone at the bar, the chairs empty on either side of him. He didn’t distract himself looking at his phone, just stared at his reflection in the mirror against the wall or stared off into the distance. He seemed perfectly fine drinking alone, not having anyone to talk to or anywhere to go. It didn’t seem like he was there to pick up a woman for the night because he never looked at anyone in the room.

I wanted him to leave so I could finally release the breath I held, but I also dreaded the moment he walked out of that bar and I never saw him again. I stood at the counter and wiped off the bottles, doing my cleanup during the downtime so I could get out of there quicker after we closed.

“Bastien.”

My eyes flicked to him, my heart in my throat again.

He took a drink then licked his lips. “This is where you tell me your name.”

He was just as arrogant as I pegged him to be—but still hot as fuck. “Fleur.”

He extended his empty glass, silently asking for another.

If he were someone else, I would have cut him off, but despite all the scotch he drank, he didn’t seem even remotely incapacitated. He was either a functional drunk or his tolerance was sky-high. I poured another drink and placed it in front of him.

He raised his glass in a gesture of gratitude before he took a sip. His striking eyes were glued to mine, having the confidence to hold an intimate level of eye contact like we were lovers when we were strangers. He cocked his head slightly, as if he saw something in my stare. “There’s a story behind those eyes.”

“Is there a story behind yours?”

A subtle smile moved over his lips, and that little shift changed his entire face. The arrogance dulled in his eyes, and it was replaced by a hint of playfulness. He shook the ice in his glass before he took a drink. “Definitely.” He returned it to the counter and stared at it for a second before he looked at me again. “You first.”

Normally, when men made a pass at me, I flirted back in a restrained way, wanting them to have a good time and for me to get a good tip. But I was never honest about who I was or what I felt. But when I looked into those blue eyes, the truth was pulled out of me. “I’m in the middle of a divorce—sorta.”

“Sorta?”

“I’ve tried filing the paperwork multiple times, but it’s always rejected.”

A sharpness entered his gaze, and his fingers moved over the top of his glass.

“He’s well-connected to powerful people.” I answered the question he never asked. “And he’ll put me through hell to get away from him.”

“Power and wealth go hand in hand,” he said. “So why are you working here?”

“Because I don’t want his money. I was poor before him, and I can be poor after him.” It had been a harsh change, not having a driver to take me where I needed to go, getting my own groceries and carrying them up the stairs, having to do my own laundry and make sure I didn’t turn the heater too high. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to afford the bill. But it was still better than a life of luxury with a liar.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes narrowing in interest. “I could ask what prompted you to run, but I think I already know the answer.” He shook the glass and took another drink. “Men say women are complicated, but they aren’t. Just text back, and don’t stick your dick in other people. Pretty straightforward.”

I abandoned my cleanup at the bar because I’d become engrossed in this deep conversation with a stranger, feeling a connection to someone I didn’t know. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” He looked at me head on, having so much confidence it was nearly toxic. “I don’t text back, and I like to stick my dick in a lot of places.” He drank from his glass without breaking the connection with our eyes.

I felt no disappointment because that was exactly what I’d expected from him. If he was trying to pick me up, he wasn’t doing it in a sleazy way. He was brutally honest, that if we left the bar together, I wouldn’t hear from him again. He would probably be gone before I woke up in the morning. But honesty was a trait that I valued the instant I realized my marriage lacked it. “He wasn’t the one to tell me. I had to hear it from her.”

He didn’t cast judgment or voice an opinion. Just stared at me and listened.

“He’s been trying to get me back. Tightens his grip when he feels me slip further away.”

“How long have you been married?”

“A couple years.”

He gave a slight nod. “That’s not a good sign. Who was the woman?”

“Someone he works with. Said it didn’t mean anything.”

Both of his elbows went to the bar as he leaned forward, cupping his knuckles in the other hand, the muscles and cords visible up and down his arms.

“I asked if there were others… He said no.”

“You believe him?”

“I—I don’t know.” Every time I thought about what he’d done, I felt so shitty that I wanted to curl into a ball in the corner. It disgusted me, thinking about where his dick had been before it pounded inside me like there had never been any treason.

He continued to watch me, rubbing his knuckles like they were sore from a recent brawl.

“Have any advice?”

He lowered his hands to the counter, taller than me even when he sat down because he had a foot and a half of height on me. “I don’t give advice—just opinion.”

“Okay, then. What’s your opinion?”

A subtle smile moved on to his lips as his eyes flicked away for the first time. “You don’t want my opinion, sweetheart.”

I hated it when men called me that, when they tried to get my attention from across the bar with the endearment, but Bastien pulled it off like it was my actual name. “I want honesty, and that’s something I haven’t gotten in a while.”

His eyes came back to me and stayed there for a long time, studying my face like he could see words in bold ink across my skin. He tilted his head slightly before he released a sigh. “Trust is like glass. It takes time to heat and temper, to make it transparent for both parties to see through. But once it’s shattered, there are so many broken pieces on the floor that it’s impossible to put back together. A year may pass, and you’ll step into the kitchen barefoot for a glass of water and get a shard in your heel. And you’ll remember how it got there.”

A pain settled on my heart, an anchor lowered from a ship, a disappointment so heavy it dropped to the bottom of the ocean.

“Power and wealth can be taken away—and all that’s left is your word. If you don’t have that, then you don’t have anything. He betrayed his word when he betrayed you, so he betrayed himself. There was a chance of redemption by being honest with you, but he chose cowardice instead.”