Jeff Cordley is a high school classmate that had no higher ambition than to open up a bar. Which is a pretty big undertaking at just eighteen years of age. But with some seed money he had from his grandfather’s estate, he rented a dive location off the strip and set about making a friendly neighborhood bar the locals could hang out in away from the twinkling lights and tourists.
That was almost ten years ago, and I come by when I get some free time for a beer and good conversation. While Jeff and I weren’t the closest of friends in high school, I’d consider him a good pal today. We’ve had some great conversations from across the bar top while I shook off a hard day with a beer or partied on the weekend back in my more carefree days.
Back before I became a scorned wife riddled with debt and working like a dog to make ends meet.
“Bud Light,” I call, which is a frivolous waste of words. Jeff is a great bartender, and he knows his customer’s preferences.
There was a day I used to drink the high-end stuff. The few artisan beers he’d stock. But these days, he knows my budget calls for Bud Light. The bottle, all frosted and opened, already waits before I can plop my butt on a stool.
I look around as I pick up the bottle. Many locals I recognize, a few I don’t. I take a long pull from the beer and set it back down.
Jeff meanders over after making a few more drinks. “Decided to give yourself a night off?” he asks.
“Actually, got a new job,” I reply.
Jeff’s brows rise, and he gives me a wide smile. Reaching down into a cooler before him, he pulls out a fancy beer I’d typically drink and pops the top. “Congratulations, this one’s on the house.”
“Thanks.” I settle in, explaining all about Declan Blackwood and my job as his assistant.
“You have moxie,” Jeff says with a nod. “I’ve always said that.”
Although Jeff has another bartender working behind the bar with him, he’s not one to ignore his customers to chat with another. I’ve learned over the years to converse with him in snatches of time. He moves off to serve a man two seats down. I sip at my beer, watching one of the TVs with a basketball game on.
My phone starts ringing from within my purse, and I reach in to grab it. I sigh with annoyance at seeing Caleb’s name. I used to have his picture come up, but, after we split up, it was too painful.
I’m over the heartbreak of it all, seeing as how it was over a year ago. Now he’s just… a pain in my ass.
“Hello?” I answer, not committing to any familiarity with him.
“Hey, Bails,” he says, carelessly using the nickname that’s reserved only for family and close friends. He’s neither to me, but I don’t call him on it.
Instead, I rise above and make my reply friendly. “What’s up?”
“Just calling to check-in… see how things are going with you?”
I recognize the lie right away. While I may have missed many things in our marriage, I know that tone. Slightly pitched with a tinge of hesitation.
Plus, he never calls just to check up on me. Only to make sure I’m still keeping up on my obligation to pay off half his credit card debt, which I inherited by marrying him.
“Cut to the chase, Caleb,” I snap. “And whatever you need, let me just say no.”
“I don’t need anything,” he replies quietly, and I hear the truth in that. It makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. If he’s not calling to check I’m paying on the credit card and he doesn’t need anything, well… there should be no reason for him to contact me at all.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, dreading what his answer may be. Does he want to reconcile? Because the answer would also be no. Does he have a terminal illness and want to come home so I can take care of him? Well, that wouldn’t be so easy to say no to, but damn it… I already take care of two sick parents.
But yes, I’d do it. I was once in love with him. Despite how badly he hurt me, I suppose a part of me will still always care for him.
“What’s wrong?” I demand again, preparing for the worst.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says hesitantly. “In fact, everything’s right. I just… I wanted you to hear it from me before someone else told you.”
“Hear what?” I prompt.
“Felix and I are getting married,” he murmurs guiltily.
I don’t expect the twinge of pain in the center of my chest. It’s not deep or brutal, but it’s an annoyance, just like Caleb. It still pinches to hear.
I mean, of course it hurts my ex-husband is going to marry the man he cheated on me with.
Yeah… that’s one of the things I missed in our marriage.
The fact my husband was gay.
Bisexual, he’d say, which is fine. I just had no clue he was attracted to men, and, yes, one of the things that burns is that part of the joint credit card debt I’m helping to pay off is for shit he bought Felix or spent on him. Like presents, secret hotels, and gay bars.
Ugh.
Still, I force myself to swallow past the bitterness. “Congratulations.”
“I’m sorry,” he offers.
“It’s fine,” I assure him.
There’s an awkward silence. Finally, he asks, “How are your parents?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose with my finger and thumb, I breathe out a long sigh. “Let’s not do this, Caleb. Let’s not pretend we’re going to be friends and you care about my family. That’s all done. I’m happy that you’re happy. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Bailey,” he murmurs sympathetically.
“Oh, and stop calling me to check on the credit card payments.”
“Yeah, okay… fine,” he replies, sounding almost eager to give me something. Sort of like a parting consolation prize.
“Have a great life, Caleb.” After I disconnect my phone, I set it down beside my purse. I finish off my Bud Light and push the empty toward the edge of the bar top, taking the artisan beer in hand.
Jeff appears before me, dumping the empty and placing his forearms on the edge of the bar. “Let me guess… that was Caleb on the phone.”
I blink in surprise.
He shrugs. “Looks like you smelled shit in your beer or something.”
Jeff knows about Caleb. As a couple, we hung out here together. After we split, Jeff was a friend, as well as a bartending ear. Of course, he knows about my painful humiliation and heartbreak over my husband leaving and about me having no clue he liked men.
Although I should have known.
“How did I miss he was bi?” I ask. It’s not the first time we’ve pondered this. “I mean… it was all right there. We’d role play or tell each other our fantasies, and he’d offer to invite another man into the bedroom with us. I thought it was sweet and generous that he’d do that for me, but I always declined. Now I know he wasn’t offering for me. Instead, he was offering for himself.”
Jeff stares, wearing an inscrutable expression.
I grimace. “Too much information?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. In fact, I was just thinking… have you even dated since you two broke up?”
I shrug, not sure if a horrible experience with a Tinder date counts. The man who met me for dinner was most certainly not the same as the photo on the profile.