Skye’s name appeared on the screen, just as he’d expected. Greer answered after a swipe and a heavy sigh. “Your BikeBro tried to kill me.”
Her singsong laughter indicated she knew exactly what he was talking about. “I saw your truth tonight, Mr. Lockhart. You’re super competitive. You made the whole class more enjoyable. The battle was fierce and fun. Congratulations on the year’s membership.”
He instantly sensed the mockery in her sweet tone. How could he blame her?
“Donate my winnings to someone else,” he grumbled and looked at the time. He wasn’t in the mood to sit and make small talk tonight. He needed alcohol, popular music that he didn’t even know was popular, and maybe a tranquilizer. A horse tranquilizer to allow him to sleep until his muscles fully recovered. “I’m backing out tonight.”
“Good, because I’m calling to ask for a raincheck. We’re having an impromptu celebration. I know it’s late notice.”
Greer narrowed his eyes and stared unseeing across his bedroom. Something told him he and Skye were more alike than he realized. She most likely spent time with him for the same reasons he spent time with her: the sheer boredom of life.
Could that be the true meaning behind a choice to marry? Holy hell, he’d spent years contemplating why the people in his life married and divorced then married again. He gave a silent, humorless huff. Marriage had to be a response to boredom, not love at all. Something to spice up life for however long it lasted. Huh.
“Are you there?”
“I am. Call me later.” He dismissed his musings and fought a yawn. Now his brain hurt as badly as his body.
Technically, he could stay in tonight. He wasn’t the young buck he pretended to be.
Oh fuck no! He wasn’t having those recurring thoughts tonight.
His thirty-year-old old-man status had officially grabbed him by the balls and squeezed the shit out of his youth. Greer went for the bed, gathered his clothes hangers, deciding on a soft pair of jeans for whatever the night might hold. And going out was exactly what a youthful person would do.
“We’re good, right?” Skye’s tone had changed, more speculative than sweet. Something he’d never heard before. He carefully hung his clothes back in place before reaching for a folded pair of jeans and a soft, well-used SMU sweatshirt.
“We’re good. I should cancel tomorrow morning’s session. My body already hurts from the crazy man I became in your class. We’ll catch up later this week.” Hopefully, he’d eased any worry she had. “You did great tonight. You’re a natural instructor. I got a great workout. I need to go.”
“You were pretty amazing.”
“I don’t know about that, but I had fun. Call me.” Greer disconnected the call, tossing his phone on the mattress and sat on the edge, carefully pulling his underwear up his sore legs.
Nothing more than the sheer force of his will had him contemplating his changing plans for the night. He could swing by M Street Bar for a couple of hours. It was casual and within walking distance of his home. Maybe his old college buddy, Mac, was working tonight. If he got lucky, he could talk Mac into making him one of those Mac Special Burgers that were no longer on the menu. His stomach let out an approving loud rumble. Surely, he had burned the five hundred calories that burger would cost him.
Before committing to wearing real pants, Greer picked his cell phone up again and dialed Mac.
“Hey. You know it’s dinner rush,” Mac said in a hurried greeting after the fourth ring.
“I’m on my way.” Food became the most urgent motivator pushing him out the door tonight.
“See you then, buddy.”
Greer hung up the phone. With a little more pep in his aching step, Greer finished dressing, wondering what level of laziness it would be for him to Uber the two blocks to the bar instead of walking.
Several relaxing hours later, Greer leaned his back against the edge of the bar, elbows anchored behind him as he contemplated the effects of all the alcohol he’d consumed. The low-key music selected from a nearby jukebox played a happy little ditty about a sawed-off shotgun. No, that didn’t sound quite right. Maybe he wasn’t hearing the lyrics correctly.
“How you doin’, buddy?” Mac asked from behind the bar.
Greer looked over his shoulder, the swing of his head causing a bit of double vision. His content grin was instant. The easy joy in his heart wasn’t surprising. Alcohol generally made him a happy drunk, or so he’d been told.
“I’m good. It’s been a good night. I could use another.” Greer nodded toward the empty cocktail glass sitting on the bar beside him. He swiveled back around, staring out at the grill turned sport’s bar in the late hour. Groups of different people gathered around the assorted pool tables. Others played rounds of darts. Some had spent hours at the various video game consoles lining the interior wall. “You do a good business here.”
“You should know, silent partner,” Mac said proudly.
He cocked his head back toward Mac. His body followed more slowly as the barstool rotated under his butt, turning Greer in Mac’s direction. “Not silent if you say it out loud.”
A cocktail glass with clear liquid was pushed forward. Mac filled another glass with something similar and lifted it toward Greer for a toast. “The plans to expand are finished. Five restaurants by the end of the year. Six more next year. Two in the Austin area. Thank you for hooking me up with investors. I wouldn’t have dreamed it possible.”
Greer gave a nod and a wink that seemed to take total concentration and use of his whole face to accomplish. He lifted his glass, meeting Mac’s halfway with a little more force than intended for a simple toast. “It’s nothing more than knowing the right people. You’re a good risk. We’re all going to make some money.”
He took a big, hearty gulp and paused. The taste confused him. After swishing the liquid around his mouth, he swallowed, shoving the glass back toward Mac. “What the hell? Water? That’s your idea of a celebratory toast? I’m pretty sure you just jinxed yourself with that fucked-up move.”
“You’ve had enough. You’re drunk. It’s close to midnight, my friend. Tomorrow’s gonna be hell. Go home,” Mac said and lifted his hand, calling someone’s attention as he nodded toward Greer.
“It’s that late?” Greer looked around for a clock, surprised to see it was in fact midnight. He instantly sobered, reaching for his cell phone. Dammit, he had hoped for a Scruff date. Man, he could use some forceful sex tonight. Someone to grab him by the hair and own his ass. His dick pulsed its approval of the mental image conjuring in his head. It had been far too long.
Mac’s hand covered his phone screen, drawing his attention up. “I’ll get you home.”
“I might not be going home. It’s Scruff.”
Mac’s hand clamped down, but Greer pulled the phone free, concentrating on the suddenly complicated workings of the dating app. He had to admit the double vision made things a little harder than they needed to be, so he closed one eye to help. Voila! Like magic, it all came together.
“I thought there was some chick you were chasing,” Mac said, easily plucking the cell phone from Greer’s hand, and turned it to look at the screen.