“How do you know?” she asks, still touching my arm. “I like your tattoos. Why don’t you tell me what you are looking for?”

I turn on my stool, getting a good look at the bad dye job on her blond head, with at least two inches of brown showing at the roots. She’s tried too hard with her makeup, probably taking the same amount of time as Addie to get ready, but instead of looking natural and classy, her heavy hand with eyeliner and blush just makes her look trashy.

Her white T-shirt is too tight, her denim skirt too short.

“You wanna know what I’m interested in, honey?” I ask her.

She bites her lip, twirls a strand of hair around her finger, and nods.

“She’s about five foot ten, with natural blond hair the color of morning sunshine and eyes so blue you could drown in them. She’s got curves for days, and her legs are so long they make a man sit up and beg for her to wrap them around his waist. She’s sassy and kind, and has the wittiest comebacks of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“She sounds impressive,” the woman replies, then smiles. “But I bet I can make you forget her.”

“No.” I turn back to the bar and lift my glass, knock back what’s left, and signal for the bartender to give me a refill. “You’re wasting your time here.”

“Well, I’ll be right over there if you change your mind.”

Her heels click as she walks away, and I don’t even give her a second glance. Did I really used to think that women like her were attractive? Because there was a day when I would have taken her up on her offer. I would have taken her into the bathroom, locked the door—or not, I didn’t give a fuck—and fucked her brains out, then gone about my way.

It’s been a very long time since those days, but they existed.

And the thought of it now makes me sick.

“Turned her down, huh?” the bartender says as he passes me a new drink.

“Not what I want,” I reply curtly.

“No, I heard what you want. That’s what we all want, kid.” He snickers and washes glasses in the sink in front of me. “I’m Bill.”

“Jake. Yeah, well, I can want her all day long, and I do, but I can’t have her.”

“So she exists?”

I laugh and nod. “Oh yeah. She exists.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and thumb through my photos, until I come to the selfie we took at the falls. I’m kissing her cheek and she’s smiling brightly for the camera.

“She’s a knockout,” he says with a low whistle. “Fucked it up, did you?”

I just nod and tuck my phone back in my pocket.

“My Marion, she was a knockout when I met her, thirty-three years ago last February.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and shows me a photo of a beautiful redhead with big green eyes and a pretty smile.

“She’s definitely a knockout,” I agree with a nod. “Are you married?”

“For thirty-three years this August,” he confirms with a wink. “I knew a good thing when I found it and I snatched her up before anyone else could.”

“Kids?” I swallow the rest of my drink and nudge it toward him for another.

“Nah.” His eyes dim as he shrugs and pours my drink. “Tried. Didn’t work out for us.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I toss half of the new drink back, my chest heavy with sympathy. Fuck, I need to call Christina. When does she find out if the last round of IVF worked?

“I have her.” He grins. “That’s all that matters.”

I’m fucking jealous of a guy double my age and his pretty wife. Because he has what I want. He has the woman of his dreams for the rest of his life.

I toss back the rest of my drink. “Another.”

“You better slow down, son. It’s barely four in the afternoon.”

Is it that late already? I’ve been here, brooding, longer than I thought.

“Just keep them coming.”

“Is this going to be a fuck my life kind of drunk, or a I just want to forget kind of drunk?”

I smirk. “Honestly, I think it’s both.” I slide off the stool. “You pour, I’ll be back.”

I stumble—Jesus, I can’t be drunk yet—to the men’s room and piss. After zipping my fly, I push my hand in my pocket, and come out with the small vial of coke that Addie had in her purse.

Fuck me.

Alcohol always was my gateway to the coke, and staring at it now, I want it more than I want my next breath.

Who would care if I got high one more time? Who would it hurt? I mean, I’ve already completely obliterated the no-alcohol rule, so I’ll do this one last time and call it quits.

I look at myself in the mirror, lean on the counter, and swear a blue streak as I turn the water on, open the coke and wash it down the drain, then toss the vial in the trash.

I’m not a junkie, and I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll snort that shit up my nose now just because I’m pouting over Addie.

But I’m going to drink every bottle of Jack Daniel’s in this place.

THE BAR HAS filled up this evening. There are kids playing pool and sinking dollars into a jukebox, choosing some good music, but mostly shitty music.

Or maybe I’m just not in the mood for happy songs.

They played a Hard Knox song, and that only made me want to deck someone.

I forgot that alcohol makes me aggressive, and that’s only one of the reasons I gave it up long ago.

“Do you want to close your tab, Jake?” Bill asks as he hands me a drink. I’ve been steadily getting more and more drunk all day. And it feels fucking fantastic.