A Modern Love Story (16 page)

“Yeah, yeah.” She leaned forward, kissed his cheek. “Love ya. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah. All right. Me too.” Luc watched Robbie leave, and then strode back behind the bar.

“Can I get a refill, Luc?”

“No,” he grumbled, and kept right on going.

Payten watched him disappear in the back, and then gave Conrad what she knew was a disarming smile. “Conrad, right?”

“At your service.” He braced his palms against the edge of the bar. “What can I get for you?”

She tipped her head towards the back. “Did I do something to offend him?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“There’s such…open hostility.” She didn’t add that it warmed her blood to experience it.

“He’s always like that. You get used to it.”

“Oh, not everyone.” She traced her finger around the rim of her mug. “He’s not like that with his girlfriend.”

“His girl—” His brow raised before understanding lit his eyes. “Oh. That’s different. That’s Robbie,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Look, I
gotta
help these people. I’ll be right back.”

“No. That’s okay.” She reached into her purse and slapped a twenty on the bar. “I’ll see you around.”

*****

At closing time, Conrad listened as Luc cracked more dishes together in the back, and cringed at the sound of their profits going down the drain.

“Take it easy on the mugs, man,” he called out, and then muttered under his breath, “That shit doesn’t grow on trees.”

“The mugs are just fucking fine,” Luc snapped, walking behind the bar to take another load back.

“Jesus, Luc. Get over it already. Enough is enough, man.”

Luc straightened. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s
your
problem?”

Conrad stopped wiping at the bar. “Right now, it’s you. Get over it, or do something about it.”

Slamming the mugs on the counter, he glared at Conrad. “You better start making sense, or you and I are gonna have a problem.”

“I’m talking about you and Robbie.”

“What about us?”

“Would you sleep with her and get it over with?”

“I… What the fuck, man?”

“Look, I know you want to, so get your ass over there and take care of business.”

“I can’t just bang Robbie like she’s any other chick. You know I can’t, so why are you fucking pushing it.”

“Because it’s more than that, man. You damn well know it, but won’t see it.”

“And I repeat: What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re in love with her. Just admit it already, and get it over with. Shit.”

Luc’s mouth worked before finally finding his voice. “Lust does not equate to love.”

“It’s more than that.” Conrad held up a hand. “Let me ask you this. How come, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once taken out a girl with red hair or green eyes?”

“I have, too.”

“Bullshit.”

Luc paused. “Then it’s just because I’ve never gotten busy with one. Hell. It’s not like they’re a dime a dozen, not like blonds and brunettes are.”

“How did I end up with a best friend that’s as dumb as a sack of rocks? Think about it, man. You’ve
had
the opportunity. Women are constantly throwing themselves at you—all shapes and sizes. But you don’t go for the red heads because they remind you of Robbie.”

Again, Luc’s mouth hung open. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s what you want, but can’t have, and you don’t want a reminder of that. But the thing is, how do you know you can’t have her if you haven’t even tried?”

“You don’t know—”

“Let’s try this one. She’s going out on a date tonight, right?” Conrad watched as a dark cloud rolled over Luc’s features—the same dark cloud that had been plaguing him all night long. “There. Right there.”

“What?”

“It irritates the hell outta you she’s going out. You
always
get moody when she has a date. You’ve been that way since you were teenagers.”

“I’m not
moody
. Nice term, by the way, I’m not a fucking chick. I just worry ‘cause all the pricks out there.”

“You’re not worried, you’re jealous.”

“I am
not
fucking jealous.” Luc crossed his arms, leaned back against the bar. “I’m just…overprotective.”

“Overprotective. Yes, insanely so. I’ll give you that one. But definitely jealous too.” He bent over to grab a beer out of the little fridge, popped it open on the counter. “Put all the pieces together, man. You’re in love.”

“Conrad…” Luc blew out a breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, his head snapped up with a glare at Conrad. “
Fuckin
’ A.”

Conrad tipped his bottle at him. “There you go. ‘Bout time you caught up.”

“Dammit!” Luc yelled, pushing off the bar to pace behind it.

“Told you.”

Luc spun, pointed a finger at him. “You shut the fuck up. Let me think about this a minute.”

“Think all you want. You know I’m right.” He chuckled, enjoying the show. “I always am.”

Luc stopped and slipped his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fucking annoying is what it is.”

“Annoying or not, glad you’re finally aboard.” He set his beer down, and nodded to Luc. “I’ll let you finish closing, figure the rest of this out on your own. I got a woman waiting on me.”

“Wait. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” Luc started pacing again. “You couldn’t have fucking clued me in on this sooner?”

“Are you serious? I shouldn’t have to point it out to you at all.” He dodged past Luc, grabbed his jacket off the rack. “She’s in love with you too, Luc.”

There was only one word Conrad could come up with to describe Luc’s expression: Dumbstruck.

“Are you sure about that too?”

“Absolutely.” At least he hoped he was right.

“What if you’re wrong?”

“What if I’m not?” Conrad countered.

Luc took a moment, then slumped against the bar. “Shit. What if you’re not?”

Conrad strode out the door, and left Luc to stew on that.

Chapter 7

The next morning Robbie rolled out of bed in a mood. It went south the day before with the botched interview, worsened after the panic attack at the bar, and then hit rock bottom when she called Bryan to cancel their date. Bryan understood, he was very kind about it. But her stomach hadn’t agreed with her decision when she filled it with ice cream and cookie dough, instead of the previously intended seafood dinner. As if listening to her train of thought, her stomach grumbled in general protest when she grabbed a Diet Mountain Dew out of the fridge, cracking it open as she made a beeline to the bathroom.

A steamy, scalding shower was just what the doctor ordered, she decided, the water thrumming hard against her shoulders. Today she would take the day to gather herself and
only
do whatever was necessary for her own sanity—no appointments to keep, no places to go, no people to see. Just her and her own space.

Perfect.

Robbie spoiled herself by indulging in her favorite, and very expensive, body wash. And then followed up with a smear of scented lotion after she dried off. Feeling fresh and feminine, she went in search of clothes only to find she had put off doing laundry by one day too long. With no clean underwear or bras to wear, she slipped into a tank top and tore open a package of men’s boxers she had picked up the week before. It was her favorite lounging attire, as long as she was lounging by herself, that is.
  

After shoving in a load of laundry, Robbie headed to the kitchen for another soda. As she passed through the entryway, she scowled at the clock on the wall—still reading one o’clock. She made a mental note to change the battery, and then stopped short as she surveyed her apartment. Apparently, what she needed to do for herself, and her sanity, included cleaning her space. With a sigh, she retrieved her iPod and ear buds, and began pulling cleaners out from underneath the sink.

*****

Luc hadn’t been able to sleep a wink the night before, and two sleepless nights in a row made him punchy and pissed off. He still didn’t know what he was supposed to fucking do with the bomb Conrad hit him with, but what he
did
know was that sitting around on his ass wasn’t it. After pacing his apartment for the better part of the morning, he decided to go right to the source. He had no fucking clue what he was going to say to Robbie, but he figured it would come to him while he was there. It damn well better.

Maybe he should just tell her what Conrad said and gauge her reaction. Maybe he should just ask her straight out how she felt—she’d be honest, right? Maybe he should just go over there and kiss her… No. Whatever he did, he wouldn’t be the first to take the initiative. He had to find out if Conrad was right about how she felt
without
giving away his own feelings. No sense going there if the man was wrong. And Luc had reason to believe Conrad
was
wrong. Hell, he’d know if Robbie
loved
him. He would’ve been able to tell. She cared about him—no question. She loved him—no doubt about it. But fucking
in
love with him? That he would’ve been able to see for himself. But maybe caring was enough. For now. Jesus Christ, what the fuck did Conrad start by telling him all that shit?

Irritation crept up his back as he parked his truck in front of Robbie’s apartment. As he took the key out of the ignition, a thought occurred. She’d had a date last night, so what if she wasn’t home? As he stepped out of the vehicle, another more disturbing thought hit. What if she
was
home, but wasn’t alone?

Luc slammed the door shut before stalking up the walkway, his thoughts working him over until he was steaming with a pure and productive mad—the kind that propels the muscles forward and clouds all judgment.

She’d
just
met Bryan, she wouldn’t have had sex with him. She wasn’t
that
type of girl… But what if he got her drunk? What if she was careless and let things get away from her?

Well, he would show that sonofabitch what happened when a man took advantage of a woman. Who gave a flying fuck that the man was an attorney?! Let him sue! It’d be worth it to teach that asshole a lesson. No one puts their fucking hands on
his
Robbie.

No. Fucking. One.

He came to a halt at her door, and whaled on it. After two seconds, she still hadn’t answered, so he pounded again. More seconds passed, and nothing. What the fuck were they doing in there?! Spewing obscenities, he dug his keys out and unlocked the door himself. He whipped it open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut in one swift movement. Her name was ready to rip out of his throat when he spotted her.

She was standing on a chair and changing the battery of her kitchen clock. He was about to ask her if she was deaf, but when he saw her ear buds, he concluded that yes, she was indeed deaf. The woman didn’t know how to listen to music without blasting her fucking ears out. The counters were filled with various cleaners and buckets, so he deduced she didn’t have company, but was cleaning…well, everything. His anger began slipping away, but then saw what she was wearing—a tank top, and boxers. Who the hell did
those
fucking belong to?!