Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 18 - Bartending for you

Abby

Karl hands me a glass of water, and I take a few small sips.

I’m still a little drunk, but I feel better now that I’m away from the bar. Thank God Karl was able to

teleport us out of there, even if it made me throw up the minute we appeared on his front lawn. Another

blessing, in retrospect, considering I feel a lot less dizzy than I did before.

“Why were you there by yourself?” Karl asks, sinking into the chair across from me.

He sounds a little mad, but I know his anger isn’t directed at me. Not completely, at least. I’m surprised

he didn’t tear that guy’s head off. If he had, I don’t think I would have felt the need to stop him. Just the

memory of those possessive hands on me makes me shudder.

I’m draped across Karl’s leather couch, my clutch abandoned on the floor beside me, and my heels

toppled over nearby. There are a few bruises on my wrist from where that guy grabbed me, and Karl’s

eyes keep lingering there, his gaze darkening.

“Leah was with me,” I say.

“I didn’t see her.”

I shrug and place my glass on the ground. “She went off with some guy.”

“Good friend.”

“I told her it was okay,” I admit. She offered to stay with me, but I didn’t want to hold her back from

having fun. It was stupid, but I thought I’d be alright by myself.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “I’ve never seen you that drunk.”

“I don’t usually get that drunk.” And I’m not too interested in getting that drunk again. Feeling dizzy and

slightly nauseous is never fun. Neither is throwing up on your ex-husbands perfectly manicured lawn

while he holds your hair.

I decide to change the subject before he decides to scold me. “Why were you hanging around there?”

“For fun, I guess.” He doesn’t sound convinced. I wonder if someone else dragged him there. His

cousin maybe.

“You seem like less of a workaholic than you used to be. I could never get you to go out back when we

were married.”

I always wanted to go out dancing, or try a new restaurant, but he was usually too busy. It was always

a special occasion when he actually had the time to do something for fun, and that was usually

because of some sort of holiday.

“The pack was in a precarious position back then,” he says. “But things have stabilized. I have more

time for things now than I used to.”

“But you’d still prefer to be working?” I guess.

He nods. “Yeah, usually.” He seems to weigh what he wants to say next. “I wanted to get more

resources for the Alpha party," he admits.

“So, more work than play.”

“Yeah, but work isn’t everything. I know that now.” Something vulnerable comes across his face. He’s

being open with me, more open than he has in a while. I’ve gone over the last months of our

relationship a million times in my head, and a part of me could tell he was pulling away, even if I didn’t

want to admit it to myself at the time. He stopped being open.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at his lap. “You’re just as important to me.” He meets my eyes, an earnest

expression on his face. “More important.”

A part of me wants to believe him, but I don’t know how after everything.

“I looked into Olivia after what happened with your employees. I wanted to help you.”

I sigh. I’m not really surprised that he did. I’d be more surprised if he didn’t butt into my business. “What

did you find?” I ask, resigned. There’s no point in passing up the information, even if I’d rather he didn’t

get involved.

“She was buying reviews on social media. I also saw pictures of her restaurant. Her decor is pretty

much a direct copy of yours.”

It takes a moment for the information to sink in. My throat burns, and I look down at my lap. Don’t cry,

don’t cry, I tell myself, but tears well up into my eyes, anyway.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admit, my voice a little shaky. He doesn’t respond, giving me a

moment to get out what I need to say. “I have no employees. I can’t open my restaurant with just me

and Ethan. Even if I do all the cooking, someone has to man the front desk and wait tables and make

the drinks. It’ll take weeks to hire and train new people.”

The tears fall, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “It just–” I take a deep breath. “It means

so much to me. I don’t want to lose my restaurant after everything I put into it.”

I put my face in my hands and cry harder. It feels good to let it out. The couch cushions beside me sink

as Karl sits down. He puts his hand on my leg.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says in a low voice. “You’ll figure it out, and I’m more than happy to help you

if you’ll let me.”

I nod, sniffling.

“Why don’t I make you a drink,” he says, standing. “How does that sound?”

I wipe off my cheeks and nod. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He crosses the room to the bar cart in the corner and gets out the shaker. A moment later, he returns

with a fancy orange cocktail.

“What is it?” Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“An exclusive drink.” He smiles and hands the glass to me. “My favorite bartender came up with it for

me.”

I take a sip. “Wow,” I say. “It’s really good.”

He nods and sits back down in the chair across from me.

“Does it have a name?”

“It’s called Orange Moonrise.”

I smile. “That’s a nice name.”

As much as I hate to admit it, it feels comfortable being here with him. We used to spend quiet nights

together when we could, sitting in the living room watching something on the TV. Usually, I’d have my

feet draped over his lap, or I’d be snuggled up close in his arms. And he never drank.

“I thought so too.”

I bite my lip, wondering if I should even ask. But I’m curious. “You never drank before. I thought it made

you sick.” He looks away, toying with the glass in his hand. “Why now?”

The click of heels on the hardwood is the only warning before Tiffany rounds the corner. Somehow, I

didn’t hear he come in the front door. “Don’t you know my cousin has been living on nothing but

supplements and alcohol since your divorce? Can’t you see how thin he is now?”

I glance at Karl, my eyebrows raised. Tiffany perches on the edge of one of the chairs, assessing me

with a sharp gaze. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out she doesn’t like me. Cousin or no, she has no

interest in my being here.

Karl doesn’t exactly look thin, but now that I’m looking at him, it seems like he’s lost some weight since

we were together. His face is less filled out. Harsher. His muscles are more pronounced.

“Tiffany–” Karl starts, his tone admonishing.

She lifts a hand. “Don’t even start.” Her eyes narrow on me, and I shift a little under her harsh gaze.

“It’s your fault he’s been like this.”