Page 7 of Witchy Chick

“Ah.” I nodded wisely as I looked at my new friend of the black leather and black beard and black long hair. “Black is your soul and your truck. Do you have a name?”

“No.” He frowned again, definitely brooding.

I laughed again and put my hand on his where it rested on the counter. He had black tattoos on his knuckles. It was so perfectly on brand that I laughed louder. Was this what fun felt like? Spinning and nonsense and nothing was real?

I beamed at him. “You are the worst flirt. Or maybe the best flirt. I don’t know. I have no idea how flirting is supposed to work.”

He stared at me, face blank. “Flirting?”

I nodded wisely. “That’s why we’re in a bar, to flirt with strangers and liver disease. Or maybe it’s kidney disease.”

“Where is your husband?”

All the fun drained out of me but left the dizziness behind. I looked down at my ring finger, there on the bar, wrapped in the three princess-cut diamonds and platinum that I’d sworn to never take off. How could I do it when I loved him so much? How could I stop loving someone I’d build my whole world around?

I threw back another glass of something that burned my tongue then yanked on the ring. It didn’t want to come off, almost like it had been on my finger for a decade and a half. So long. So much love I’d poured into the house, the kids, our family. But it hadn’t been enough. Because I’d never be enough for someone to truly love, forever, like they do in the story books. And I had contempt for Gloria’s delusions? I’d actually hoped, in spite of knowing firsthand that there was no fairy tale. There was no happily-ever-after. There was only betrayal, and cruelty, and abandonment.

I yanked the ring off my finger and elbowed the leather man hard enough to make him oomph. Just then a big gust of wind blew the door open, slamming it against a chair and knocking it over. The wind swirled my hair around my face before it went still.

It was quiet in the bar for a moment before the noise erupted. “What was that?” and “Crazy weather!”

I sat there, breathing hard, staring at the ring, heart tearing in two before I dropped it into my glass with a clinking splash. “He’s cheating on me right this second,” I said, turning to smile at Mr. Blackbeard. “Are you married?” Why did it hurt so much after so much alcohol?

His hair was still hovering around him, dark eyes huge until they narrowed at my glass, the one with the ring I hadn’t ever taken off before. “I’m not married.”

“Dating?”

“No. Your husband wouldn’t cheat on you. That’s crazy.” He sounded so sincere, like he really thought no one would cheat on me. That was kind of sweet.

“Because I’m such a catch? Do you think I’m beautiful?”

He was horrified at the question and looked around, but no one was paying any attention to us. “I mean… I wasn’t really thinking of you like that, but I guess you’re beautiful if you like that kind of thing.” He gripped the bar, nervous.

I snorted. “You’re the worst at picking up women. Do you want to kiss me?”

He gasped and almost fell off his stool. “Wh-What?”

“My husband is cheating on me. Why would he do that? Maybe I can understand if I kiss you. You’re nothing like him. Maybe it would be a relief. You are interested in me, or you wouldn’t have been staring, right? Although I really don’t seem like your type.”

“I’m nothing like him…” he repeated, sounding dazed and uncertain.

“No. He’s blonde and rational. You’re the antithesis of all hope and happiness. Look, do you want to kiss me? Otherwise, I’m just going to drink and forget about life for a while.”

“You took off the ring. Why would you do that?”

I sighed heavily. “I’m also getting a divorce and moving out. Do you want to kiss me or not? Are men usually so indecisive?”

He sputtered. “I’m not indecisive, this just wasn’t what I expected!”

“You thought I’d turn you down? You’ve got more guts than I thought, coming over here thinking you’d be rejected. All right. I’ll help you out.”

I grabbed his leather lapels and pressed a kiss to the soft lips in the center of that dark nest. I’d never kissed a man with a beard. It felt clinical, weirdly platonic, but then his strong hands slid around my waist, pulling me close, and he kissed me like he meant it.

What was happening? Why was I kissing someone with a beard when I wanted Clark? Why would he do this with someone else? It was wrong. So, so, so wrong. Why didn’t he love me? Obviously because I was unlovable. But why had he pretended to love me for so long if he was just going to betray me after fifteen years? Why didn’t he keep pretending forever?

The stranger pulled away with a lurch, breathing hard, eyes huge, like he’d just fallen off a bridge. That wasn’t how it should be. It should be soft and sweet and hungry and… Nope. This was it from now on. Weird beard-kisses or nothing. I’d take nothing, thank-you-very-much.

“So, you’re trying to get away from him?” he asked, reaching into his leather coat and pulling out a flier. It was only a half-sheet, and on it was a picture of a very depressed house. The bolt of lightning behind it didn’t help.