Ever Since New York

Worked Her Way Through a Cheap Pack of Cigarettes

I slapped the cigarettes pack against my hand before pulling one out and sticking it between my lips. They were cheap, not my favorite kind, but I needed something tonight and these were better than nothing.

Lighting it, I sucked the poisoned air down my throat, letting it relax my tense muscles. He was the problem. He was always the problem.

"How was your day, baby?" he'd asked me, dropping his things. I'd ignored the mess at the door, the mess he would ask me to clean up later saying I never do anything around here.

I'd smiled, actually happy. I had a break-through with the story I was writing, finally understanding a character. I knew what they wanted, and I was happy but trying to hide my jealousy.

When I shared my happiness with him, Bradley nodded, staring at me blankly. "Nice," he'd responded, and I felt myself deflate. Here I was, pumped and excited over finally getting something right and he isn't even the least bit interested.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" I had asked.

"Kimber, I love you, but I want to relax right now. I'm going to go in the bedroom and watch TV." He made his way to the hallway, pausing to look at the kitchen. I knew he saw dishes in the sink from where I ate lunch and the empty stove. "Baby, what did you do all day?"

I had swallowed the lump burning in my throat. "I wrote."

He'd shook his head, irritation and disappointment clear on his face.

I left soon after that, not bothering to send him a text I was going out. My phone buzzed and I took the shot of tequila that I had ordered moments before after seeing it was him.

"Rough day?" the man behind the counter asked.

"Rough couple years," I responded, taking a drag.

"Gin, please."

A man sat on the stool beside me, looking about as broken as I felt. His shoulders were slumped-well, no, his whole body was slumped-exhaustion clear in his features. Messy brown hair was pushed away from his face, although a strand or two would fall forward, laying on his forehead.

"Rough day?" I repeated the words of the bartender.

The man glanced at me, his hazel eyes settling on mine. "You could say that."

I ordered three more shots and threw them back, trying not to cringe at their bitter taste. The man drank his gin in one gulp, putting the glass back on the bar and asking for a refill. I blinked at his actions.

"Very rough day," I muttered under my breath.

"It can't be much competition to your couple years."

I tried not to show my shock that he was speaking to me. He was very handsome and very intimidating but for some reason, I couldn't stop myself. I smiled, putting my arm on the counter as I leaned closer to him. "You get used to it. The disappointment. The defeat. Then it becomes the normal. But some days are worse than others and are a reminder of how rough it really is."

"For a girl who's drunk," the man said, taking a sip of his refilled gin, "you're very insightful."

"I'm not drunk."

"Hmm, I would believe that if you were aware of what was going on around you," he said, a smirk coating his lips like he caught me.

"What? You mean the men surrounding the bar whispering about me." I raised my brows, giving him another smile. "I know they've been watching me throw back numerous shots. I also know they have impressed looks on their faces because I can handle my liquor. They're into it. And I'm aware of it."