Second Chance Boyfriend

thing is, I’ve surrounded myself with other people. Guys I know and would like to consider my friends. I wonder if my shrink would be proud of me for at least this part of my denial.
    I’m definitely a little drunker than I was when we first arrived, and I’m still angry—at Ty for insulting Fable. At Fable for pushing me away. I can’t win. Avoiding her led me straight to her. It’s inevitable that we see each other again. How could I prepare for the shock, seeing her there? Beautiful. Angry. Believing she’s still mine when she’s already moved on.
    Pain lances through me and I let it, soaking the near physical emotion just like my body is soaking up the alcohol. I hate letting my emotions control me so completely. I’m usually numb to this sort of thing. Enduring what I’ve gone through in my past made it easy for me to throw up barriers and pretend everything was fine—or more like nothing mattered.
    She matters, though. Or at least, she did.
    So I’m sulking like a baby and watch half-naked women gyrate on a stage, their decent bodies on blatant display, their expressions bored, like they’ve done this sort of thing a million times and they hate it, which they probably do. The club is packed, we’re probably the youngest guys there and the beer is flowing.
    Straight down my throat, as fast as I can drink it.
    “Having fun?” Logan nudges me, the leer on his face wobbly. He’s drunker than me, fitting since he’s the one we’re celebrating. May as well get shit faced like him, right? I’ve got nothing to lose and nothing but sorrows to drown.
    Woe is me. I’ve turned into the worst sort of broken record.
    I shrug. “The beer’s good.”
    Logan laughs. “The beer is shit. The women are fine. They all have great racks.” He tips his head toward a dark-skinned girl dancing not twenty feet away from where we sit. “Ty’s arranging a lap dance for me with her.”
    I scowl. Hearing Ty’s name irritates me. We’ve sat on opposite ends of the group the entire time, no interaction between us whatsoever. Probably best, considering if he comes near me again, I might hit him.
    And keep on hitting him until he’s bloody and broken. Only then would I feel an ounce of satisfaction. Though why I keep wanting to defend her when she’s out fucking around with another guy while I mourn the loss of her, I don’t know.
    Fuck.
    “I’m sure he could arrange a lap dance for you too,” Logan continues.
    “Hell, no. I don’t want one.” I shake my head and down the rest of my beer in one swallow. I feel hot. My head is spinning. I’m definitely losing control and for once, I don’t really care.
    “That you say you don’t want one only makes me want to get you one even more.”
    I turn to see Ty standing there, beer in hand, smirk in place. I want to slap that shitty look off his face but I remain calm. Nonchalant. “Why would you want to waste your money on a lap dance for me? Get one for yourself.”
    Ty laughs. “I want to see you squirm, Callahan. I know this isn’t your scene. Hell, I’m surprised you’re here with us. I’m even more surprised at how you tried to kick my ass over a stupid girl.”
    I say nothing. I’m surprised too but I’m not going to let on that I am.
    “You know Fable? Been with her or something?” Ty shakes his head. “I took her out once, a long time ago. It was mostly forgettable.”
    If he so much as goes into detail about their supposedly forgettable date, I’ll bash his face in.
    “I don’t know her that well,” I bite out, every word sharp because I’m a complete liar. “But you don’t disrespect women, Ty. It’s an asshole thing to do.”
    “I’ve never said I was anything but an asshole.” The smirk on Ty’s face disappears. “That’s why I already got you that lap dance, buddy. With a pretty little blonde who reminded me of our mutual friend.” He flicks his head and I turn around.
    “Hi.” She smiles at me, all bright and fake, and I’m momentarily taken aback. She does eerily resemble Fable at first glance, much like my fake classmate Fable, but then I realize she’s nothing like the girl I’m in love with.
    This fake Fable is taller, skinnier, with shorter hair and bad skin. Her nails are long and painted neon pink. She tosses her hair behind her shoulder and thrusts her chest out, her hard nipples poking against the thin fabric of her neon pink bikini top.
    Ty plants his hand in the middle of my back and shoves me toward her.