“You’ve got a prospect right here. I can’t buy you no fancy ring, but I’d treat you real good.” He grins, and the skin around his eyes wrinkles. Brady’s handsome, and kind, and about thirty or forty years too old for me. “And what do you mean, you don’t know what you want to do with your life? You’ve got that business with Della. The preschool does well, doesn’t it?”

I sigh, my shoulders sagging. “I hate it. I just haven’t wanted to tell anybody. I feel like a failure.”

“Do you hate that your business partner is a bitch? Or do you hate running a preschool?”

“Both,” I admit. I’ve come here after work more than once. Brady has heard his fair share of Della horror stories. I used to think she was my friend, but now I think that we just traveled in the same circles and assumed we were close. She is horrible to me. Just last week, I screwed up someone’s monthly tuition bill and I overheard her talking to one of the parents as she tried to clear it up. “There are people like me, who teach preschool because they love children. And then there are people who teach preschool because they aren’t smart enough to teach anything else.”

Their laughter hurt so much, I wanted to walk out and hide. But I pretended I didn’t hear and finished out the day.

“Life’s too short to do something you hate,” Brady says.

“I would quit if I had any idea of what to do with myself.” And, with that depressing thought, I shoot back the second dose of tequila. Tonight, I’m thinking of the shots as doses. Doses of medicine. Doses of happiness in a little glass. Doses of sanity.

“You driving tonight?” He extends his hand, palm up. It’s not really a question.

I dig my keys from my purse and plop them into Brady’s hand. “I’ll walk home if it means you give me another.”

He pockets my keys and refills my glass.

“You know why I’m so jealous of Hanna?” I ask.

“I’ll bite,” Brady says.

“Nate has wanted her all along. Even when he didn’t think he wanted anyone, Nate wanted Hanna.”

“Not sure it was that simple,” Brady says.

“I mean that she’ll never have to feel like he settled for her. He would’ve moved mountains to be with her. He would’ve let her go and have been miserable without her if that’s what he needed to do to make her happy. And she didn’t have just one, but two guys who loved her. I want a little taste of that.”

Brady shakes his head and sighs before refilling my glass. I don’t even remember drinking that last shot, but here I am with a new one. “I still think you’re oversimplifying it. Nate’s not perfect. No man is.”

“Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I’m looking for the perfect guy. And what I really need to be looking for is the guy who’s perfect for me. The one who would move mountains to be with me.”

Brady grunts. “That’s an awful lot of self-pity there, champ.”

I sigh. “I know. I’m the worst.”

“Nah. We’re all entitled to a pity party from time to time.” He moves down the bar to help another customer.

“Hey,” someone says behind me.

I turn and see Connor standing behind the stool next to mine, his face drawn with worry, his fingers gripping the top of the seat. “You mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead.” My words are starting to slur a little. Good old tequila, doing its thing. I throw back the next shot as Connor settles in next to me.

“I see your life is shit, too,” Connor says.

I cut my eyes to him. “So, how much of that conversation did you just overhear?”

He avoids my gaze and waves a hand at Brady. “Enough to know that what they say is true. The thing that you want is right in front of you, and you don’t even know it.”

I blink at him, and my vision clears and the two Connors merge into one. Maybe I should slow it down on the booze. It sure seems as if Connor is coming on to me. “Listen . . .”

Connor hangs his head, and Brady slides a tall stout in front of him then leaves us again. “Forget I said anything,” Connor says.

“You’re with Della,” I remind him. If I were sober, I wouldn’t say it. If I were sober, I wouldn’t be ballsy enough to think that my business partner’s long-term boyfriend was coming on to me. But I’m not sober. Even though we agreed to part as friends after that one night together at Notre Dame, I’ve always felt as if Connor’s carried a torch for me.

“No, I’m not.” Connor drags a hand through his sloppy blond hair. “She broke up with me.”

“Again?”

He looks over his shoulder before answering. “She does this all the fucking time. I don’t give her what she wants, and she breaks up with me. I don’t give her enough attention, and she breaks up with me. I look too long at an attractive woman on the street, and she breaks up with me.”

“So you’re not really broken up. She’s just throwing a little fit.”

“I don’t know. She packed her bags, and she left. Tomorrow she’ll probably want to get back together.”

He looks over his shoulder again, and this time I follow his gaze to a redhead in a booth. She reminds me of someone but I can’t place her. When Connor turns back to me, I can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m done,” he says. “I can’t take the constant emotional manipulation anymore. She doesn’t want to be with me. She wants somebody who will do her bidding. She wants somebody who will tell her she’s beautiful every day and who she can insult in return.”