Chapter 3 He doesn't

side, a small stage has colorful Christmas lights on top. A short, brown-haired woman dressed as a cowgirl has her back to us and leans in as she picks up a guitar. Her ass doesn't show, but I check her anyway. My heart races because she looks like Emily, it's not the first time I've confused a woman with her. This one, however, has more curves, which makes it hotter. — I told you, don't hit on my girl, I saw her first. Remember, the brunette is mine — Jack warns, walking to a table. I decide to stay in the chair with my back to the stage. I don't want to spend the night looking at a woman who looks like the one who betrayed me. — I'm only interested in beer. Jackson signals to a young blonde woman who passes by, ordering drinks. I hear the first chords of the guitar and I'm about to continue the conversation when the woman sings. The world stops and I can't hear what my friend says or the murmur of the sea. All I can hear is the angelic voice. It can't be, can it? I turn around slowly, almost in slow motion, like an accident that I can't help but look at. It's her, with her eyelids closed, pouring her soul into a song about disillusionment. I'm hypnotized, unable to turn away. My Millie looks a little older, even though she's only a year old. There is a different shine in her eyes, which makes her more beautiful, or maybe it's the longing. — I warned you that this bar has its qualities! — He brags, taking a sip of his beer. With that, the things he said before come back with force and I'm left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Emily opens her eyelids and misses a note, we are stuck staring at each other for about three seconds before resuming as if nothing had happened. I escape her charm, straightening up in the chair to face Jackson. — Is she your girl? — That's right, you can have the blonde. What stupidity is that? She left me for my cousin, didn't keep him and now she's got her claws into Jackson? This woman was my destruction. Seeing her on stage, singing carefree, takes me back to a year ago. I thought Emily would be the love of my life, before I found her with someone else. So much so that alone in the office, sometimes I close my eyelids and remember what it was like to see her in Wyatt's bed, naked and with her hair spread out on the pillow, the memory breaks me inside. — In honor of all the men who have ever broken a woman's heart, the next one will be one from Taylor Swift: I knew you were trouble — the announcement makes me tense. Screw it! I drag the chair next to Jackson. If she wants an audience, that's what I'll give her. Her gaze fixes on our table and, if there was any doubt that this was a hint, she dispels it when she sings about “finding a problematic guy”. My friend gets excited and raises his mug in greeting, urging me to do the same. — Here’s to new opportunities! — he says, ignorant to the fact that the reason for my bad mood over the last year is standing in front of us in a cowboy dress and matching boots. Automatically, I match his toast and take a bigger sip this time. Jack is right, the drink is good. However, I am not able to appreciate it. The focus, meaning and my entire being is connected to the woman on stage. Then I remember how I met her. Two years ago, I went to give a talk on entrepreneurship at the community college, and as I was leaving, I saw a young woman singing in her pants for a few bucks. I was enchanted by his voice and angelic appearance. I put several notes in the open guitar case at her feet, but I couldn't leave, I invited her for a coffee and discovered that she was a music student in terrible financial condition. Like the idiot I am, I gave her a job for a position she wasn't qualified for and still fell in love with her. Six months later, after many conversations, repressed attraction and coffee, she accompanied me on a business trip. I took her virginity in a hotel room, we spent months together, with an intimacy that went beyond sex, until I discovered that she was a deceiver. — So how long have you two been together? — I question my friend, but what I really want to know is what Emily’s plan is. Maybe the idea of ​​turning cheap beer into a luxury item wasn't Jackson's and my friend became a pawn in the great game that this woman prepared for me. — I've been coming here at least three times a week for a month. — Order ribs and fries from the blonde waitress who wears an outfit similar to Millie's. — What did you think of the beer? — Very good. The drink is great, that's not the problem. — Production is made by employees during the day and sold at night. Do you believe it? And they even put it on sale. I think we got a good price on these hillbillies. This confuses me so much, what does she have to gain? I squint at the man behind the counter. According to Jackson, he is the owner. He's my age, more or less, and he's a stocky guy. Emily was born in Texas, could this guy be a relative? Maybe a husband… the thought bothers me more than it should. Either way, she must be looking for profits. — Have you spoken to the owner? His shrug makes me question how much my friend actually prepared for this “multimillion-dollar takeover” in the beverage market. — He doesn't like me very much because I slapped the hot girl's ass, that's why I brought you. - What? — I clench my fists, irritated by the image of him being inappropriate with her. —Nothing much, you know. I've been friends with Jackson since childhood and that's why I know what an idiot he can be sometimes, who has no sense of limits. He is narcissistic to the point of thinking that everyone secretly desires him, even if they don't admit it to themselves. I often had to get his attention because of this. — Hey, Millie! Code B! — the owner calls her from the counter and, immediately, she drops the guitar in the corner and disappears to the back of the bar without giving me a second look. I wonder what this means. CHAPTER 3 I don't know how