mad about Thomas.

The engine sputtered to life, and Tommy immediately flicked the air conditioner on. Hot air blew out. He cranked his window down as the hot air continued to blow out of the vent. Maybe once the engine started going, it would kick on. 

He drove down the county road, the hot air still blowing in his face. 

At the stoplight, he felt sweat trickle down his back, the side of his face, his chest. He slammed his palms down on the steering wheel, hot, tired and frustrated. 

When the light turned green, he turned towards his second home - the bar. 

This damn bar was what got him in this mess in the first place. 

Bee’d given him plenty of warning. She’d told him she was fed up with the drinking, and the staying out late, and calling her shit-faced drunk at all hours of the night. She’d picked up up from this very damn bar more times than Tommy could count. 

She’d had enough and left his things by the front door one night. He’d discovered it the next morning. A friend had dropped him off at Bee’s house, and he couldn’t even make it in the door. He’d passed out on the front porch. The next morning his suitcase was sitting on the welcome mat. 

He knew he did it to himself, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

So he resorted to what he knew. 

The damn bar. 

He walked inside, sweat dripping from his body, and took a seat at his normal table. Irma brought over a bottle of Corona. 

He thanked her and pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked and he hadn’t managed to change his photo from one of him and Bee from months ago. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

He opened Facebook, something he rarely ever did, and his stomach dropped. The first photo on his feed was of his beautiful Bee, on another man’s arm, a giant diamond on her finger. 

She held out her hand in the photo, body pressed into that bastard’s chest as he kissed her cheek. 

Tommy’s throat tightened. 

He’s everything I’m not. 

This man, Riley, was tall. Had to be damn near six foot four. His strong arms enveloped Bee’s frame, making her look even smaller than she was. 

Tommy’s chest ached at how much he missed her curled into him. 

He clicked on Riley’s profile. 

Of fucking course. He’s a petroleum engineer. Whatever the hell that meant. 

College degree from Ole Miss. He played football for Ole Miss in college. 

Old, southern money. 

Bee would never want for anything. 

Tommy felt his heart crack in his chest. 

This Riley, was giving her everything he couldn’t. 

He clicked back and looked through photos Bee had uploaded recently. Trips to New Orleans, her favorite city, a beautiful house he could only assume Riley had bought her. She’d posted lots more pictures of her culinary endeavors. More meals for Mr. Harston were the captions. 

Tommy used to be the recipient. The guinea pig. The taste tester. He missed that, too. He missed everything about Bee. Her sweet smile, her laugh, her soft skin, her big, dark eyes. He missed the way she clung to him when she was asleep. He missed how she’d put her cold feet under his legs when they were sitting on the couch together. 

He missed her underneath him, writhing, moaning, gasping. Missed her hair falling in a curtain around them, missed her pretty legs around his waist, over his shoulders. Missed kissing her ankles and biting her calves when he was trying to hold himself back.

And now she had a rich, six-four millionaire ex-SEC quarterback doting on her, spoiling her rotten, giving her anything she ever dreamed of. 

Tommy understood why she left. Really, he did. He’d pushed her too far. He didn’ t have much to offer besides his words. His promises of being better. Of doing better. Being a better man. 

But she’d told him one too many times the words were empty. And she’d had enough. 

She told him she deserved better, and deep down, Tommy knew she did. 

She’s beautiful and smart and so damn wonderful in every way a woman can be. 

And he fucked it up. 

Riley went to Jared. 

Tommy went to the bar.