Zara sat at the bar, the smooth, rounded edge of the glass cool against her fingertips as she swirled the amber liquid inside. Her third drink. Maybe her last.
She should have stopped at two, but there was something oddly comforting about the slow burn sliding down her throat, something almost numbing about the way the alcohol wrapped around her senses, making it just a little easier to ignore the one thing she couldn’t shake.
Lennox.
He had walked past her that night as if she didn’t exist, as if she were nothing more than a stranger in his path.
And she had felt it. God, she had felt it.
The sharp cut of his indifference, the deliberate way he had refused to acknowledge her.
But what had she expected? For him to come up to her in the middle of her date, demand an explanation, deman
