Page 170 of The Last Good Man

There’s not much time to inspect much else when someone knocks on the door.

Fuck.

I toss the piece of paper in the garbage and wash my hands.

“Just a moment,” Isay loudly.

The person on the other side of the door stays quiet as I spin around, check the back of my dress, run my fingers through my hair, remove a speck of lipstick from the corner of my mouth, and walk to the exit.

I slide the door open, expecting to see one of the patrons.

Joanna is waiting for me with her arms folded over her chest and a lifted eyebrow.

“Oh, you…” I say, unpleasantly surprised.

Nothing in her demeanor tells me she’s here to pee.

“I know what you’re up to,” she says, uncrossing her arms.

She strides past me and heads straight to the sink, where she turns on the water and washes her hands.

“Excuse me?” I bark.

My frustration hardly bothers her as she holds my gaze in the mirror.

“You were with another man at the art event.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

I plop my hands on my hips.

“What’s your point?”

She spins around and shoots me a malicious look.

“You shouldn’t mess with his head if you’re not interested in him.”

“Excuse me?”

I close the space between us.

“Are you his friend? Lover? Sister? Mother?”

She waves me off, spins to the toilet, and lifts the lid before moving her focus back to me.

“He came here for you.”

“Here?” I ask incredulously. “You mean this bar?” I mock.

“Here in New York.”

“Oh, my… You can’t be serious. Are you blind? Do you even know this man?”

“We’re friends.”

“Does he know you’re into him?”

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