Page 31 of Fastlander Fallen

“She wanted to go to this fancy brunch place, and she beat around the bush through appetizers. Halfway through the meal, I finally asked if she was okay? And she said she couldn’t live up to me.”

“What?” he drawled out, eyes wide. All right, Ace was fun. He liked talking about the tea. One thousand and ten points for him.

“So of course I was like, ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ And she said he talked about me all the time. That I was the one that got away. I was so confused, Ace. So confused. I felt like he hated me by the end. She told me they had been talking before we broke up, and he was playing with the idea of leaving me for her. He was riddled with guilt, but also didn’t know how to tell me what he was doing, or that he had confusing feelings and he was bored in his life with me. My coworker offered him excitement, but when he actually had a relationship with her, all he did was talk about me.”

“Sounds like he wasn’t ready for a real woman,” Ace observed.

“I think so too. Anyway, I ran into him a few months later at the post office, and he asked me to go get a drink and get some closure. I had moved on, you know? I had taken care of my little heart and done self-care, and moved myself through all the phases of grief, and I had become comfortable not disappointing someone every day. He was so…”

“So what?” he asked.

“So urgent with needing to talk to me. So I said yes, and we walked over to this bar next door for a beer, and he gave me the lines.”

“Trying to get you back?”

“Yes. Said he had messed up, that he couldn’t stop thinking about me, that his family missed me, and duh.” She grinned. “I’m awesome,” she joked.

“Naturally. So what did you say?”

“So I said I had one question, and I needed him to answer honestly. That if he had ever cared for me, he would pinky-swear that he would give me a brutally-honest answer.”

“And? What was the question?”

She let a few seconds of silence build up for dramatic effect, and then parted her lips. “I asked him, ‘did you get bored with me because I don’t like butt stuff?’” But she couldn’t even finish the sentence before she was giggling her way through it.

“Oh my God, was this a fucking lie? All of it?” he asked. He threw the little napkin at her as she cackled away. “That was like getting halfway through a movie and the credits rolling. Is that really what you said?”

She had to control her laughter and take three steadying breaths. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“Not cool.”

“That I don’t like butt stuff, or that I lied to a shifter?”

He just sighed, and after a couple of loaded moments, he said, “I don’t give a shit if you don’t like butt stuff. I don’t give a shit. Get it? Butt-stuff joke.”

She threw her head back and laughed so hard. “Oh my gosh.” The giggles lasted on and on because he was laughing now, and feeding her giggle-fit.

“Okay, okay,” she said, settling down. “The rest was true. I asked him…” She cleared her throat and grew serious again. “I asked him if he had pushed me to the point of ending us so he didn’t have to.”

“Oooh, good question. What did he say?”

“He said yes. He didn’t want to admit it, I could tell, but he had pinky-sworn and he knew how important those are to me. So, I told him what use do I have for a man who is too cowardly to end it himself.”

“Damn.” Ace rocked back a few inches and took a sip of the drink, stared at the liquor bottles behind the bar. After awhile he turned to her and said, “I bet he still repeats that in his head.”

She nodded. “That’s the power of an intelligent woman. You do us wrong, we can burn you with a line.”

“Mind grenade. You know, you also don’t have any use for a disloyal man. He was talking to your coworker. That’s fucked up.”

She shrugged. “Everyone I’ve ever gotten serious with has found someone else while we were together. I’m like a shelter for these boys. They only stay with me until they find a better home. So, for the last few years, I’ve gone on dates, but I haven’t let myself get into anything serious. What about you, sexy shifter boy. Do you have thirty-seven ladies on call?”

He chuckled and slowly spun his drink in the ring of condensation the glass had made on the wooden bar top. “I date, but getting serious isn’t fair.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, so I spill my guts, and you say ‘I don’t know.’ Party foul.”

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