Page 37 of Corrupting Ivy

“Remy…” Randall said as he pulled a seat next to the girl. Her eyes lit up as she licked her lips, gulping him down with her gaze.

Was that how I looked?

I wrinkled my nose. There was no way I resembled this woman when I looked at him. I didn’t look like that.

Did I?

“Hi, Spence,” the blonde said as she stirred her drink with a little red straw.

Spence? I mouthed at him. The corner of his lips lifted in the quickest smile. Then, as if it never dreamed to exist, it disappeared.

He raised his finger to Remy, and she poured him a Macallan 15. “They don’t make this anymore, so go easy on it, would ya?” she said.

“No promises.” He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, then placed it back down all while the woman ate him up.

His lips glistened with the leftover liquor, making me want to lick it off and taste the luxury of two rare elements on my tongue.

A man in a blue t-shirt with an image of a large chicken on it and the words ‘Chickens; the pet that poops breakfast,’ raised his hand at the end of the bar, and I reluctantly left to help him.

“What can I get ya?”

He flicked the brim of his ball cap up to get a better view as he leaned his elbows on the bar. “Five Busch Light’s. Glass please, little lady.”

“Coming right up.” I gave him my best smile and popped the top on five bottles, then fingered the long necks and brought them over to his table where he and his friends sat. “Here you are.”

They all reached for their drinks, and I walked back to the bar, eager to hear what conversation I might have missed out on.

When I came back around, Randall was gone, and so was the blonde.

An irritation licked up my spine like a frenzied fire. I took the glass she left on the bar, dumped the contents into the sink, and then tossed it in the washer.

The night carried on, but the crowd thinned out, and I was ready to crash into my bed. My feet hurt, and the vexation hadn’t receded.

Neither one of them came back, and he wasn’t in the stockroom. I checked like the pathetic stalker I was, even though I went back there for legitimate reasons.

John stumbled out the front door.

“Good night, John.” I waved at the drunk man.

I never understood how people could get intoxicated every day of their lives. But that was what addiction did to you.

He threw his hand in the air in a makeshift wave while mumbling what resembled a goodbye.

It was just me now. Of course, Remy left, this time with one of those cowboys from earlier—one of the guys that didn’t get involved—leaving me to finish up on my own… again.

I clicked the lock in place and picked up the litter that every person felt compelled to leave behind. A bunch of slobs, the lot of them. I placed the chairs on the tables and swept the floor. Grabbing the trash bags, I froze.

What if he was out there? And by he, I mean the asshole stalker that wouldn’t leave me alone. It wasn’t that long since the man attempted to attack me, and just yesterday, that girl with my name carved into her back.

While staring at the back door, I held the trash bags in both of my hands, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I swiped my hand across my brow as the cold sweat broke out on my skin.

“Do you want help with those?”

I screamed at the top of my lungs, my body jarring from fright. Dropping the bags, I spun around, clasping my chest.

Randall smirked, amused at the terror he’d invoked.

“How… how did you get in here?” I swear I locked the door behind John. I could almost guarantee it.

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