Page 93 of Escaping Our Reality

Like the man who asks what year I graduated from North and Camden Academy. She promptly informs him I am a graduate of East County. When his mouth opens in surprise, Lulu jumps in—not Ella, but Lulu. “That high school proved to be very beneficial. Learning how to handle a firearm for self-defense is really a life skill we should all have.” She walks away before he can even process a retort.

Or like the woman who asks what university I’m attending. Lulu quickly tells her that I am about to graduate from the community college. When the lady begins to stutter over her insincere congratulations, Lulu—not Ella—pipes in. “Who needs a four-year degree nowadays, anyway. Everyone knows that $100 on the Internet will buy you fake transcripts from any Ivy League.” She leans in close, sharing her secrets with the woman. “Just ask the governor.”

Or my personal favorite, the classmate of Lulu’s who asks where I work. When Lulu says I’m a mechanic, the girl turns beet red, looking apologetic. You can tell she thinks manual labor is something beneath her, like all the hard work of the world is magically done by invisible little elves and not real people—hard-working people with hopes, dreams, and families. Lulu touches her arm in sympathy. “Oh, but don’t worry. We have really high hopes that the position at the plumbing company will open up. Everyone knows septic tanks are where the real money is. You get high bonuses once you pump a certain amount of feces.”

All in all, it’s going as well as can be expected. That is until I see Vanessa. Well, I think her name is Vanessa. Names weren’t exactly at the top of my list when I was doing her from behind.

I told you I was an asshole.

We met at a bar last fall, when I went out with a couple of people from my computer science class after the mid-term exam. Vanessa was one of the bartenders on duty. She definitely wasn’t drunk, so that made her fair game. And when she told me that her apartment was right behind the bar and that she wanted to have a night cap when she got off work, I eagerly agreed.

And now here she is. Standing behind a makeshift bar, serving vodka and cranberry juices to stuck-up rich people.

Coming from the restroom, I’m making my way over to Lulu, who happens to be standing one person back from the front of the bar line, when my eyes lock with my former one-night stand.

Fortunately, Lulu’s not paying attention to the fuck-me smile plastered across Vanessa’s face when she takes her position at the bar. “May I have an orange juice, please. Virgin. No champagne.” Her head is bent and she’s fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. I’m turning to make my quick getaway when she notices me. “Ry, can you help me?”

Kill me now.

What choice do I have? My girl called to me. I tuck my tail between my legs and head to face my doom. “Yeah?”

“This bracelet came undone. Would you mind?”

Damn jewelry. Of course, the lock is intricate, and my fingers fumble over it several times before I can get it latched. This has taken too much time. And we all know I’m not lucky enough to get out of this situation unscathed.

“Hi.” Vanessa’s chipper voice rings in my ears.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

Distracted and staring at me the whole time, Vanessa hands the orange juice to Lulu. Not paying any sort of attentionwhatsoever, she splatters some of the juice across Lulu’s hand. Never one to miss a beat, Lulu darts her eyes between the two of us. Thinking this is just some random girl trying to hit on me, she rolls her eyes and sighs. Normally I love jealous Lulu. It’s still funny. Makes me laugh every time she does it.

Except this time.

This time it isn’t so funny.

“Crutch, right?”

Lulu’s head snaps in her direction. I mumble yes under my breath.

Vanessa makes a dramatic show of handing me a beer bottle and brushing her fingers against mine during the handoff. “And if I remember correctly, beer is your drink of choice, right?”

I turn the bottle around in my hand, studying the label like it holds a mysterious portal. A portal I can crawl right through and vanish from this deathtrap. “Thanks.”

Putting her juice down on the bar table, Lulu reaches for a napkin to wipe her hand. The person behind her filters to the side, getting assistance from the other bar maid. Folding her hands across her chest, she stares at me with that same passion and fury that I liked just an hour ago. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

I drink half my beer in one swallow. “Sure. Ella, this is… Vanessa.”

Vanessa scowls. “Clarissa.”

Oh, shit. Yep. Her name is Clarissa.

Lulu holds out her hand. “Clarissa, nice to meet you. I can only assume that you know Crutch in the same way that I know Crutch. Is that a safe assumption?”

The two of them study one another, sharing some kind of women’s intuition. Damn witchcraft, if you ask me.

Clarissa purses her lips. “It appears so.”

“Well, let me give the two of you some time to catch up. It must be nice to run into old friends.” I reach out, trying to grab her, but the little minx is quick when she’s angry.

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