Page 14 of Filthy Little Secret

I finish chatting with the guys on the bench and decide it’s probably a good time to head out. No need to stick around and watch Mark awkwardly find his way out of Greg and Morgan’s plan.

As I pass through the kitchen, I see Mark pouring some ginger ale from a two-liter bottle into his cup. It runs over the rim and spills onto the counter.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

He stops pouring, and as he tries to set the soda on the counter, it falls over sideways and continues spilling onto the floor. He doesn’t notice because he’s too busy looking for paper towels for what was a very little mess compared to what he’s started.

Just get out of here, I tell myself.

But I can’t leave him like this.

I hurry past him, pick the bottle up, and set it on the counter.

He turns, and looks around as he appears to be making sense of what just happened.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I got it.”

I grab a dish towel from a basket on the counter and throw it on the puddle of ginger ale on the tile floor. Mark gets a roll of paper towels that lies on its side beside the kitchen sink. He unrolls it, using far too much to pat down what little managed to collect on the counter. He tries to tear off the towels but ends up pulling more from it.

I take the paper towels from him and tear the bundle he’s collected from the rest, managing to save less than a quarter of the roll.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he cleans up the mess and stumbles to the trash can.

Considering how I just helped him, it irritates me that he’s acting weird like this. But with the night he’s had, I can forgive it.

“Do you need me to call you an Uber?” I ask.

He stands still, staring at the trash can, like he’s considering my offer.

“Come on,” I say.

I put my arm around him—not because we’re pals, but because he needs someone to drag him out of here. I help him to the front door.

“Do you have anything here you need to grab before you go?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, okay.”

I lead him out the door and into the driveway before retrieving my phone and pulling up the Uber app.

“No, use my phone,” he insists. He reaches into his pocket. I’m guessing he doesn’t want my card to be charged for this.

“It’s not dinner. Chill the fuck out. Just get me a drink or something another night. Deal?”

“Deal.” He sounds defeated. Resigned. Like he did the first night we hooked up.

As I start to look for a car on the app, I hear behind me, “Mark?!”

I turn and see Greg heading out of the house. He looks concerned as he starts toward us. I figure he’s worried about his ex being around the notorious school dealer with a bad rep, which to some extent, I understand. But on the other hand, I’m like,You sure as fuck didn’t take good care of him.

Mark grips my shoulder. “Please get me out of here.”

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I should say no. I should tell him to fuck off. I don’t owe him anything. But I get why he’s struggling right now.

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