Page 3 of Still Beating

Seth/Sam huffs. “Exactly. You were talking to me all night. When would I have had a chance to steal your wallet?” He shakes his head at me, then turns back around and reaches for his beer. “Sleep it off, bitch.”

I ignore the insult, too wrapped up in my current dilemma to slap him. The dude has a point. I was literally facing him the whole time I’d been sitting at the bar—albeit, half asleep and drooling on my hand—but I would have noticed him messing with my purse. In fact, my purse was perched on the bar counter, slightly behind my right shoulder.

That means someonebehindme would have stolen it.

Shit, shit, shit.

The bar is almost empty at this point. I question the bartender who only shrugs at me, then puff my cheeks with air, blowing out a breath of frustration. I wander back outside and mentally prepare myself for begging people for rides since I’m suddenly broke.

I start with Mandy, already knowing she sleeps with her phone on silent.

Voicemail.

I try my best friend, Lily.

Straight to voicemail.

There’s no way in hell I’m calling my parents.

I go through my list of contacts, attempting three more people.

Voicemail, voicemail, voicemail.

My thumb hovers over another name, and I scrunch up my nose and pucker my lips, dreading the mere thought. Walking seven miles home in my high heels sounds more delightful than a ten minute car ride with Dean Asher.

The wind picks up, forcing my hair to take flight. The cold almost chokes me.

I click on his name and immediately begin muttering profanities into the night.

“Corabelle?”

I don’t know if I’m more annoyed or relieved that he picked up. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why are you drunk dialing me in the middle of the night?” Dean’s voice is raspy, laced with sleep. I probably woke him up—good. A silver lining.

I’m about to explain, but he interrupts. “Let me guess, you had one too many shots of Fireball and you’re calling to confess your undying love. I always knew you had a thing for me.”

I grit my teeth, regretting my decision with monumental proportion. I can feel his smirk from here. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll walk home.”

I’m about to end the call when Dean cuts in, “Wait, wait—you need a ride? I thought you were calling an Uber.”

“Yeah, well, some jerk stole my wallet and now I don’t have any money. But it doesn’t matter. I’d rather walk.” I really want to hang up on him.

“Don’t be stupid. Your sister would kill me if I let you walk home.”

“Your empathy astounds me.”

He chuckles. “Sensitiveandgood-looking. I’m a triple threat.”

“You mean a double threat. You only named two things.”

“What?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, searching for a semblance of self-control.Deep breath. “Never mind. Just hurry up.”

I hit the ‘end call’ button like it’s my alarm going off on a Sunday morning. These are the moments I wish I smoked. I debate heading back inside, but I don’t have any money for drinks and I really don’t want to be sucked into another riveting conversation with Seth/Sam, so I lean back against the brick building instead.

Only a few minutes pass before some moron sidles up beside me asking for a light. I glance in his direction and quickly inch away. He’s a balding, pot-bellied man who smells like cooked carrots. I try not to gag.

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