Page 70 of A Little Broken

I haven’t talked with Rory about Archer and Jaxon in…I don’t even know how long. But every time we do, it always takes a while to…I don’t know. Recover, I guess. To put each boy back in their proverbial box instead of drowning in the past like I have been since the bonfire.

Determined to close said box even faster than usual, I’ve stayed away from my laptop—and the worn black notebook I know is hidden inside—all week. Throwing myself into cleaning,I scrub the marble floors until my hands are raw and my muscles ache. I still haven’t been back to Roman’s house yet. But I haven’t gotten a call from my boss, either, proving he’s yet to out me. I’m honestly more grateful than I’d like to admit. I kind of like cleaning. The monotony of it all. Everything except the quiet, which is where my trusty headphones come in.

I still haven’t aired out all the nitty gritty details from my run-in with Pax at the bonfire to Rory. Or at least, not the blowjob part. She wouldn’t judge. I know her better than that. No, I think she’d be worried. Or excited. Or both. Because even though I look like a loose cannon who’s flailing around most of the time, I’m very much in control of every aspect of my life, including my perceived bad decisions and one-night stands. It’s what makes the bonfire—and all things Pax—so terrifying. At the bonfire, I wasnotin control. Honestly, I’m impressed I managed to change the last digit of my phone number when I rattled off the numbers to Pax instead of relenting and giving him access to me when it’s the last thing I need.

I’ve been waiting for my thoughts to mellow out. For the bonfire, and my conversation with Rory, and findingThe Count of Monte Cristo, and my fuck up at work to drift away and leave me numb. But instead, I’ve felt like a livewire. Like the tiniest things—a memory, a smell, a simple thought—is enough to engulf me for hours, and I’m afraid it’s driving me insane. Literally. Between my interaction with Pax and the reminder of Archer, I’m ready for a cold glass of…anything I can get my hands on.

Smoothing out my skintight red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, I rub my lips together and smile at Rory through the bathroom mirror’s reflection.

It’s finally Friday, and the idea of finding someone to distract me from everything else in my life is more appealing than almost anything. However, when I suggested a night out to Rory, shegave me a big, fat no. Not cool, but it also isn’t the first time. Even so, I'm not ready to give up on her yet.

Fluffing my hair, I ask, “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Only for you to ditch me once Cowboy decides to take you home?” She gives me a thumbs up. “I think I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“Technically, we don’t know if Cowboy is going to be there,” I point out. “It’s not like I was able to solidify our plans before Pax interrupted.”And I gave him a blowjob, I silently add, vowing to take that tiny little tidbit to my grave.

The last time we hooked up, I didn’t sleep with anyone for six months. Six. Months. That’s how much he affected me, and I refuse to give him that much power this time around. Yup. I’m ending the seven-day dry spell tonight, come hell or high water.

“Trust me, as long as Cowboy is still in town, he’ll show,” Rory argues. “You’re like a pretty orange carrot being dangled, and he’s a very hungry horse.”

“Farm reference,” I note. “Classy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Go on. I need to take Hades for a walk, anyway. Have fun, but be safe, will you?”

“Always.” I blow her a quick kiss and head to the main floor. There are perks to living across the street from a bar, and this is one of them.

Hello, no need for a designated driver.

A white pelican silhouette is engraved on the heavy wood door. It looks weathered and worn and artsy and surprisingly enticing. As I pull it open and step inside the bar, the smell of whiskey and cedar envelops me, bringing with it a hominess I can’t help but appreciate. The lights are low, and classic rock plays on the speakers while images of lighthouses and ships battling huge waves hang on the walls. I’m kind of in love with it.

“How can I help you?” the bartender asks.

Keeping the hem of my dressjusthigh enough for some sorry sucker to buy the rest of my drinks for the night without making myself look like I’m guaranteed to go home with them, I slide onto a barstool and order, “Jack and diet, please.”

“Coming right up.”

As he gets to work making my drink, I take in the patrons scattered around the bar. Yeah, there are definitely some solid options for tonight if Cowboy decides to no-show. Good. Maybe dressing up won’t be a wasted effort after all. As the bartender sets a glass in front of me, heat hits my back, and I look over my shoulder before my head snaps forward.

Shit.

It’s the man from earlier this week. The one who caught me asleep in his house.

Double shit.

I reach for my glass and bring it to my lips, praying he doesn’t notice me.

“Hello, again,” the man greets me.

So much for him not noticing me.

Breathe.

Peeking over my shoulder again, I murmur, “Hello, Roman.”

“Ah, so she remembers my name.”

“How could I forget? You're the guy who has the power to fire me, right?”

---