Page 41 of Don't Fall

“Damn.”

“Thank you.”

“But...I don’t get it. Why is here now?”

I sigh. “Because on top of being my humiliating one-night stand, he’s also my roommate...and my professor. Thus, he’s used to seeing me every second of every day and clearly is suffering from some sort of separation anxiety now that he’s seen me naked and simultaneously learned said sight will never grace his eyeballs again. Or maybe he’s just an asshole who likes to rub in the fact that he’s an asshole.

She shakes her head. “No way. I don’t buy it.” I don’t see why. It was a perfectly logical rant. “He wouldn’t be here to make you more uncomfortable at his own expense. I mean, he’s in this with you. And you’re not exactly hiding in embarrassment at the sight of him. Maybe if he was trying to make you cower in a corner somewhere while he was busy hanging over his next conquest, I’d buy the torturous piece of shit thing, but that’s not what he’s doing. There’s more to it than that. Trust me.” She glances back over her shoulder in his direction before picking up her tray to go make rounds. “I don’t think you know the whole story. Something else is going on. And that guy, is definitely into you.”

I scoff, unwilling to accept the possibility. If I do, if I succumb to any scrap of hope, I’ll be eternally screwed in the long run when he turns out just to be the torturous piece of shit after all.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because he lied about Jules. And I don’t have time for liars. No matter how hot they are.”

She glances out toward the crowd keeping Lane temporarily hidden, then back at me. “Did Jules actually say they slept together?”

“She didn’t need to. It was implied.”

Cara does a half roll of the eyes. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s Jules. Sex is always implied. Doesn’t mean it happened though.”

“Why? Why are you so set on planting evil little seeds of doubt in my brain, Cara? Don’t you think I have enough going on there already?!”

Her nose twitches, giving every indication I’ve about robbed her of her last bit of patience where I’m concerned, then she gives it one more go, “You don’t know because you were in it last night, but I’m telling you, if you had been on the outside watching the same show I was, you’d be questioning things too. Because I saw the way he swept in to ward of that creeper on the dance floor. And believe me when I say, all us girls were watching from the bar when he pulled you close and you two danced, practically melting into one another. But all that heat fizzled the second Jules broke in and snatched him away. He wasn’t into her. Not even a little bit. So, I’m calling bullshit on Jules’ sex-plications. If that man knew he was going home to you at the end of the night, there’s no way he made a stop at her place beforehand.”

“Dammit, Cara. Now I want to believe you!”

She grins. “Finally. You have any idea how heavy this tray is getting? I feel like my arm’s about to fall off.” Then she takes off, shaking her head as she goes, long ponytail bouncing back and forth as she maneuvers her way through the crowd.

After Cara’s impromptu therapy sessions (I notice people feel compelled to drop those on me a lot lately), karaoke starts, and the night goes from awkward to unbearable. Tonight’s singers are a new class of tone deaf and off pitch, and I curse myself, not for the first time, for forgetting to invest in earplugs yet again.

I purposely avoid looking at the stage all night. I don’t want to know if Lane sings. More importantly, I don’t want to know if he was the one and only singer tonight who didn’t make me wish I could peel my ears off and stick them to the bottom of my feet in hopes the ground would muffle the sound. Though, I suspect he was.

Avoiding the stage extends to avoiding the door when the music stops. In fact, I don’t look at much beyond what little there is between my feet and the counter of my bar until the place is finally empty and our doors are locked.

“Where’s Matt?” I ask, noticing now that our one and only bouncer appears to be absent.

“He took off,” Cara says, jutting her jaw toward the exit. “Got pissed when I told him he couldn’t spend all night with his back to the crowd bullshitting with some chick.”

“Wait...what? When did this happen?” And what else have I missed since committing to staring at my flip flops and woefully impaired pedicure?

“’Bout an hour ago.” She shrugs. “Figured it was nearly closing time anyway, no point in bothering with getting someone else here tonight.” She laughs. “Especially not when rinky-dinky Brad is the only guy they’ve got on call.”

“You’ve got a point.” Last Christmas party we had here, every single cocktail waitress beat him in an arm wrestling match. He’s funny though. Likeable. Doesn’t have to worry about breaking up a fight because he’s unusually skilled in diffusing them. Given the place is empty now, fights aren’t exactly an issue anyway. Hoisting all the heavy trash cans up to empty them in the dumpster out back is and we need muscles for that.

I glance over at the one nearest to me, overflowing in empty glass bottles and God only knows how much weight in fruit garnishes. “Well, this sucks,” I grumble, tucking my fingers under the rim and dragging it across the floor to the back door. Might as well get the shitty parts done and over with.

Using my other hand to pick up another trash can along the way, I make it into the small storage room housing all of our liquor bottles, as well as an old as time ice maker. The motor’s hum is so loud, I can barely hear Cara jabbering on about something in the background anymore.

For a moment, I consider walking back and asking, but I’m tired and ready to be done, so I decide she’s probably on the phone with Beck and not even talking to me.

Releasing one can, I use that hand to push down on the door handle. Then, remembering how damn heavy the door is, I let go of the other trash can as well to push it open. Only tonight it’s not so heavy. In fact, it’s practically flying backwards, dragging me with it at full force. It takes me a second to register the dirty nails on the hand wrapped around the edge of the door, coming from outside. I scream, pulling back with all my might to no avail.

Whoever is outside, has his boot jammed in between the door and the frame, I’m never getting it closed again.

“Cara!” I yell at the top of my lungs, desperate to overpower the stupid ice maker beside me. “Cara. Goddammit! Get back here!”

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