Page 40 of Don't Fall

“Yeah, ya are. It’s cool, I like dark and troubled as much as the next girl, I just really liked happy and horny Tessa, too. I think she needs to come out more often. Seems more age appropriate for you.”

“Says the twenty-two-year-old married lady who spends most nights in bed by eight-thirty.”

“Have you seen my husband? You’d be going to bed early every night as well if he was waiting in it.” She laughs heartily. She should. Beck is hot as hell.

“This conversation is making me less comfortable by each passing second.” I shake my head and keep an iron clad focus on my take-out box, poking around inside with my chopsticks in search of broccoli I probably ate already.

“Wait another thirty minutes and things will be really unpleasant.” She glances at the clock. It’s nearly ten already. Karaoke starts at ten.

“Oh, God. I forgot.”

“Hm, on the other hand...I think I just figured out whose bed you slept in.” I watch her gaze follow someone walking through the crowd. It takes me a second to recognize him. As soon as I do, I wish I’d never given up my search for broccoli.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” I slam my half empty box back onto the counter and barrel my way past the bar back and bouncer blocking the path between me and him.

“What would possess you to come to my place of work?” I demand, stepping straight into his path and forcing him to stop.

“I heard it was Karaoke night.” Unbelievable. He’s acting as if nothing ever happened. He would of course, because that’s just the sort of thing Whore Bag Lane would do. “Also, this is a bar to most people, not your place of employment.”

“You can’t stay,” I say flatly. My stomach starting to churn daggers through the cold, greasy dinner I devoured way too fast.

“I’m pretty sure I can,” he counters, though noticeably without cracking a smile or even hinting at any sort of charm.

“Not if I ask security to remove you.”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “It’s really going to come to that? You’re going to have your hired muscle throw me out and cause a nasty scene? How are you even going to explain that? I’m sorry, he can’t stay, I had sex with him last night? If you don’t intend to see your one night stands ever again, might I suggest sleeping with men who don’t sleep across the hall from you or teach your classes. My showing up on Karaoke night, with a hundred other people, to disappear in the dark and listen to really bad singing, should be the least of your worries.”

“You did not come here to listen to bad karaoke!” I hiss, my face so hot I could melt popsicles on it.

“I didn’t?”

“No,” I insist, too furious to notice the corner he’s verbally shoving me into.

“What other reason would I have?” The crease of his mouth slowly rises, taunting me. And I get it now. Humiliation. That’s what he came he for. Which we both knew from the get go, but now he’s going to let me deliver the final blow to myself and he’s going to watch.

“I could report you for sleeping with your student,” I huff, my last-ditch effort to take the heat off myself.

“You’d have to out yourself to do it, and we both know you loathe being the center of attention.”

“You know nothing about me.” He knows everything about me. How the hell does he do that?!

“I know enough,” he growls, his jaw tightening again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I see my friends.” I don’t get a chance to respond, not that I had a snappy comeback handy, but he moves right past me, weaving his way into the crowd and briefly disappearing from sight before resurfacing along the wall at one of the many booths. There really are people there waiting for him. I can’t make out their faces, but I can gather by the table they’re at they don’t frequent this place. If they did, they’d know how the ac vent blows straight down on them there, turning anyone who sits at the table for too long into a human icicle. Plus, once upon a time, someone puked in that booth. No matter how much Lysol has been sprayed down into the cracks, given enough body heat, the stench always makes a comeback.

“I don’t get it.” Cara is standing beside me, tray full of empty glassware. I’m about to be really busy. “He’s gorgeous. And, he’s back for more. Why do you look like he sat on your face and farted?”

God, what sort of expression might be described this way?! “You know, some days it shows more than others that you grew up with seven brothers,” I mutter, leading the way back to the bar before I fall too far behind on drink orders.

“You’re not answering me. Why aren’t you answering me?” She picks away at my desperate attempt to maintain any shred of dignity where Lane is concerned.

“Fine. We hooked up last night.”

“Obviously? What happened? Really bad jackrabbit sex?”

I pause. Sometimes I need an extra second to take in the things she says to me. “No. Pretty mind blowing, actually.”

“You realize you’re making me want to ask more questions, not less, right?” She garnishes the Long Island Ice Tea I just put up with a large lemon wedge and a cherry. Doesn’t matter how often I tell her not to add the damn red ball of formaldehyde to every beverage I place in front of her, she thinks they go in everything, thus, they go in everything Cara serves.

“Here it is. We hooked up. It was probably the most amazing night of my life, until this morning when Jules showed up to return the phone he forgot at her place. Seems I wasn’t his first hook up of the night.” My shaker faces an exceptionally violent spasm at my hand and half of the lemon drop shots I poured in there mere seconds ago come spilling out again.

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